For the past 28 years, at least, the only issue that has consistently united unionist politicians in Northern Ireland has been the opportunity, frequently afforded, to condemn republican violence. When the IRA fulfils its customary role of bombing Ulster's towns and killing its citizens, a convincing unity of purpose appears to exist among pro-Union parties.

But differences simmer not far beneath the surface. And it is when IRA ceasefires are in place that relationships between the various strands of unionism are subjected to the most exacting test. This was obvious in 1994, and has been all too apparent since July 20th when the IRA renewed its cessation of violence after 18 months of malevolent activity.

Unionist leaders are holidaying across Europe and America now, but for most it will be a working vacation. It is doubtful if any of them will spend a day in the sunshine without reflecting on the recent vote on decommissioning, and anticipating, with some trepidation, the dawn of Monday, September 15th. That is when substantial talks are due to take place at Stormont, with Sinn Fein waiting in the wings and fully expecting to take seats at the negotiating table before the Provos have given up an ounce of Semtex or a single high-velocity bullet.

Unionists have been fighting a rearguard action against such a possibility since it became evident that both the British and Irish governments, admittedly at different speeds, were working towards that common objective.

The changes in both London and Dublin have advanced the day of reckoning. The joint decommissioning proposals by the two governments may have been put to the sword last month but privately unionists fear they have lost this battle. They do not believe their own government is sufficiently committed to decommissioning as an overriding principle, while the Irish Government, in whose territory most of the illegal weaponry and explosives are hoarded, has at best appeared apathetic.

Yet the handing over of weapons by terrorist organisations has been an important issue for unionists for longer than most parties to the current debate would care to admit. When Gerry Adams and John Hume insinuate that the concept of decommissioning was conjured up by a dilatory British government to frustrate the prospect of all-party talks, they are being disingenuous.

On the day the loyalist ceasefire was announced, over 91 per cent of callers to a News Letter telephone poll called on the paramilitaries on both sides to "give up the guns". For them it would have provided an unprecedented proof that there was a genuine conversion to democratic principles.

In the absence of that proof, deep suspicions remained. All of the main unionist parties have consistently declared that they will not sit at the same table as Sinn Fein unless decommissioning is ongoing. They see the two governments now acting as conspirators, bringing the representatives of armed republicans into democratic negotiations. Their basic instinct is to kiss the talks goodbye.

Yet many unionists do not want to bring the talks to an end. They know they will stand accused of wrecking the peace process. They risk leaving a vacuum in which governments in London and Dublin will take it upon themselves to decide how Northern Ireland can best be governed. Most agree on the nature of the problem. What divides them, as ever, is the question of how best to respond to what they regard as a renewed attack on the Union.

The depth of that division has been apparent in responses to the News Letter's recent editorial line, which urged all unionists to stay in the talks regardless of the outcome of the decommissioning vote and to confront republicans in negotiations.

Such a stance required sideways movement on our part, and we made that move in the knowledge that it would incense those who regarded any perceptible shift on the part of "their newspaper" as worthy in comparison to the actions of Judas Iscariot.

Crucial to the validity of both these "nudges" was a discernible change in the mood of grassroots unionists, who are demonstrably weary of what we described as "death-wish politics," the sort which, in one form or another, has epitomised unionism since the abolition of Stormont. Whether by accident or design, the Orange Order had tapped into that mood when it voluntarily re-routed four contentious parades on the Twelfth Day.

Many of those most relieved by its decision were themselves Orangemen, some with a vested interest in avoiding the social and economic implications of another summer of hate. Others were glad to know that their annual day of celebration could take place in an atmosphere better suited to the traditionally celebratory mood of the occasion.

But there were plenty of people willing to vent abuse at the Orange Order and the News Letter. The DUP leader, Dr Ian Paisley, in a consideration subsequently given credibility by a London Sunday newspaper, went as far as saying that News Letter policy was now being dictated from Canary Wharf, headquarters of the "Troops Out" Mirror Group, which acquired the title last year.

