Decades ago, Gusty Spence, ex-leader of the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), pronounced a ceasefire on behalf of loyalist paramilitary groups, expressing profound regret for previous activities. He believed that the cessation of conflict would bring relief and a brighter future to the communities from which the members hailed. Flash-forward to today, however, and the condition of these communities has not improved. They are poverty-stricken, plagued by poor health and education, and often lead difficult lives in challenging environments.
Doctor and former deputy leader of the Progressive Unionist Party (PUP), John Kyle, is of the opinion that these communities have been historically overlooked. He insists that residents need reassurance that their political representation will act with their welfare in mind. Frustration lingers because they feel their lives have stalled, their voices unheard by those elected to represent them.
Adding to the complications, the sinister influence of paramilitary groups is perceived to still exist, even within loyalist communities. The silence on the matter effectively validates this notion. Surprisingly, current engagement with these organisations, gauged by a £10 monthly subscription, is now greater than when Spence called off the conflict, with up to 12,500 individuals being associated, as reported by MI5.
Addressing this issue has been perpetually delayed due to its political implications. It was once so taboo that people referred to it only as the ‘P’ word. Today, consensus on how to deal with paramilitaries remains elusive. The situation is further complicated by the fact that some provide positives to communities, from leadership roles to local services, often funded by the Irish and British governments.
Numerous individuals, the exact number determined by one’s perspective, are significantly engaged in a broad spectrum of criminal activities. These range from peddling narcotics to running protection schemes, from promoting prostitution to conducting brutal retaliatory attacks, as well as many more. These individuals act as the de facto authorities within their community, manipulating local resources, wielding influence, and self-appointing themselves as the voice of their fellow residents.
Their criminal behaviours and the perpetual threats they pose have filled local communities with fear. Evidence of this surfaced recently when allegations were made that young women were being forced into flats by drug trafficking gangs – many of which are formed by paramilitary forces – and being sexually assaulted by multiple men as a form of recompense for drug-related debts. The violations were typically filmed and the victims were then coerced into becoming drug depositories within their own homes for these gangs, with the threat of the videos being leaked online serving as a deterrent to reporting the abuse.
One former officer recalled an interaction with a single mother in a town in County Antrim. Her son, who had been granted admission to a grammar school, required a school uniform. Unable to afford it, the mother borrowed £400 from the local paramilitaries. Struggling to repay this debt, her son was subsequently used as a conduit for smuggling drugs within the very school that was supposed to be a transformative opportunity.
Such pervasive reach of the paramilitaries within these communities creates an unsettling dynamic. “They essentially act as the gatekeepers in their community, controlling local resources, wielding influence, and arrogating themselves as the authorised spokespeople for their communities,” a source shared. It went on to differentiate ‘good’ and ‘bad’ paramilitaries: “A good paramilitary might sell cocaine occasionally, while a bad one might peddle heroin regularly.”
The Independent Reporting Commission (IRC) has spent several years conducting an in-depth examination of this issue, and asserts that groups such as the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), the Ulster Defence Association (UDA), the Red Hand Commando are decidedly harmful and should be encouraged to dissolve. According to its annual report from last year, merely arresting these individuals isn’t a sustainable solution. Instead, it recommends undermining the reputational ‘brand’ power these individuals derive from their affiliation with paramilitary organisations.
A potential decision to leave the scene holds the promise of a cleaner slate. Auspicious calculations suggest that an announcement from the leaders about their departure could cause up to 70% of their followers to take their leave as well – this concept is referred to as “group transition”. Nevertheless, the Inter-Religious Council’s (IRC) hopeful estimations face opposition. The leader of the Alliance Party and Stormont’s Justice Minister, Naomi Long, is uncompromisingly critical both of the groups and their contemporary mouthpiece, the Loyalist Communities Council (LCC).
Aaron Edwards, an academic and the author of numerous works about loyalist paramilitaries, insists that there has been no progress, no transformation of conflict and no assurances to correct past wrongdoing for as long as there is an aggressive mentality, even in a small group of people. He adds, “They are waiting for the right leader to guide them away from the battlefield”.
