My wife and I come from a background of privilege and Protestantism - and are grateful for our heritage. But we have to face the
By PETER HANNON
After 14 years in South Africa, I have now returned to my home country of Northern Ireland: two countries where alienation of community from community is rampant.
A Catholic friend spent a day with us recently. He is a widely travelled man, engaged wholeheartedly in the search for conflict resolution, living in a predominantly Protestant town. 'I thought I had things worked out in my mind about Ireland,' he said. 'But after one trip overseas I found I was having the same recurrent nightmare. It was the 12th July (when Protestant Orangemen celebrate past victories). The bands and banners were gathering for their parade. I was right there in the middle of them, yet no one saw me. I was invisible, a non-person, a stranger in my own town.'
My wife and I come from a background of privilege and Protestantism - and are grateful for our heritage. But we have to face the fact that many react quite differently to that tradition.
Recently we entertained a prominent Presbyterian. 'I have grown up as part of the Church of Ireland (Anglican) "big house" ascendancy,' I told him. 'For generations we have assumed it our right to run things and other people our way, so that many such as you have felt they had no equal part. I am sorry. The arrogance of a man like me has to be cured. I have to learn to listen. What do you think is needed?' We then began to communicate.
By unity we often mean birds of a feather flocking together; a unity of conformity where those who think differently are excluded.
Or there is the unity of dialogue, rather fashionable nowadays. But it has its limitations. Once I know what the other person thinks, what then? Is my real hope that if others can just understand my point of view, they will appreciate how reasonable I am?
This myth was exploded for me in South Africa. I was working with an Afrikaner colleague. I thought we were getting on quite well, when one day the lid blew off. 'Peter, you are quite impossible to work with. You think that you know best and you're really only interested in what you do.' Various examples were quoted for my benefit. I retired hurt, feeling misunderstood.
Next day I went back: 'I am really sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to,' And I tried to explain. The result? Nil.
Some days later light began to break through. My friend's evaluation of my character, I realized, might be more accurate than my own. Particular rights and wrongs were not the issue. 'I didn't mean it' was no excuse. The worst hurts can be inflicted when you are blind to what you do to others.
A week later I woke up early one morning with a further uncomfortable thought: that, in truth, I was happy to treat even those closest to me as second class citizens. I tried to reject the thought, but it persisted: as long as I felt satisfied with what I was doing I was content for those around me to take second place. I began to see that the problems of South Africa (or Northern Ireland) did not begin 'out there' with some difficult, unreasonable people, but with myself.
I once asked a friend in a hardcore area of West Belfast, 'What are the facts about the situation here?'
'Facts?' he replied after a pause. 'Facts only confuse the issue. In this country each side has its own set, mostly accurate, but selected to prove its own case. Each ignores the real fact - what the other side feels.'
As a Christian I am told that if, on my way to the altar, I remember that my brother holds some grievance against me, I must first go and put that right. It is a definite instruction to take account not of what I feel, but of what he feels.
In the English-Irish conundrum one cannot, of course, afford to be naive. There are plenty of ruthless people concerned only with the pursuit of power or profit. But what is the difference between facing reality and writing people off? It's no good using realism as an excuse for only dealing with those I find congenial or manageable. For progress to be made, new ground has to be broken. More is needed than a consensus of like-minded middle-of-the-roaders.
Nothing to do with doormats
My wife and I called, unannounced, on a Sinn Fein Republican. He has been in and out of prison for his beliefs. We came in as his family gathered to eat, and felt their warmth towards each other. Even in that brief moment, stereotypes began to be broken.
I said we had come to listen, so he poured out his views and his bitter alienation. I could not agree with all he said, but together we were able to take a fresh look at the realities. For instance, we both love our country, but certain things which strike a chord of pride in me mean humiliation to him.
I declared our interest. Could we work towards an Ireland which would not just benefit my group or benefit his, but which could restore faith to the world, through its demonstration of creative unity?
Such unity has nothing to do with coerced conformity or superficial consensus. And it has nothing to do with being apologetic or a doormat for others to walk on. Relationships only come right when I am true to my convictions. It does mean seeing that everyone has the opportunity for the best.
'Not my will, but thine.' Not my privilege or profit, not my politics or my most prickly points of view, but God's. That is the source of the unity most worth working for - a unity of obedience.
Peter Hannon is author of 'Southern Africa what kind of change'.
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