Hume had powerful enemies and many dark days but never gave up
Ever since I got to know him in the mid-1970s, John Hume almost always looked a worried man. He could enjoy himself on a night out or when immersed in a debate, or when relaxing in his beloved Donegal, yet for much of the time he came across as a man who brooded a lot, carrying the worries of the world on his shoulders.
He had good reason to be worried, because he had many powerful political enemies who over the years tried hard to bring him down. It is true many people put him on a pedestal and hugely admired him, but the other side of the coin was that he could generate what might be called fury among other elements.
His political path meant he put himself at odds with a number of British administrations, with militant republicanism, with much of the Dublin establishment, and with the entire sweep of unionism and loyalism.
For decades he tried, but failed, to convince unionism that his vision of an agreed Ireland would be of benefit to them rather than a menacing prospect.
I once asked the late Dr Maurice Hayes, his close friend, if John had ever fully persuaded a single unionist that he wished to benefit their tradition. Maurice thought for a while then answered, ‘Well, there was one, Beezer Porter’ – a moderate unionist politician from the early 1970s. He could think of no other.
Over the decades the Dublin Department of Foreign Affairs built up a network of private contacts with many politicians and others in Northern Ireland.
When I asked a senior Irish diplomat what picture the Department had of unionist attitudes to Hume he gave a one-word answer – ‘Hatred.’
Part of this attitude sprang from political envy, for in so many conversations I had over the years unionists – and indeed loyalist paramilitaries – would generally start by slagging off John but would often conclude with, ‘I just wish our side had somebody as smart as him.’
Unionism recognised from the early days that he was a formidable opponent, better intellectually equipped than almost all of its representatives.
There was also much resentment within British governments over his insistence that the Troubles would not be ended with an internal settlement, and that a solution was to be found in a wider context, building in other dimensions.
Some internal Northern Ireland Office documents came close to sneering at him, one declaring: ‘John Hume has been recognised as a kind of lay saint throughout nationalist Ireland and the overseas Irish diaspora. There are those who regard any degree of criticism of him as close to blasphemy.’
But criticism of him reached unprecedented levels when he opened talks with Gerry Adams while the IRA was still bombing and shooting. He was accused of ‘playing political footsie with terrorists’.
The criticism reached new heights after an IRA bombing killed Protestant civilians in 1993. The UDA warned publicly: ‘John Hume, Gerry Adams and the nationalist electorate will pay a heavy, heavy price.’
Hume said: ‘I know the risk I am taking in this. I am a human being. I will do everything in my power to bring this to an end.’
When loyalists retaliated by killing Catholics he was pictured weeping at a funeral.
Pale and chain-smoking, he was at his lowest ebb, caught in an extraordinary deluge of condemnation. One Dublin paper carried nine articles in a single issue lambasting him.
There was negligible political or media support for him and many calls for the resignation of the man who would one day be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.
The unprecedented pressure took its toll: he collapsed and was taken to hospital, leading most to suppose the peace process was all over. I spoke at the time to Hume’s wife Pat, who for decades was one of his rocks, holding the fort in the family home during the many times of trouble and turmoil. (One of her roles was to make sure he kept appointments, John saying: ‘I’m a parcel, Pat delivers me.’)
Once when I rang the house she said, ‘I suppose you want to speak to me bars.’ When I asked what she meant, she explained with a laugh that this was a phrase Derry women used to refer to their man.
When I asked her about the tsunami of criticism she said that was not the real picture, and that her husband was personally receiving huge waves of support. What form did this take, I queried.
It was the post arriving at the house, she said. When I pressed her on this she agreed to lend me, on condition of anonymity, his mailbag. She handed over to me two shopping bags bulging with
Unionists slagged John but would conclude, ‘I just wish our side had somebody as smart as him’
Pale and chain-smoking, he was at his lowest ebb, caught in a deluge of condemnation
over a thousand letters, notes and cards, most of them with messages urging him to persevere with his project.
It took me hours and hours to read them all. A typical one came from a Catholic woman in north Belfast who wrote: ‘After the recent massacres we were in total despair. We were plain terrified – in the darkest hours of recent weeks we had one tenacious hope and voice – you.’
Another came from a nun: ‘It does cut through my heart as I watch the news and hear of murder after murder,’ she wrote. ‘So you keep up the negotiations, I’ll keep up the prayers.’
A woman wrote from Belfast: ‘My husband is a Methodist minister who is glad I’m sending you this note. I am ashamed I have never written before to say I admire the way you have given of yourself.’
From County Dublin a woman sent the message: ‘I am 84 years of age and do not find letter-writing easy. The self-seekers jockeying for power and the limelight are not fit to polish your shoes. May God reward your efforts.’
In angry exchanges on the floor of the House of Commons, Hume clashed with prime minister John Major. Then, he revealed later, he indulged in an unusually close form of political contact.
He recalled an encounter with Major in the bar: ‘I walked up to him and caught him by the coat and said, “Gladstone failed, Lloyd George failed and Churchill failed. If you succeed you will go down in history as the prime minister who brought peace to Ireland”.’
Major himself confirmed the encounter: ‘He took me by the lapels very emotionally, seeking a peace in Northern Ireland – for it passionately mattered to him – and said, “You can achieve it”.’
The peace process wound on for many tortuous months but in the end delivered a new beginning in Northern Ireland. His efforts earned John Hume a place in history as the man who showed the way, and the man who, through so many dark moments, never, ever, gave up.