A city once stained red finally got peace
Despite his violent past, McGuinness has ensured a better life for Derry’s future generations
THERE’S an intense sadness on the streets of Derry as my home city prepares to bury one of its sons. Martin McGuinness passed away peacefully at Altnagelvin Hospital, surrounded by the green hills of the Sperrins, with his family at his bedside.
Just a few weeks ago, when the cameras caught the then Deputy First Minister getting into his chair as he prepared to announce his retirement from politics, he looked frail and worn.
With no idea that the cameras were rolling already, he sighed: ‘Ah, dear. Oh,’ as he shuffled his papers in front of him.
It was a telling moment, the guard was down and the man, who was clearly suffering from a serious illness, uttered a phrase typical of any Derry parent of a certain generation.
And right then, the hearts of people in this city went out to him – not the politician leaving the top job, but the man who was bravely carrying the heavy burden of his illness.
McGuinness was a figure who loomed large in Derry’s bricks and mortar.
His house on Westland Terrace overlooked the Bogside and the scene of one of the most horrendous murders of the Troubles on Bloody Sunday when 14 people died at the hands of British troops.
McGUINNESS, by his own admissions, was already involved in the IRA then and, no doubt, the appalling and wicked murders which took place on that day galvanised his devotion to the cause of republicanism.
Indeed, many of those in the generation ahead of him initially were reticent about his political metamorphosis. Some simply could not distance the politician from the man who was a member of an organisation that blew up friends and neighbours, brought thriving businesses in Derry to the ground with the flick of a trigger-switch, who led sons and daughters to prisons or coffins.
And McGuinness certainly was not in the same ball-park as John Hume – at the ballot box, he never matched the popularity Hume had among his own people, failing to get elected when running in Foyle, such was the might of the SDLP.
Instead, he switched to stand in Mid-Ulster where he was finally elected in 1997.
However, if history cannot be revised, then surely McGuinness also deserves much credit for his role in the peace process too.
As Sinn Féin’s chief negotiator for the Good Friday Agreement he moved mountains no-one ever thought would shift, helping achieve what my generation – those who had only known a Northern Ireland dogged by violence – never thought would be possible.
From what was perceived to be an entrenched position, McGuinness helped Sinn Féin persuade the IRA to accept the idea that a peaceful settlement without a United Ireland was possible and, indeed, what most people wanted.
Coming from such staunch ideals, it was a move that would lead to McGuinness losing friends and making enemies of those in his home city who believed Sinn Féin had sold them down the river. But he helped Derry lead the way when it came to negotiations with the Apprentice Boys and the residents of the Bogside over contentious parade routes, making the city an example of what could be achieved if both sides brought understanding and open minds to the table.
Moving into the Assembly to take the post as Deputy First Minister was another giant risk for McGuinness to take, and few imagined that power sharing with the DUP and Ian Paisley would work. But work it did, with the two arch-enemies ending up as friends, showing compassion to one another and also earning their Chuckle Brothers nickname for enjoying a bit of craic too.
These are the things that made Martin McGuinness a remarkable person – his ability to move forward, regardless of how others saw him. He persisted in pushing the new Northern Ireland and, though many cannot forgive or forget his past deeds, his legacy will be one of peace and progression. Outside of the political arena, McGuinness managed a feat that other politicians often fall foul of – he remained a devoted family man.
He doted on his wife Bernadette and four children, making sure their lives stayed well away from the spotlight he had chosen for himself.
He followed, indeed, in the footsteps of his own parents, creating a close family bond.
LIKE many other working-class Derry people, McGuinness grew up in a two-up, two-down terraced house, with four brothers and one sister. His parents were devout Catholics and went to Mass daily, while the family said the rosary at night.
And McGuinness never lost this faith – in fact he reportedly prayed with Ian Paisley on a regular basis, the two men, no doubt, asking God for solutions that would ensure Northern Ireland remained at peace.
On the night he resigned, Martin McGuinness broke down as he gave a short speech to his supporters, outside his home, on the hills overlooking the Brandywell. And anyone who saw him utter those few words could not deny what being a politician meant to Martin McGuinness.
For someone who grew up amid the Troubles, I often wondered, as a teenager, why no-one was stopping the violence that stained red my otherwise everyday life.
With every friend who lost someone, or was killed themselves, for every neighbour who died tragically at the hands of this unholy war being waged on our streets, I prayed for the violence to stop.
And I am proud that two Derry men managed to make this happen for the generations who came after me and now inhabit a Northern Ireland that my 16-year-old self could barely dream of.
To move on in any situation, forgiveness is key, which is why, in my opinion, the most recent actions of Martin McGuinness should take precedence over his IRA past.
And it is for paving the path to peace that he will largely be remembered.