A View North: Irish America in Clinton’s corner

By Jack Holland

There was some trepidation in the air as we gathered on the south lawn of the White House on Friday evening, March 11, to await the arrival of President Clinton to receive the first Paul O’Dwyer Peace and Justice Award. A few hours earlier, the report of Independent Prosecutor Kenneth Starr had been published on the internet, provoking the gravest crisis in Clinton’s presidency.

About 1,000 guests, mostly Irish and Irish Americans, had shown up to see the President accept the award as a bright summery day drew to a close. No one could have failed to notice the extraordinary contrast between the Porn Starr Report and the nature of the occasion, which was to celebrate a real political achievement: helping to bring peace to Northern Ireland. It was an achievement that just a few years back hardly any one would have thought possible — the Northern Ireland problem, it was lamented, was a problem without a solution.

Even more improbable was the fact that an American president should have been involved in its solution. Yet the man who was being honored for this remarkable contribution to peace was that very same day being subjected to the sort of tawdry and vulgar public exposure that would have been unthinkable a decade ago in American public life. How would the assembled guests react? After all, Irish Americans tend to be on the conservative side when it comes to matters of family life and sexual mores.

As soon as Clinton appeared, at around 6 p.m., whatever nervousness there might have been vanished. The guests rose to their feet in one unified, spontaneous gesture and began to applaud vigorously. The applause grew louder. One minute passed, and then another, yet there was no sign of any one wanting to sit down. On the contrary, they continued to applaud with swelling enthusiasm. Some began to cheer and holler, waving and stomping. Clinton had smiled when he reached the platform — it had been a slight smile, one that showed he did not know quite what to expect. But as the guests’ applause grew louder, his smile spread. He looked at his wife, who was standing across from where he sat. This was real enthusiasm, of the sort he had experienced the week before on his visit to Ireland. After three minutes, attempts by the vice president, Al Gore, to open proceedings were of no avail, overwhelmed by the building wave of applause and cheers from the floor. At around 4 minutes into the proceedings Clinton stood up in an effort to quiet things but only succeeded in provoking even more hoots, cheers and waves from the audience.

Finally, after almost five minutes, the guests sat down, reluctantly, in order to allow the award-giving ceremony to proceed. But as soon as Vice President Gore, who was giving the introductory speech, made his first mention of Clinton’s efforts on behalf of the Irish peace process, the crowd were on their feet again, applauding as madly as before. When it came Mrs. Clinton’s turn to speak, she stood beaming at him for a moment then said: "You make us feel like we’re back in Ireland again. We should do this every week."

Clearly, she meant it. The crowd’s uninhibited and sincere appreciation had at least momentarily banished the shadow of Porn Starr. She read a letter from a Northern Ireland Catholic whose wife, a Protestant, was seriously injured in the Omagh bombing. The letter ended asking her to "thank your husband for the role the U.S. has played" in bringing peace to Ireland. That is just what the audience on the south lawn was doing and with remarkable exuberance.

Sen. Ted Kennedy followed Mrs. Clinton and made the most emotional plea of the evening. He called President Clinton "indispensable" to the peace settlement. "There would never have been a peace agreement without Bill Clinton." Kennedy paused and turning to the President said: "We need you, Mr. President."

This emotional declaration, given a certain poignancy by the very real sense that thanks to Porn Starr’s report, Clinton might not in fact be around much longer, set off another thunderous ovation as people rose to their feet to demonstrate that they agreed with Kennedy’s words.

The evening progressed with words from former Sen. George Mitchell, who chaired the peace negotiations that led ultimately to the Good Friday Agreement. Like Kennedy, Mitchell stressed that "there would not have been a peace agreement in Northern Ireland without the efforts of Bill Clinton."

Mitchell knew just how much effort the president put into it. He detailed how, when things were not going well during the negotiations, Clinton rang him in Belfast at eight in the morning — 3 a.m. Washington time — asking how he could help. Clinton then called all the main participants in the talks — Gerry Adams, David Trimble, John Hume, Taoiseach Bertie Ahern and the British Prime Minister Tony Blair — to help nudge things along. Mitchell testified that those calls were "crucial" in closing the gap between the different party leaders and bringing them closer to agreement.

Brian O’Dwyer presented Clinton with the award named in honor of his father. It was not until 6.55 p. m. that the president rose to speak and it was only with great difficulty that he was able to so, thanks yet again to the audience’s desire to applaud him.

The president’s speech was mainly in praise of other people, especially Mitchell, for their work in making the peace process succeed. Of the British prime minister, he quipped that "St. Patrick was probably the last popular Englishman in Ireland until Tony Blair came along."

Clinton seemed reluctant at the end to let the evening go — and who can blame him? The Irish proved congenial company that night, as well they should. Their eyes were focused on the bigger prize of peace and their thanks to the President who helped them achieve it was warm and spontaneous.

The Irish have been regarded as morally conservative in their time. But those that were present on that momentous Friday evening in September demonstrated that they had a sense of perspective about the world, and did not allow the unhealthy obsessions of a dubious inquiry cloud their vision of a president who had stood by them.