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"I am black. I live in Alabama and the year is 1962. Please remember this statement as I explain what has happened to my family."
One year ago, these words were delivered in Washington, D.C. not by a victim of the African-American struggle for civil rights, but by the soft yet steady voice of Diane Hamill of Portadown, Northern Ireland. The forum was the Rayburn House Office Building, at a House International Relations hearing into the past, present, and future of Northern Ireland policing. A veritable "who's who" of human rights experts, Irish-knowledgeable Congressmen, domestic and foreign journalists, and political activists were in attendance.
For over three hours, guest speakers from Northern Ireland and Committee members had a chance to dissect the flaws of Northern Ireland policing structures and to propose their recommendations and hopes for future improvement. No voice, however, no account, stuck with me and many other attendees as uncomfortably as did Diane Hamill's.
Diane Hamill's story is of how her brother, Robert, was attacked in Portadown on April 27, 1997. But her story, as with so many in Northern Ireland, is much more layered, more ongoing than that, encompassing at the time and in its wake the precarious situation for many throughout the world for two fundamental rights: the right to receive fair and impartial policing and the right to unimpeded legal counsel .
Three years later, the Hamill family is still grasping for these rights and for justice, as are many others in the post-cease-fire, pre-decommissioning, pre-devolved government, years-from-normalcy holding pattern currently enveloping Northern Ireland.
Before considering the Hamills' story, one must first come to terms with Portadown, a town that in many ways is the crucible of Northern Ireland's past and present political and religious conflicts. It's the home of the Orange Order, a Masonic-type organization formed over 200 years ago to celebrate the Protestant ascendancy to the British throne, and which to this day engages in political, social, and cultural efforts to maintain the ascendancy and promote the virtues of Protestant life.
In this vein, Portadown is the location where, every July, the Orange Order marches up and down the hill at Drumcree and along the Garvaghy Road. These marches are subject to political approval and, when allowed, penetrate Catholic neighborhoods, often leading to ethnic tensions, rioting, and violence: all bringing Northern Ireland to an annual tense standstill, all dutifully covered with clockwork regularity by the world's media.
Portadown is a location in which roughly 75 percent of the 25,000-odd population is Protestant and devoutly Unionist in their belief that Northern Ireland is a part of and should remain part of the United Kingdom. For many, this belief encompasses peaceful means of achieving this end via the practicalities of politics, community events, and the like. But for some, this belief turns to fervent hatred and extreme Loyalism: the philosophical breaking point at which some citizens condone or participate in violence and sectarianism to achieve their ends. For this reason, despite being home to some of Northern Ireland's biggest employers, Portadown is, instead, both at home and abroad, regarded as a Loyalist hotbed and dubiously tagged "the Orange citadel."
The other 25 percent of Portadown's population is Catholic, considers itself Irish, and supports Irish nationalism. As such, they face demographic obstacles and political marginalization, with most persons on this side of the divide, especially the less affluent, living in a few self-contained estates or neighborhoods, primarily as a means of self-preservation in the midst of greater Portadown's hostility toward them.
Given this statistical breakdown, Portadown, and the greater Upper Bann area in which it is situated, is, not surprisingly, Unionist governed. It's represented by Nobel-prize winner David Trimble, the Northern Ireland First Minister Designate who is also a Unionist member of Parliament and a member of the Orange Order. Law and order is maintained by the Royal Ulster Constabulary, a roughly 92% Protestant police force that is embraced by Unionism and is perceived, in many quarters, to protect and serve the Unionist side more than the Nationalist side. Consequently, in this landscape, to be a Catholic in Portadown is to lead a life on guard, on the outside, to know where one is at all times, and to know where one can and cannot go.
By the spring of 1997, Diane Hamill, 27, and her brother, Robert, 25, had grown up amidst this polarization, each surfacing above it in their own way from childhood through school and on to productive, responsible adult lives. After school, Diane had left for England for five years, then returned home in 1996 to work as a nurse. Robert, meanwhile had found employment on building sites, played Gaelic football, and became a father of two boys, with another girl on the way in April, 1997.
