Toward a Grim Millenary

A new wave of terrorism, in which seven died, put Northern Ireland on the verge of a grim and unwanted millenary last week. The fatalities raised the total number of people killed in the smoldering civil conflict since 1969 to 998. In addition, 28 were wounded in bombings by extremists of the Provisional Irish Republican Army that devastated Belfast and three other towns. The violence further threatened already fading hopes that a Catholic-Protestant coalition Cabinet inaugurated on Jan. 1 would finally bring to a halt the unrelenting agony of the province. In the three months since the coalition took over, there have been more than 60 violent deaths and 200 explosions.

The latest troubles began when a 500-lb. bomb hidden in an abandoned truck exploded, shattering a large part of Royal Avenue, Belfast's main shopping thoroughfare. What particularly annoyed shopkeepers was that the Provos had twice within three weeks slipped through military checkpoints to plant smaller bombs in the same area. Later, in the seaside resort town of Bangor, Proves eluded door guards to set off fire bombs in four stores, causing at least $12 million in damages. Bombs planted in cars also went off in Lisburn and Antrim, leaving sections of these towns looking like World War II battlegrounds.

Belfast businessmen demanded an immediate response from Labor Prime Minister Harold Wilson and his new Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Merlyn Rees. "You are to blame for all this!" yelled an embittered woman as Rees made his first official visit to Bel fast to inspect the damage. Most infuriated were hard-line Ulster Protestants, who feel that the new Labor Government is concentrating too much on a political solution and not enough on a military one. Shouted one irate Protestant as Rees clambered about the debris on Royal Avenue: "Root them out! That's what you must do. Root them out!"

Elusive Normalcy. Returning to London to deliver his first major speech in the Commons, Rees announced a deceptively moderate program that did indeed emphasize a political solution. He outlined the government's determination to continue transferring responsibility for the security of the province to the Ulstermen themselves. In a dramatic gesture aimed at restoring an elusive normalcy, he announced the legalization of both the Provisional Sinn Fein, the I.R.A.'s political wing, and the only proscribed Protestant group, the Ulster Volunteer Force. Rees also said that there would still be a "phased program" of release for 584 detainees who have been held without trial under the Special Powers Act of 1971, even though there is strong feeling among the military that most released Proves return to terrorism. Despite the continued violence, military sources believe that the Labor government will withdraw another four army units later this year, reducing British troop strength by about 2,000, to less than 14,000.

Behind Rees' dovish program, however, was the steely toughness of a new military strategy that terrorists may find anything but soft. According to senior military sources, Rees will rely increasingly on a "police role," including additional use of plainclothesmen, more sophisticated intelligence work (which British officers claim is already excellent) and selective surveillance of both terrorists and their targets. The strategy assumes the risk of continued bombings in the hope that Ulstermen will take a more active role in their own protection. "We can be too strongly committed far too long," says one anxious army officer, expressing the military's growing conviction that it is reaching the limits of its effectiveness in Northern Ireland.

Meanwhile, British troops find patrolling as hazardous as ever. Reports TIME'S Edmund Curran from Belfast: "The Provos have turned out to be like a worm that keeps on wriggling even though its head and tail have been chopped off. With the I.R.A. terror and the Protestant counterterror continuing to hold Belfast in their grip, the city has been reduced to a slow, cumbersome grind of security checks. Troops man the blue checkpoint barriers that seal off streets to all but well-frisked pedestrians. Rusting turnstiles creak as the citizens of Belfast pass through one by one to shop and work. The British troops plod on, fighting a war with its monthly echoes of a miniature Viet Nam, and there is no sign of that peace which Britain and the long-suffering population of Ulster so dearly need."

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