Disbanding poses a challenge due to the hierarchical structure of loyalist paramilitarism. The Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) is centrally governed, whereas its counterparts the UDA/Ulster Freedom Fighters don’t possess such a structure.
Adele Brown, the head of the Northern Ireland Executive’s Programme on Paramilitarism and Organised Crime, which operates in at least 100 locations in North Ireland, highlights that the levels of paramilitary violence have dwindled substantially. Yet, their influence remains extensive.
Brown explains how paramilitaries have become socially acceptable due to their connection with the local community; they are acquainted with these people, and some even fear them. She adds, “If someone raises their voice against paramilitarism, they face the potential backlash of their property being vandalised, or their children being assaulted. Many consequently choose to stay silent, out of fear and lack of protective faith in the State.”
In the past couple of years, programme workers have interacted with approximately 1400 youth – some barely 12 or 13 years old – who have landed up in A&E departments at Belfast’s Ulster Hospital or Derry’s Altnagelvin hospital due to drug abuse or assault. Often it takes several attempts to reach out to them and make them realise that they are indeed victims, concludes Brown.
The heightened sense of alertness that individuals with post-traumatic stress disorder often experience is observed in young people who feel people are constantly trying to manipulate them. Oftentimes, these young individuals inflict harm upon themselves or other people,” she said. Many of these young people come from unstable families where they’ve been exposed to drugs, alcohol, or abuse.
They may themselves become victims of exploitation by paramilitary groups, and over time, they get drawn further into this web. Sometimes, they are coerced into transporting drugs for a paramilitary group, which paradoxically gives them a feeling of protection. Being part of one group could mean being safe from another. Consequently, they have confused perceptions of safety and trust.
Paramilitary involvement is a recurring element in many of these situations, often characterised by these groups’ controlling behaviours,” she proclaims.
Debbie Watters, founder and co-director of Northern Ireland Alternatives, a restorative justice organisation deeply rooted in the community, sees a glimmer of hope. From her perspective, several paramilitaries have withdrawn while many yearn to follow suit; those that remain often contribute positively to their communities.
However, Watters distinguishes between loyalists and criminals, stating that criminal behaviour is not synonymous with loyalism; instead, it is a matter for law enforcement. She expresses fear about the ramifications of disbanding these groups and advocates for their transformation into legacy groups of some sort, like an ‘old boys’ network or a community-based organisation.
The sense of unity and camaraderie that come from these groups could indeed be directed towards positive endeavors,” states Watters, expressing her dissatisfaction with the unionist politicians’ lack of interest in her community.
After the Good Friday event, working-class loyalists struggled to establish a political platform, swiftly relinquishing the two seats gained by PUP in 1998. The untimely death of David Ervine left a significant void.
What gives?
Watters believes that politicians hailing from middle-class unionism have excelled in manipulating the political landscape. They’ve cajoled the public into sustaining the current circumstances by voting to keep Sinn Féin at bay and avoiding any divisions within the unionist vote.
This strategy, however, has left many working-class loyalists, whose political stance often leans towards the left compared to the DUP, without a say.
Many of them give their votes to the DUP, only to later question their decision as they feel unrepresented.
As Watters explains, unionist politicians are not activists for the working class. These politicians have in the past prioritised their political careers over engaging with local communities or addressing their concerns. She expresses the complicated relationship they have with unionist politicians as both bipolar and schizophrenic. However, Watters remains hopeful as she notes a shift following the appointment of Gavin Robinson as the DUP leader.
The previous evening saw the unveiling of an exhibit organised by Watters’ group at the old Crumlin Road jail. The display narrates the experiences of loyalist women during the Troubles and the ceasefire, a topic usually overlooked.
Watters was pleased to share that many politicians from both the DUP and Ulster Unionist party attended this event. She states, “previously, they wouldn’t even have desired any association with that.” Watters perceives this as a sign of a significant shift.