That month, on the evening of April 26, Robert accompanied two cousins, Siobhan and Joanne Girvan, and Joanne's husband Gregory, to a Portadown Catholic social club, St. Patrick's Hall, located on Thomas Street in a Catholic enclave in the city center. Robert's unremarkable choice for a night out of drinks and dancing, however, proved fateful for many, and the reverberations are still being felt three years later.
A little after 1 a.m. on the morning of April 27, Robert and his family decided to head home and called for a taxi: not out of laziness or inclement weather, but out of a well-founded fear, based on past incidents, that at this late hour there might be Loyalists about who would either verbally or physically harass them, or both. The group was unable to raise a taxi, however. After assessing the situation, after considering that they would be traveling as a group and that they were only a 10 to 15 minute walk from home, Robert and the others decided to set off from the club. They walked along Thomas Street toward Market Street, the town crossroads, after which they would cross to Woodhouse Street, the gateway to their Catholic neighborhood and safety.
Portadown's streets and neighborhoods are so clearly segregated along the Protestant/Catholic axis that, at this moment, any Portadown resident observing the Hamill family and calculating the direction from which they had left and to where they were heading would easily have been able to identify them as Catholic. As Robert and his companions walked down Thomas Street, they noticed a group of young men loitering about the bottom of the street, where it intersected with Market. Hesitating as to whether they should proceed, they noticed an RUC armored vehicle-type Land Rover parked at the top of Woodhouse Street. With the police nearby, the group decided to walk ahead.
Unknown to them, a few minutes earlier, a man had approached the RUC Land-Rover, warning the four armed officers inside to be prepared because there were Loyalist crowds in the town, and that soon people would be leaving St. Patrick's Hall and walking into trouble. Nevertheless, the police sat in their vehicle and waited, as a Loyalist group, some from a nearby pub, gathered and swelled, making its observations and calculations.
Robert and Gregory were slightly in front of Joanne and Siobhan, and as the two men came to the intersection, approximately 20 yards from the RUC, they were abruptly pulled away from the women and beaten to the ground by up to 30 male and female Loyalists. Robert was knocked unconscious almost immediately, perhaps after being hit with a bottle. As he lay on the ground, the crowd continued to kick him and jump on his head, shouting "Die, you Fenian [Irish republican] bastard!" and "Kill him, kill him!" in a bedlam-like scene that went on for several minutes. Gregory was also knocked unconscious. At some point, Joanne threw her body over his to protect him, and, along with Siobhan, began screaming for help. A few sympathetic townspeople hovered near the scene and made whatever efforts they could muster to intervene, but they were outnumbered and outmuscled.
According to eyewitnesses, no help came, at least not in time to be of use. The RUC officers in the Land-Rover made no move to get out of their vehicle, despite onlookers' shouts to the RUC and banging on the Land Rover for assistance. The police also made no effort to fire in the air to disperse the crowd. In the midst of violence, inaction persisted.
Finally, several minutes later, an ambulance neared the scene, summoned by the RUC via the radio in their Land-Rover. As the ambulance arrived, the RUC officers got out of their vehicle and instructed one of the women, who had thrown herself over Robert for protection, to turn him over on his side in the recovery position. No other help was offered to Robert by the RUC, and Gregory Girvan received no assistance. The crowd was still surrounding Robert and blocking the road, necessitating the ambulance to drive around to get to him. His breathing was, as later described by the RUC, "very raspy and shallow."
Robert Hamill and Gregory Girvan were taken to a nearby hospital in Craigavon. Gregory, despite being severely cut and bruised, regained consciousness in the ambulance. Robert was not as fortunate. He was diagnosed with a serious head injury and was transferred to an intensive care unit at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast where, coincidentally, Diane Hamill works as a nurse. Over the next week or so, she and the rest of her family kept a round-the clock-vigil at Robert's bedside, talking, praying, and waiting for him to regain consciousness. He never did. On May 8, he died. The post mortem revealed that he succumbed to a diffuse brain injury, associated with a hairline skull fracture, and that his death was due to blows to his head.
As Robert was dying, the police's version of events underwent drastic change. The first version on April 27, based on police sources and summarized in the first of a string of press releases, indicated that Hamill and Girvan had been hospitalized "following a clash between rival factions", after which the "police moved in to separate the groups." In this version, "bottles were thrown during the hostilities and police themselves came under attack by a section of the crowd."
