Considering we spend so much time discussing the actions and motivations of republicans, it is strange that we have paid so little attention to one remarkable symmetry between the first IRA ceasefire and the announcement of the second.
It has been noted, but no more, that the first ceasefire lasted 526 days and 18 hours, which is precisely the same period as elapsed between the Canary Wharf bomb of February 1996 and the beginning of this ceasefire. In as far as we have noticed this, we regard it as a coincidence.
For some time now, it has appeared certain that the IRA was headed towards a second ceasefire; the only question was to do with timing. Given the psychology of the republican movement, it was important that the moment have a symbolic importance which would signal clearly that the ceasefire was being declared on the IRA's terms, rather than on those laid down by its adversaries or critics. The most obvious moment would have been at midnight on August 31st, the third anniversary of the original ceasefire, but this would be too late to allow for Sinn Fein's participation in the talks process.
The symbolism of the chosen moment achieved much the same effect, while also meeting the deadlines. This is not an academic point: it has to do with the IRA's ostensibly contradictory desires to abandon armed struggle without seeming to surrender. For peace to be achieved, these desires need to be reconciled.
The decision by both sets of paramilitaries in 1994 to leave down the gun was easier for loyalists than for the IRA, because the conventional wisdom arising from years of successful propaganda had characterised loyalist violence as a reaction to that of republicans. In the same way, the loyalist decision to desist from murder was treated as a noble act of statesmanship. The corresponding decision on the republican side was met with scepticism and mean-mindedness: it wasn't "genuine" or "permanent" enough.
What this was all about was not the authenticity or otherwise of the ceasefire but the consternation of the enemies of Irish nationalism confronted with the possibility of a massive moral defeat. By this I do not mean just unionists and the British government, but also the enemies of Irish nationalism in the Republic. It must surely have been clear to any objective observer that, whatever else these people were seeking, the idea of a lasting peace was not foremost in their minds.
In a certain light, it appeared that what they wanted was the surrender of the IRA, but I'm not sure that this analysis allows sufficiently for the scale of their cynicism. What they really wanted was to confront the IRA with a Hobson's choice between surrender and a return to conflict - knowing, as they did, that the IRA would not surrender. In short, they wanted the IRA to return to murder and mayhem, because this was the best way of vindicating their own commitment to pessimism and inertia.
The indications thus far are that this ceasefire will not be as subject to this syndrome as was the first. Apart from a couple of brief and predictable outbursts, the mood of the Republic appears to have settled down to the notion that even a "tactical" ceasefire is better than a war. It is true that a continuing low-level degree of muttering insinuates that to adopt a tactical approach to peace is in some way dishonourable. But there is nothing wrong with tactics, and certainly not with a tactic that results in the saving of life.
Tactics are as much a part of war as of politics. Once you accept the legitimacy of armed struggle on any level (as the IRA does), the question of the balance between politics and violence is, quite obviously, a tactical one. The decision of republicans in recent years to engage their opponents on the issue of peace was, clearly, a tactical move. By the same token, it would be naive to see the use of force by the IRA in that period as anything other than complementary to this process. Unfortunately, such was the cynicism of the late and unlamented Tory government that the armed force element of this tactic always appeared to achieve movement, while the pursuit of peace by political means invariably met with intransigence and inertia. The lesson seemed unambiguous: nothing succeeds quite like Semtex.
We were observing the laying of an extremely clever trap, in which republicanism is now entangled. In the carefully constructed moral climate of the North, IRA atrocities, while seeming to keep republican demands on the agenda, in reality enable unionists to win the propaganda war while doing nothing but mouthing "No". This traps republicanism within a paradox which is fatal not merely to themselves. Whenever republicans show a willingness to adopt a more political strategy, the unionists up the ante until the IRA feels it has no choice but to go back to killing people. By confining the IRA's options to either war or surrender, the union's defenders can keep republicans permanently excluded.
What the leadership of unionism is saying is that it will not talk to republicans until the IRA surrenders. And because this is not going to happen, unionism reinforces its copper-bottomed "moral" argument for refusing to talk about peace. This brings republicans to a moment of truth. Unfortunately for them, the moral climate of the conflict is unassailable, unless something breaks the cycle. This is to say that, even allowing for the putative good will of Tony Blair's government, and the relative silencing of pro-unionist propagandists in the Republic, there is a limit to what republicans can achieve by simply abstaining from murder.
The IRA knows better than anyone that, if the present ceasefire is continued in spite of unionist obduracy, it will become, at some indeterminate point, a surrender by default. Sooner or later, on its existing logic, the IRA will have to reconsider the question of the balance of advantage between the continuance of tactical peace and a return to conflict. Therefore, unless the unionist leadership can either be marginalised or compelled to talk about peace, there is nowhere for anyone to go. There is, however, another way for republicans to win: by the declaration of a philosophical commitment to non-violent resistance, which would remove the gun from Irish nationalism without conditions, and shame unionism to the negotiating table.
Martin Luther King, who adapted this strategy from Mahatma Gandhi's blueprint, spoke of the moral power of non-violence as something akin to force but without the same price in human suffering. Non-violence is not the refuge of cowards. It is, in King's own words, "non-aggressive physically but dynamically aggressive spiritually". It would, of course, have to be radically adapted to suit the climate of the North, but its adoption would provide the republican movement with a means of scuppering the present pseudo-moral climate, without any loss of face.