The Angry Mood of Ulster's Protestants

THE Ulsterman was born of the Industrial Revolution, the Irishman of the Book of Kelts" one Northern Irish journalist wrote recently. The curious thing about the Ulster Protestant is that he feels neither completely Irish nor completely British. Catholic Ireland, he fears, will submerge his Protestant identity; Britain, he fears, will abandon him. Last week events merely intensified his anxieties. Complained Ulster Politician Joe Burns: "It is typical of the British government to placate their enemies to crucify their friends."

Each July 12, arches are erected for the Orange Order parades celebrating "King Billy's" 1690 victory at the Battle of the Boyne. On the arches is the phrase "This We Will Maintain," taken from William of Orange's motto Je maintiendrai. For nearly three centuries, Protestants have maintained in Ulster a political dominance that translates into advantages not shared by Catholics on either side of the border: better jobs, better houses, and a better future for their children. Distinctions of name, address and occupation in Ulster are subtle but vicious. Belfast's Shankill Road is definitely Protestant, the Falls Road just as definitely Catholic. Protestants dominate the police, transport and public service; bartenders and bookies' clerks are usually Catholic. Employers shy away from mixing men of different religions. "I don't mind personally," goes the usual explanation, "but there'd be trouble on the shop floor."

As the Protestants see it, the Catholics have opted out of the system by refusing to recognize Ulster's independence from the rest of Ireland. Schools are segregated, they point out, because Catholics insist upon it. To many if not most Protestants, Catholics are lazy, "breed like rabbits," and have the Queen's picture on the pound notes in their pockets but not on their walls. "Are you loyal to the Crown or the half-crown?" goes an old Protestant gibe.

Hard work, frugality and a sharp business sense--all part of the Scottish Presbyterian tradition--are the mark of an Ulsterman. In contrast with the Irish Republic, Ulster in some respects is relatively permissive. Playboy, X-rated films and strip shows are available, as are contraceptive devices. Divorce is legal. Dour religiosity, however, prevails in the Protestant areas of the North. Pubs and cinemas are closed Sundays, and even the children's swings in the parks are padlocked. The Ulsterman, it is said, treats his Sunday properly.

The common concern is betrayed by the growing number of Protestant organizations: the Ulster Constitution Defense Committee, the Ulster Protestant

Volunteers, the Ulster Defense Association, the Shankill Defense Association, the Ulster Vanguard movement. The number of "vigilantes"--roving street sentries--is on the rise. So are reports of Protestant target practice in old quarries and on lonely hillsides outside Belfast. Of the 102,000 legally held firearms in Ulster, the overwhelming majority are in Protestant hands.

The angry mood is well expressed by Billy Hull, a squat, beefy man who heads the Loyalist Association of Workers. "If we're sold down the drain," Hull said recently, "there wouldn't be civil war, there would be armed rebellion, and it could spread to Britain itself. We're not ready now, but, like our forefathers, it won't be long before we are." He paused, took a pull on his pint of Guinness, and added: "Bloody awful to be talking like this, isn't it?"

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