Ten years after the Ulster Workers' Council strike, Bill Rolston recounts its history and assesses its impact on subsequent British strategy and the Unionist veto.
'There is a new situation now which we must take account of. We have seen the rise of Ulster nationalism' (Merlyn Rees).
Ten years ago the British government's only serious attempt to replace the devolved system of government in Northern Ireland (NI), abolished in 1972, with something at least superficially different was spectacularly defeated by a strike by NI loyalists grouped together in the Ulster Workers' Council (UWC). Faced with widespread opposition to its proposed power-sharing arrangements, the British backed down. For fourteen days in May the loyalist workers held the political future of NI in their hands.
Ten years later it is appropriate to look at what the long-term effects of that strike have been. The UWC never became a provisional government of a unilaterally declared independent NI. In fact, the independence scenario, embraced willingly by many after the strike, is rarely heard of now. Nor for that matter is the UWC itself, nor its once prominent leaders. But the question is a much deeper one than that. What did the loyalists and the British government learn from that confrontation, and how far has what they learned then fashioned the politics of the last decade?
But first, it is necessary to look at the origins of the UWC and what it managed to accomplish in May 1974. Protestants have dominated skilled manufacturing jobs in NI since the foundation of the state (and before). Like skilled workers elsewhere they are unionised and, if needs be, militant in terms of wages and the conditions of their work. However, they are frequently among the staunchest of unionists not in the trade union sense, but in NI political terms. That is, seeing the historical dependence of industrialisation in the north-east of Ireland on the development of British capitalism, they have judged that the only guarantee of any continued dominance on their part in economic terms rests on a political commitment to keep the union with Britain and to oppose militantly any moves to break or weaken that union.
Consequently, loyalist workers have frequently formed themselves into associations to defend the British link and their position in it. In the early 1920s there was the Ulster Unionist Labour Association, and in the 1930s the Ulster Protestant League, formed 'to safeguard the employment of Protestants'. The fifties saw the similar Ulster Protestant Action. And in 1969, as the present round of 'troubles' took off, a small group was formed calling itself the Workers' Committee for the Defence of the Constitution. Prominent among its members was Billy Hull, a former member of the NI Labour Party, and convener of the engineering shop stewards at Harland and Wolff's shipyard. In 1971 Hull reformed the organisation, and the Loyalist Association of Workers (LAW) was formed. In the next two years LAW flexed its muscles a few times, organising a march of workers demanding the internment of republicans in 1971, closing down heavy industry for two days in 1972 through electricity power cuts in protest at the proroguement of Stormont, and (ironically) slowing industry down again in 1973 in protest at the internment of loyalists.
But LAW broke up in 1973, to be replaced sometime later by the UWC. Hugh Petrie, one of the founders of the Workers' Committee for the Defence of the Constitution, was the leading instigator of the new organisation. A precision engineer at Shorts, he was also a member of the Amalgamated Engineering Union. He brought together a few 'old hands' such as Joe Barkley and Harry Fletcher, also founders of the Workers' Committee for the Defence of the Constitution, and by the beginning of 1974 they had an impressive 21-man executive. On the executive were such paramilitary people as Andy Tyrie of the UDA, Ken Gibson of the UVF, Bob Marno of the Orange Volunteers, George Green of the Ulster Special Constabulary Association and Peter Brush of Down Orange Welfare. The leaders of the three main loyalist parties were also coopted — Ian Paisley, Harry West and Bill Craig. But setting the pace and very much calling the tune on the executive were the skilled workers.
That they were unionists in more senses than one is shown by looking at a few of them.
Jim Smyth, shop steward at Rolls Royce;
Harry Murray, shop steward at Harland and Wolff;
Joe Barkley, convener in Harland and Wolff;
Harry Patterson, assistant shop steward, Shorts;
Eric Montgomery, shop steward at Belfast Power Station East;
Glen Barr, Amalgamated Engineering Union convener at Coolkeeragh power station, once described by Vic Feather of the TUC as 'a very strong trade unionist', and a member of the UDA.
