The truth is, within the unionist community, no one is losing much sleep over the fate of the political institutions, writes David Adams
THE MERE hint of a crisis at Stormont used to be enough to throw the people of Northern Ireland into a state of gloom, fearful that the political institutions might collapse. But not now.
So often have we been down the Assembly-in-crisis road before that even the local television reporters are finding it hard to feign interest in (never mind concern about) the latest threat-posing shenanigans. The furrow-browed, funereal-style, news-topping reports of stalemate at Stormont are no more; instead, now it's just bland updates on something that has slipped far down everyone's agenda.
Neither is this simply down to a complacent certainty that resolution only requires, yet again, the ego-placating arrival of a prime minister or two to reassure our attention-seeking political class that they have not been forgotten about.
The truth is, within the unionist community at least, no one is losing much sleep over the fate of the political institutions. Given a guarantee of relatively smooth running and a positive difference being made to their lives, most would rather that Stormont remained.
However, the chances of those requirements being met have for a long time seemed remote, so unionists have started to feel that a return to direct rule from Westminster might not be the worst thing that could happen. Indeed, a growing number would now prefer direct rule to an Executive that has hardly been noted for its work rate since being resurrected.
As the novelty value of the Paisley/McGuinness Chuckle Brothers routine began to wear thin, it became increasingly clear that behind the public displays of joviality there was nothing of any substance being dealt with. Unattended business piled up, as every awkward issue was either quietly long-fingered, or squabbled over incessantly and left hanging without resolution.
Education is only one example of many. In virtually his last act as education minister before the previous administration collapsed, Martin McGuinness abolished academic selection for children transferring from primary to post-primary school. His party colleague and current Education Minister, Caitríona Ruane, has clung fast to that decision despite there being no agreement for it within the Executive, and quite a deal of opposition to it across the entire community.
Critically, and of major concern to many thousands of parents of primary school children, while the 11-plus transfer test is due to end this year, lack of agreement in the Executive means that no decision has been reached on how transfers will be handled in the future. For parents and teachers alike, the future holds only confusion and uncertainty, and looks set to remain that way.
The current crisis is rooted in Sinn Féin's overselling of the St Andrews Agreement to its own constituency. What were mere target dates for the introduction of an Irish language Act and the devolution of policing and justice were represented by them as being copper-fastened agreements on timescale.
As these dates came and went without delivery, and the reality of St Andrews gradually dawned on the republican electorate, Sinn Féin began to panic, accusing the DUP of reneging on solid commitments and, latterly, threatening to bring down the Executive unless they get their own way.
It isn't as though anyone seriously believes that Sinn Féin can't tell the difference between target dates and firm agreements: they were clear enough in the past where target dates for IRA decommissioning were concerned.
While Gerry Adams accuses "certain DUP members" of being opposed to the very concept of powersharing, his own party is shedding disillusioned members with monotonous regularity (hence the repeated call for the DUP to "show leadership" - in other words, ignore your own constituency to placate ours).
The Sinn Féin accusations are also an old Trimble-era tactic. Republicans of this variety have time for only two types of unionist: the naively acquiescent who can be bent to will, and the nakedly sectarian who dutifully fulfil all of the old stereotypes they actively propagate.
Those unionists refusing to play the former must invariably be painted as the latter, with no regard paid to the vast majority of ordinary decent people who sit between those two points.
The republican calculation seems to be that the DUP's own hunger for position and power, along with pressure from the two governments not to allow the Executive fall, will be enough to ensure that Sinn Féin eventually gets its way.
However, regardless of external pressures and career considerations, there can be no doubt that the DUP will be paying proper regard to the views of that vast section of moderate unionism that Sinn Féin conveniently ignores. And they will know that it is in no mood to sanction the devolution of something as critically important as policing and justice.
Not with the Executive having thus far proved incapable of dealing with even the most mundane aspects of everyday governance and, most especially, with republican involvement in the murders of Robert McCartney and Paul Quinn still fresh in the mind.
Whether Gerry Adams realises it or not, his threatening to bring down the Executive if policing and justice isn't devolved doesn't sound like much of a threat at all to the unionist community.