Протестантский священник вспоминает, как 220 девочек прошли через блокаду в Белфасте ради права на образование

When Fr Aidan Troy returned to Belfast in October last year, one of the first things he did was walk up Ardoyne Road to Holy Cross girls’ school. It was the first time in almost a quarter of a century that he’d retraced the few hundred yards of road that was once the focus of a bitter protest. “I became a priest here,” he says of his baptism of fire, having arrived at Holy Cross Monastery in the summer of 2001. “I was ordained in 1970 in Dublin but I became a priest on that road.” He describes those who walked to school through the gauntlet of hate as “220 of the bravest girls I’ve ever seen, and the bravest families I’ve ever seen”. The Passionist priest says he “one hundred percent” sympathised with the people of Glenbryn, believing that unionist politicians did little at the time to discourage a perception that republicans were “gaining everything”. “When (the then first minister) David Trimble asked me what it was all about, I told him I didn’t know but that he’d have to find out because otherwise it would be the unwinding of the Good Friday Agreement,” he says. Among the many people Fr Troy credits with eventually bringing the dispute to an end is Reverend Norman Hamilton, the then minister in nearby Ballysillan Presbyterian Church and later moderator of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland. The pair worked on the ground with representatives from both communities, the Northern Ireland Office (NIO), and with Stormont’s leaders –the aforementioned Trimble and then deputy first minister Mark Durkan – to seek a resolution to what at times appeared to be an intractable situation. After initially making headlines across the world in early September, coverage of Holy Cross declined as the media focused on the aftermath of the World Trade Center attacks in New York. However, the intensity of the protest was unabated. Sporadic rioting and unrest linked to the protest continued throughout the autumn, though on November 9, it was suspended for one day to enable the children to sit their 11-plus exam. Betty Quinn, a teacher at the school during the protest who would later become its principal, remembers how counsellors and psychiatrists worked with the children throughout the 11-week ordeal, with the priority being to ensure the children were “safe and happy”. “While all this was going on we still had to teach them and they had to learn, so we kept our school work going as normal,” she says. “In spite of all that was happening, they did well in the 11-plus that year.” While the children and their parents garnered widespread support, including visits from Archbishop Desmond Tutu and civil rights campaigner Minnijean Brown-Trickey, as well as being accompanied on their walk to school by Tory shadow secretary of state Quentin Davies, the protestors became isolated and their methods increasingly disparaged. Ardoyne community worker Elaine Burns, whose two daughters attended Holy Cross school during the blockade, believes the protestors had painted themselves into a corner. “They found themselves in a situation that was really hard to get out of, and quite clearly there wasn’t those strong personalities or leaders within their community to help direct them in the right way, so it descended into what it was,” she recalls. Professor Peter Shirlow argues that the dynamic on the loyalist side was complicated. “This episode was in some ways a major jolt to the Progressive Unionist Party and other inclusive forms of loyalism that had supported the Good Friday Agreement,” he says. “They were undermined by a more vociferous and sectarian group that were anti-agreement, status seeking and those who articulated that the peace process undermined their communities. It became dangerous for the more progressive voices to engage and push for reason and cessation. They did eventually win out through back channels and private conversations with the NIO and Ardoyne representatives.” The then Queen’s University academic, who is now director of the University of Liverpool’s Institute of Irish Studies, believes those on the loyalist side who were central to the dispute had little desire for it to end. “This was their chance to get loyalism back into the game, so to speak,” he says. “It was without doubt those more dedicated to the parity of esteem model and co-existence between the two communities who eventually won through.” Amid mounting moral and political pressure, the protest group began to fracture, and on Friday 23 November the attempted blockade was suspended. “When the more progressive-minded loyalists understood that the more regressive elements were running out of steam then they had space to work to find solutions,” says Peter Shirlow. There was never an official resolution to the dispute and still today many of those involved speak about it only reluctantly, fearing glibness or complacency could see it reignited. Among the measures that brought it to a conclusion were optional buses for children and parents to and from the school, improved security measures along the interface, new housing in Glenbryn, and an enhancement of the public realm in and around the school. A proposal to realign the road, which was opposed by Ardoyne residents, never came to fruition. “I think it withered away,” says Sinn Féin MLA Gerry Kelly. “Unionist politicians like Fred Cobain and Billy Hutchinson knew that it was the wrong thing to do, and they argued that and they tried to do something about it, which was a sensible thing to do. But they then backed this narrative that ‘Sinn Féin knew exactly what they’re doing, this is how republicans operate’ and all that.” While tensions and suspicion between the two communities still exist, it’s widely acknowledged that relations are vastly improved. “There’s good cross-community networks now,” says Mr Kelly. “That doesn’t mean to say they agree with each other – and they don’t. They won’t agree on everything and that’s fair enough but at least there is open discussion.” Soon after the suspension, efforts to rebuild relations between Holy Cross and nearby Wheatfield Primary School began. The work of the charity Peaceplayers, which uses sport to build relationships between children from divided communities, is singled out by many for particular praise. In the weeks after the dispute’s suspension, the children acquired minor celebrity status and enjoyed several outings, including to the pantomime and to Aras an Uachtaran as guests of President Mary McAleese, herself a native of Ardoyne. School principal at the time Anne Tanney felt “it was such an awful thing that you couldn’t imagine anything good coming out of it” but she was nonetheless determined to play her part in reconciliation. The 81-year-old also recalls how a special bond was formed with children and parents during those 11 weeks. “We definitely had a different, very good relationship with our parents and children afterwards because we got to know them very well. We were all in this together.” Mrs Tanney draws parallels between the girls’ experience 25 years ago and pupils who were unable to go to school during June’s race riots in parts of Belfast and a small number of other towns. “When the trouble outside our school ended I thought that I would never again have to hug a child and say: ‘Don’t be afraid’ but sadly I was in that position recently. “This time I was not talking to one of our pupils, but to a child who was afraid to leave the house to go to school because of the colour of their skin. “Surely the tragedy of Holy Cross has taught us that all children and adults have a basic right to live and learn and thrive - free from fear?” Betty Quinn acknowledges that the protest left its mark on many of the children who are now adults, but she also speaks of “post-traumatic growth” and how a negative experience can be turned into something positive: “A lot of the children that we would meet now have done very well and gone onto to have successful careers. It hasn’t held them back in any way.” Arguably, Elaine Burns’s daughters Leona and Niamh, who now work in accountancy and community development, are a living testament to the merits of post-traumatic growth. Their mother reflects on what they went through 25 years ago, safe in the knowledge that her daughters have latterly endorsed her decision to stand up for their right to go to school. “The only people who I ever have to justify what I did to is my daughters,” says Mrs Burns. “I always said that when they became adults, and became fully aware of what happened, and told me what I did was wrong, then I’d accept that. Thankfully, on the rare occasions we discuss it, they tell me that I 100% did the right thing.”