Little wonder that the UWC was to confuse Labour ministers at the NI office, especially Stan Orme. As Robert Fisk puts it, the British were facing:
'a growing working class revolt, fuelled by intimidation and aimed at the overthrow of consensus politics, but springing from the same trade union roots and the same background of poverty and deprivation that had fostered socialism in England' (p66).
The root of the confusion, as the quotation suggests, was the target of the UWC action: not better wages or conditions, not opposition to closure or redundancies, but opposition to the latest British plan for Ireland — an Assembly to replace Stormont. The plan contained two innovations that were the focus of loyalist fury: institutionalised power-sharing at executive level between Protestants and Catholics, and a Council of Ireland to debate matters of common interest to both governments. The Assembly was to discuss ratifying this overall plan at their meeting on May 14, 1974. Despite warnings of bad timing from Craig and Paisley, the UWC threatened a total strike if the ratification occurred. It did, and the UWC swung into action.
The plan was relatively straightforward. The electricity power workers would close down first Coolkeeragh station in Derry (the only station, by far, with a large percentage of Catholic workers, 50 per cent), then Belfast West and finally Belfast East. That would leave NI totally dependent on one station, Ballylumford in Larne, where UWC influence was major. Ballylumford would then itself be run down bringing all industry and many essential services to a complete halt. The British would have to give in eventually, conceding to the UWC demands for the abolition of the Assembly with its power-sharing and Council of Ireland, and the calling of new elections.
Such a plan took time to become fully effective. Thus, on the first day of the strike, although there were quite lengthy power cuts in parts of the North, there was no immediate closure of industry and business. In fact, to all appearances things went on much as usual on the morning of May 14th. Most people turned up for work and had little difficulty doing so as transport was moving freely. But by mid-morning of the first day and to a much greater extent on the second and subsequent days, another element in the plan came into effect — intimidation on a massive scale carried out by the paramilitary groups represented on the UWC executive. Road blocks, hijackings, threats to people at work, beatings of others, and eventually on the 25th, the murder of two Catholic brothers in Ballymena who refused to close their public house.
Of course, the one potential weakness in the loyalist plan was the possible intervention of the police and army. Such intervention in the early days of the strike might have helped to escalate it. On the other hand, the chances were greater that it would have nipped it in the bud. But such intervention did not happen. Any action that actually happened was both too little and too late. Secretary of State Merlyn Rees opted for leaving the strike alone to burn itself out, a naive expectation in the light of the evidence of widespread intimidation. When he finally acted on the 27th by sending in the army to keep a small number of petrol stations open — the UWC had increased the pace of the strike by cutting off petrol supplies except to a few stations nominated by them, where they vetted people queueing for petrol — the UWC was in its position of greatest strength; it responded by announcing the shut down of Ballylumford within twenty four hours. The army were convinced they could not run Ballylumford themselves, with the result that the threat was effective. The powersharing executive resigned on the 29th.
If Rees showed some hesitation in dealing with the strike, the police did not. Unhesitatingly they turned a blind eye to hijackings and intimidations. So worried were army officers by the open collusion between police and strikers that they would have been reluctant to try to engage in joint anti-strike action even if ordered to earlier by Rees. Thus, when the army moved against the Red Hand Commandoes in the wake of the Ballymena killings, they did so unilaterally without informing the police in advance.
