It was clear that Boyle’s reputation extended to the Maze
❝ Loyalist inmates initially objected to him contacting Boyle
walked free, Boyle received a letter from another prisoner, but one with a very different story.
It came from Billy Hutchinson, a leading figure in the extreme loyalist paramilitary group the UVF, who had been convicted of involvement in two sectarian murders of Catholics in Belfast in 1974 and was 10 years into a life sentence.
“Dear Mr Boyle,” the letter began. “I am a loyalist prisoner. I am serving a life sentence. The reason for writing is to find out if you would be interested in our case as life prisoners without a release scheme. We would be grateful if you could guide us in some direction that could get our case heard.”
Hutchinson was the ‘officer commanding’ all UVF prisoners in the Maze prison, a role he had taken over from Gusty Spence, a UVF leader whose murder of Catholic barman Peter Ward in 1966 had helped fuel the tensions that led to the Troubles.
During his time in prison, however, Spence had concluded that traditional loyalist violence was futile and that a political solution was the only way to end the conflict. Influenced by the evolution in Spence’s thinking, Hutchinson too was moving in this direction — a transformation that would in the 1990s make him a key figure in ending UVF terrorism as the peace process gathered momentum.
In 1984, though, Hutchinson was involved in a simpler, but in some respects just as daunting, task: working with a group of life prisoners to persuade the Northern Irish authorities to offer at least the hope of a parole, or release, scheme for inmates whose views, Hutchinson contended, had modified behind bars.
In his letter, Hutchinson went out of his way to make sure that Boyle knew of his loyalist background and stressed that he was not speaking for republican prisoners.
For his part, Boyle would undoubtedly have heard of Hutchinson and Boyle’s reputation had clearly penetrated the walls of the Maze.
Indeed, some of Hutchinson’s fellow loyalist inmates initially objected to Hutchinson contacting him because of Boyle’s history as a leading figure in the civil rights movement.
To Hutchinson, that did not matter. “The reason why we wrote to him,” Hutchinson recalled, “was we thought he was the one best placed. He was the one who seemed to be getting all the accolades — not just here, but for his work abroad.
“It made more sense for us to talk to him on the basis that he was the human rights lawyer with the best profile and the one with the understanding of international law and human rights.”
To the sceptics, Hutchinson said his response was “hold on a minute. This guy is a professional and what we have to assume is that he behaves in a professional way. He doesn’t work on some sort of sectarian kneejerk thing about who people are. And that means he comes without any preconceived notion about an individual, or a group.”
Hutchinson’s judgment was correct. Boyle quickly replied with a positive note, offering to help and expressing optimism that “there are some possibilities”.
A month later, Boyle received a three-page memo from Hutchinson, outlining the plight of the loyalist life-sentence prisoners. Although it would take another decade before the UVF declared a ceasefire, the document provided revealing insights into how the thinking of one-time-extremists like Hutchinson was changing.
It claimed many young Protestants who got involved in violence had been “led astray by the bellicose rhetoric of demagogic leaders”. This was a clear reference to Ian Paisley (right), who had acquired a reputation for making fiery speeches and then managing to disappear when the violence inevitably followed.
It said that Hutchinson and his fellow loyalist lifers were now “liberating themselves from the prejudices, fears and illusions which became instilled in their minds from the advent of the Troubles ... Peaceful co-existence achieves more than violent confrontation.”
The document expressed remorse, noting that life prisoners “are also human beings and recognise the suffering which resulted from their actions”. It stressed the fact that the prisoners were using their time behind bars to learn new skills, take classes and forge a commitment to reintegrate into society and lead productive, non-violent lives.
And, yet, it concluded that the prisoners felt “forgotten” by the outside world, except for their long-suffering families, because the authorities would not give them any idea when they might be considered for parole. It was on this question that Hutchinson had written to Boyle for advice.
In his response, Boyle, likely sensing the importance of the political evolution the document articulated, was predictably both practical and encouraging. He praised the memo and said that, if the Northern Ireland Office remained unresponsive, Hutchinson should consider making it public.
He also suggested that, in communicating with the authorities, Hutchinson should emphasise that lifers who were released understood they could be sent back to prison if they again became involved in illegal activities.
This, Boyle said, would be a “useful argument” that might help blunt official reluctance to consider a parole scheme, as would evidence from prisoners’s families of possible employment opportunities that might be available after their release.
Finally, he offered to encourage a non-sectarian group in Belfast called the Committee on the Administration of Justice in Northern Ireland, which was respected by the Northern Ireland
Office and had good contacts in the bureaucracy, to work on the plight of those serving life sentences. “Keep up your spirits,” the letter ended. “I look forward to meeting with you.”
During 1985, public pressure in Northern Ireland from both communities for changes in procedures for life prisoners was growing.
As promised, Boyle lent his voice to the lobbying. “The stuff we were doing with Kevin was great,” Hutchinson recalled. “Some of the things he had been working on were the things that came to fruition.”
Later that year, the Northern Ireland Office issued a memo outlining a new policy. It stressed that life sentences were reviewed by prison officers every year and, at 10 years, the case would come before a Life Sentence Review Board, composed of civil servants, probation officers and a psychiatrist.
While both republican and loyalist prisoners complained about the lack of openness in the process, it was a start. And, by the end of the decade, it led to the release of a number of life-sentence prisoners, including Billy Hutchinson. He was freed in 1990 and became an important figure as loyalist extremists became involved in the peace process.
Years later, he remained grateful for Boyle’s help. “He wasn’t in it for people because of the colour of their skin, or their religion. He was in it for people who he felt were on the other end of an injustice that shouldn’t have happened.”
Mike Chinoy, a long-time foreign correspondent, covered the Troubles in Northern Ireland in the 1970s and 1980s. He is currently a Hong Kong-based non-resident senior fellow at the University of Southern California’s Us-china Institute. His new book, Are You With Me?: Kevin Boyle and the
Rise of the
Human Rights Movement, is published by The Lilliput Press, priced £18 (https://www. lilliputpress.ie/ product/