Coming from a politician with little knowledge of how newspapers develop editorial policy, such a view was perhaps forgivable. Dr Paisley could not accept that newspapers could react speedily to changing circumstances, while party political dogma is less receptive to the degree of gentle metamorphosis which is necessary for it to remain relevant over a long timespan.

Tom Collins, editor of the Irish News, once told me that in a situation such as ours, with political intransigence endemic on all sides, it was up to the two newspapers which represent the two traditions to become the jokers in the pack from time to time. I can't help but agree.

The News Letter had broken ranks earlier this year when we called, in the light of convincing new evidence, for the British government to apologise for Bloody Sunday. It was an appropriate time to do so. But some politicians and a fair few readers remained impervious to the fact that the full circumstances of what had happened that day were only now coming to light, and required some reappraisal of adopted positions.

In both cases, the negative reaction was symptomatic of the malaise that has afflicted unionism since the abolition of its power base. What is significant is that the greater response in both cases was positive.

Much of it was from readers who despaired at the damage done to unionism by intransigent and predictably dogmatic stances on virtually every issue arising from the peace process, which in reality began in 1972 with the abolition of Stormont.

At that time the then prime minister, Mr Edward Heath, said: "Now is your chance, a chance for fairness, a chance for prosperity, a chance for peace: a chance at last to bring the bombings and killings to an end." Heath did not know enough about Northern Ireland to realise that it was only the end of the beginning, and that his legacy would result in four future prime ministers wrestling with ways and means of ending conflict.

In the last decade the Anglo-Irish Agreement, the Downing Street Declaration and the Framework Documents have also been packaged by the British government as peace proposals. On each occasion unionists interpreted every initiative, particularly those involving the Irish governments, with the greatest suspicion and mistrust. This is not entirely their fault: in its dealings with the Protestants of Ulster, the Irish Government is worthy of censure.

While the British have added to unionist chagrin by developing a neutral stance, pro-nationalist partisanship continues to characterise the Irish Government's activities. The view from the North is that it has stood four-square behind the forces of nationalism while at the same time displaying incredible insensitivity towards unionists.

When Albert Reynolds engaged Gerry Adams and John Hume in a triangular handshake within weeks of the IRA calling its 1994 ceasefire, unionists were every bit as mortified as were nationalists by the infamous Trimble-Paisley clench at Drumcree. From a unionist viewpoint, Reynolds might just as well have shaken hands with the devil.

The reluctance of the Dublin Government to deal with Articles 2 and 3 of the Constitution is seen as another example of bad faith towards unionists. The frosty reaction to the idea that the Republic could rejoin the Commonwealth at some future time is interpreted as an indicator that the Republic is more interested in promoting Sinn Fein than in forming a genuine partnership with London.

It is for reasons like this that even the most liberal of unionists are opposed to unreservedly supporting a process which they believe can only weaken the Union and strengthen the role of a government hostile to their aspirations. The peace train may be standing at the platform, but no one can blame unionists for not stampeding towards it when no one has informed them of the destination.

Despite this, the Ulster Unionists at least, under David Trimble and with the recent general election result putting clear water between them and the DUP, are reluctant to put a block on progress. Significantly, there are many in the party who believe that to do so would be letting down the people who have voted for them.

Undoubtedly they have much hard thinking to do between now and September 12th, holidays or not. Unionist leaders now enjoying their well-earned summer breaks are indeed desperate for inspiration. For them, it might be found on another divided island, Cyprus, which ironically is a favourite destination for some senior unionist figures in the summer months.

There, the solution which is gathering momentum is one which respects borders, protects rights and ensures full minority participation in government. A sort of bigotry-free Stormont, decontaminated and with all the old skeletons cleared from the closets.

Whether that would be acceptable to Gerry Adams and the IRA, and indeed the Irish Government, might in the end prove to be the acid test of the processed peace in Northern Ireland.

Geoff Martin is editor of the Belfast News Letter