Police inactivity was of great help to the UWC. It enabled them to survive the shaky first days of the strike, to gather momentum so that any later action would be even more difficult. In addition the police response to the strike typifies well the reaction of many institutions in NI. A mixture of responses — ranging from deference to outright support — soon became apparent. Middle class businessmen queued up quietly outside the UWC headquarters begging for passes to prove they were essential car users. Civil servants passed on vital information to the UWC, even prior to giving it to NI Office ministers. And the BBC defined its brief of 'impartial reporting' as giving equal time to UWC, thus leading one strike leader, Harry Murray, to acknowledge:
'The BBC were marvellous — they were prepared to be fed any information. They fell into their own trap that ''the public must get the news''. Sometimes they were just a news service for us ... (Fisk, p127)
It was hard to avoid the conclusion that the bulk of the unionist establishment and public was in one way or another supporting the strike. Certainly, this was the conclusion that the power-sharing executive reached. And, for entirely different reasons, it was a widely-held belief in Catholic working class areas. The nationalist response was a somewhat ambivalent one. On the one hand there were those who had no desire to see the Assembly survive. This was the most true in the case of the IRA who in effect engaged in a ceasefire during the strike. From their point of view the loyalists were showing the British one of the things that the IRA had been telling them for years, namely, that NI was basically ungovernable. On the other hand, there was a real fear on the part of the nationalists that the loyalists would let the power go to their heads, as it were. The SDLP (participants in the power-sharing executive) were furious at the British allowing the loyalists to wreck their Assembly.
Ordinary nationalists may have been less protective of the SDLP's sickly baby, but they did fear the latent sectarianism in loyalist dominance. True, the strike had been much less sectarian than many had feared, the Ballymena killings notwithstanding. However, there were twenty eight people killed when car bombs exploded in Dublin and Monaghan on the 5th, and although they were not acknowledged by any organisation, the lesson of the military power, and not just the industrial muscles, of the loyalist workers was not lost on many nationalist workers. Although there was no pogrom launched against nationalist areas during the strike, there was the feeling of helplessness as food and fuel supplies dwindled. Nationalists realised how powerless they were in relation to the power stations, oil refineries and docks, and there was more than one nationalist worker who tried to hold on to enough petrol to get the family across the border if necessary.
This point is very important, not least because it was overlooked at the time by many left commentators. The Communist Party of Ireland (Marxist-Leninist), for example, saw the strike as 'a great step forward for the working class in Ulster, and strengthened their class consciousness, unity and revolutionary sentiment'. Similar sentiments were expressed by Tom Nairn, a writer less easily dismissed as being on the lunatic fringe, in his book which looks [illegible] years after its publication.
'It was the working class that made the Ulster nation. Its 1974 general strike defied, and defeated, three bourgeois governments and the British army. Although they will never concede the fact, it relegated the claims of the IRA forever to that historical archive from which they should never have re-emerged. It was without doubt the most successful political action carried out by any European working class since the World War. Before that turning-point there was an Irish-Protestant nationality confined to the level of pogrom violence, to the archaic inter-class tribalism of the Orange Order, Calvinist bigotry and Kiplinesque empire. After it, there is at least the possibility of a middle class nation.'
Not only does Nairn miss the crucial fact of the relationship of loyalist workers to the state in NI, and therefore the extent to which the state was not prepared to take them on in the same way as, say, the French state did workers in 1968, but he also ignores the ways in which nationalist workers viewed the strike, and the effect the strike may have had on working class unity overall. With commentators right, left and centre either singing the praises of the loyalists, or at least acknowledging their invulnerability, many nationalist workers were understandably wary of what any post-strike political settlement would hold for them. The UWC had only one major demand as they called off the strike — new elections. But the UDA, the largest loyalist paramilitary group represented on the UWC executive, began to canvass actively for an 'independent Ulster'. Many — such as Merlyn Rees — lent credence to the political respectability of the loyalist position by referring to the basic invincibility and new-found nationalism of the loyalists. Even sections of the republican movement toyed for a while with the idea of some kind of 'marriage of convenience' with the loyalists, comparing Jim Smyth of the UWC with Wolfe Tone, the founder of republicanism (in An Phoblacht, 14 June, 1974) and pursuing even more forcefully their then proposal of a federal solution.
The loyalists were on a high, and few were seriously criticising them. But with the benefit of hindsight it is easier to draw another conclusion from the events, a conclusion that helps to explain the partly unarticulated fears of northern nationalists. Faced with even minor changes in their traditional position of dominance the loyalists closed ranks. They pulled the unionist middle class and all the major institutions of the state in behind them and were thus practically invulnerable. The trade unions organised an ill-conceived and abortive back-to-work march on May 19th. The forces of the state did not move against the strikers until it was too late. In short, the loyalists held — and were allowed to hold — the ultimate veto in the political sphere in NI.
