On the face of it, it’s an absurd statement. But when you dig a bit deeper, the statement becomes one of longing for a time of tight-knit communities, no heroin epidemic (except for Dublin) and no social media. But is that really true.
The author’s bio on the Cork University Press website tells us that Mulcahy:
…is an associate professor of sociology at University College Dublin where he teaches courses on different aspects of crime and criminal justice. He has conducted research in the USA, England and Wales, Northern Ireland, and Ireland. His main research interests revolve around issues of policing and police legitimacy; political violence and conflict resolution; and crime, community and marginalisation.
So he’s clearly someone who can look at this topic while having an understanding of the complex minutia that lies at the heart of the matter.
And while it is a worthy addition to the bulging shelf of conflict related material, it’s not much fun to read.
Looking at the first few decades of the North, Mulcahy correctly identifies that ordinary crime was fairly minimal compared to similar sized areas in the UK, largely due to the religious and socially conservative background that both nationalists and unionists came from. But what made the state abnormal was the amount of police officers and reservists (the B Specials) per citizen and the obvious way in which the Stormont government allowed the police to become subordinate to them in order to suppress dissent, particularly through the use of the Special Powers Act, leading to various periods of internment and laws in place where refusing to answer incriminating questions and the compulsory carrying of identity cards.
It was little wonder that John Vorster, the South African Minister for Justice in the apartheid regime, once said that he “…would be willing to exchange all the legislation of that sort for one clause of the Northern Ireland Special Powers Act.” As Adrian Guelke writes, Vorster probably had this particular clause in mind:
And while it is a worthy addition to the bulging shelf of conflict related material, it’s not much fun to read.
Looking at the first few decades of the North, Mulcahy correctly identifies that ordinary crime was fairly minimal compared to similar sized areas in the UK, largely due to the religious and socially conservative background that both nationalists and unionists came from. But what made the state abnormal was the amount of police officers and reservists (the B Specials) per citizen and the obvious way in which the Stormont government allowed the police to become subordinate to them in order to suppress dissent, particularly through the use of the Special Powers Act, leading to various periods of internment and laws in place where refusing to answer incriminating questions and the compulsory carrying of identity cards.
It was little wonder that John Vorster, the South African Minister for Justice in the apartheid regime, once said that he “…would be willing to exchange all the legislation of that sort for one clause of the Northern Ireland Special Powers Act.” As Adrian Guelke writes, Vorster probably had this particular clause in mind:
If any person does any act of such a nature as to be calculated to be prejudicial to the preservation of the peace or the maintenance of order and not specifically provided for in the regulations, he shall be deemed to be guilty of an offence against the regulations.
Do bear in mind John O’Neill’s quote that:
Where violence clearly emanated from a unionist source…unionist politicians, press and RUC typically downplayed attacks and there were no mass raids or arrests (often the telling signature that the RUC believed unionists were involved - IRA attacks were inevitably followed by intense raids and multiple arrests). All this signalled to the Catholic community that those who carried out the attacks were beyond the reach of the law…
With all of this in mind, is it any wonder that this emphasis on one community generated fierce resentment over decades, exploding in violence during the civil rights marches?
During the conflict itself, ordinary crime still remained low compared to the rest of the UK but issues around policing became even more problematic (quelle surprise, I hear you say). One such example was the RUC’s seeming inability to arrive in time to stop a crime taking place (such as joyriding or a robbery), a relatively simple task that would have demonstrated to nationalists that the police were genuine about wanting to serve both communities. Although Mulcahy correctly points out that the RUC were often weary of such calls due to the possibility of them being attempts to lure officers into IRA traps (and even quotes one source confirming this), the vast distrust on both sides meant that nationalists often felt it more appropriate to approach the paramilitaries in order to ensure that justice was dispensed. Also, there was always the possibility that said criminals were in the pay of the police to keep an eye on republicans (hence why they were bequeathed the nickname “£10 touts”).
With such serious breakdowns of trust and communication, how could the RUC ever expect to win the confidence of uninvolved nationalists?
While there is no doubt that the main topic and the offshoots make for interesting discussion, I must confess that I did not find the book to be a particularly exciting read. While I was aware that charts and statistics would make up the bulk of the findings (due to the very nature of what is being discussed), I had hoped for more stories and observations to balance things out.
Due to the broad time line and overview, it wouldn’t be fair to expect Mulcahy to focus on specific areas of crime the way Heather Hamill did with her 2011 book The Hoods: Crime and Punishment in West Belfast. However, the moments where little anecdotes are used are certainly memorable and help put a very human perspective to faceless statistics.
Overall, not one I would recommend to a casual reader. But it acts as a neat compendium of statistics for students of the recent conflict.
Aogan Mulcahy, 2023, Crime and Conflict in Northern Ireland, 1921-2022. Cork University Press. ISBN-13: 978-1782055730
⏩ Christopher Owens was a reviewer for Metal Ireland and finds time to study the history and inherent contradictions of Ireland. He is currently the TPQ Friday columnist.
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