In a sense, then, there was little new in the content of the UWC message, despite Rees, Nairn and everyone else. All that was historically different was the form. Hence, comparisons to other eras are both apposite and only partially valid. In 1912, for instance, it was the unionist bourgeoisie which moved against Home Rule and the loyalist working class which fell behind. So, in that sense 1974 was very different. But there is a valid logic in arguing that, at base, there was little difference. In both cases an all-class alliance of unionists opposed British attempts to extricate themselves somewhat from directly governing Ireland. In fact, if anything, there was something perhaps even more pessimistic about 1974 than 1912. In the latter, one could, if one wanted, paint the loyalist working class as duped by its bourgeois masters. But ten years ago the loyalist workers showed, as they have before and since, that they are often stauncher and more militant in their pursuit of the union than some of the unionist bourgeoisie are.
The lesson was not lost on the British. The Assembly, even in full flight, would not have meant any significant weakening of the traditional loyalist position of dominance. It was, however, judged by the loyalists as a potential chink in the armour which, if let be, could lead to the diminution of their power. The message of the UWC strike was that the British were not prepared to push the loyalists on this point of their veto power.
Since 1974 the essence of the bipartisan Direct Rule of the North has been determined by that lesson of the UWC strike. The 1975 Constitutional Convention, which resulted from the new elections demanded by the UWC, was not the Assembly mark two. True, the British were not prepared to concede to the loyalist majority in the Convention a return to straight majority rule, but at the same time, they did not push the loyalists towards any political progress, and the Convention collapsed. In 1977 Paisley, Ernest Baird and the UDA attempted to repeat the UWC strike, but their target — increased security — was less specific and the loyalist unity was much less tight than in 1974. Despite that, the 1977 'lock-out' was no failure. As the British had conceded to loyalist demands in 1974 by speeding up the process of 'Ulsterisation' of security, so the 1977 'lock-out' was followed by increased SAS operations and an expansion of the police force. Finally, Jim Prior's experiment of 'rolling devolution' reached a very sudden brick wall in the current Assembly. Even before the unionist parties began to bicker among themselves, it was apparent that Prior was not out to woo the constitutional nationalists of the SDLP as Rees had been in the mid-seventies. That in itself is perhaps the strongest proof of the conviction with which the lesson of 1974 has been internalised in the Britain bipartisan psyche. The SDLP can flutter around the Dublin Forum. Sinn Fein can go from electoral strength to strength. But there is no way that the British seem in the slightest concerned to challenge the loyalist veto on political innovations.
Could the loyalists repeat the success of 1974? There is no reason to believe that they could not. True, they are in many ways more disunited now they have been in a long time, but given the opportunity of having to react to some British proposal for political change which challenged the union or their position of dominance, they could surely be expected to close ranks again. The power stations are still loyalist-controlled. The British army is no more able to run those stations now than they were ten years ago. The institutions of the state in NI are still to some extent or another pro-unionist, and could be expected to defer once more to the muscle of a loyalist workers-led opposition to political change.
Any such political change seems a long way off while bipartisanship — despite the few slight dents in that structure inflicted by recent Labour Party conferences — reigns supreme. But the ultimate question mark is in respect to the actions of any future British administration which would seek to break with bipartisanship. Would they come up with any political scheme which seriously challenged the union? And, if so, would they be less naive than the Labour Party government of 1974, and realise that standing over that scheme will require them to take on the loyalists, not just in Westminster, or in Stormont Castle, but on the streets? For without that realisation, they would be destined to repeat the errors of the past, and even more emphatically underline the loyalists' ultimate source of strength here — their power of veto over any political progress.
Footnotes
1. Robert Fisk, The Point of No Return: the strike which broke the British in Ulster (London, 1975).
2. Fisk, op. cit.
3. Tom Nairn, The Break-up of Britain (London, 1977), p243.
BILL ROLSTON teaches sociology at the Ulster Polytechnic and is joint author with TOMLINSON and O'DOWD of Between Civil Rights and Civil War