The police's next significant press release, on April 30, elaborated: "a police land rover crew in Portadown town center were alerted to a disturbance and immediately intervened to gain order and prevent assaults. The numbers involved, however, were such that these officers were unable to contain the situation and became themselves the subject of attack. Police reinforcements arrived and calm was restored." The next press release, May 7, revealed a much different scenario: "It now appears clear that four people, two couples who had left a social event in St. Patrick's Hall, were set upon by a large crowd. The two men in the group were knocked to the ground and viciously beaten on separate occasions, during the incident, two men approached the police. One of these men has come forward and detectives are particularly anxious to speak to the second." The RUC's May 8 press release, released shortly after Robert's death, referred to the assault as "sectarian" and announced a murder inquiry.
The RUC's confusing, ever-changing version of events, was fomented and compounded by crime scene behavior that was less than Holmesian in its aggressiveness and diligence. No arrests were made. No notes were taken from witnesses, and a crime scene was neither marked off nor declared. Out of a total available pool of 19 police officers on duty in Portadown at the time (as later confirmed by the Northern Ireland Office), only four additional officers belatedly arrived at the scene, a fact rendered more damaging as the assault occurred a mere 250 yards from the nearest RUC station. One of the RUC officers took a member of the mob to the Land Rover, where she obtained his name and address, confirmed these by radio, and then released him. The RUC officer was soon approached by eye witnesses, one of whom asked why she released this man as he was one of the persons who assaulted Robert Hamill.
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After Robert Hamill's death, over the next few months, six young men were arrested and charged with murder. By the end of October, 1997, the charges against three of the accused were dropped. The magistrate who released them expressed sympathy for the ordeal the defendants had undergone, but did not offer any sympathy to the Hamill family.
Three weeks later, the charges against two more defendants were also dropped. The Director of Public Prosecutions later explained that the charges against these five individuals were dropped because "the evidence available was insufficient to provide a reasonable prospect of obtaining a conviction for murder." This despite the eyewitness who claimed that one of the defendants was one of the men who assaulted Robert Hamill, a claim that was never formally pursued or considered by the police via identification through a police lineup.
The last person charged with murder, Paul Hobson, was convicted of unlawfully causing an affray, but was acquitted of murder. At the juryless trial, the RUC, for the most part, reverted to their "clash between rival factions" version of events. One of the RUC officers at the scene described a man similar to Hobson standing near the head and shoulders of Robert Hamill, shouting at him as he lay on the ground. The officer saw this man swing his foot toward Robert's head but could not ascertain whether the foot struck him or not. Also unresolved, according to the judge, was whether the police officers remained in the Land Rover during the entire attack.
The only solace for the Hamill family regarding the Hobson verdict was that the judge did criticize some of the RUC's movements and decisions that night. In particular he noted that the RUC "showed no interest" in the man who warned the RUC about impending danger prior to Robert's arrival at the intersection, and that the RUC officer who was approached by the eyewitness naming one of the perpetrators "did not follow [this lead] up or present the facts to the officers investigating Robert's murder." Despite this, the bottom line remained: six men walked free from the charge of murdering Robert Hamill, and there were and are no pending or potential arrests in sight.
In all, a sad, tragic story, and an unsolved case that might remain static and, over time, dissolve into anonymity. That is, if it had happened anyplace but Portadown, a place where the shadows are long, and wounds and animosity linger longer than most.
Almost from the day that Robert Hamill died, his family, rather than receiving the sympathy or respect of the greater community, became the subject of sometimes subtle, more often overt, sectarian harassment from the Loyalist community. At the location where Robert was attacked, the family placed flowers in his memory, but within hours the flowers were removed. As Diane Hamill described it, "it was as if they didn't want to be reminded of what had happened, or they were afraid of the memory of a man who was murdered because he was the wrong religion in a town where it is a danger to be a Catholic." Eventually, as this scene repeated itself, the family stopped placing flowers at the spot.
Over the ensuing months, matters worsened as family members were taunted in the town center. Diane was called a Fenian slut, and men and women began to shout "Where is Robbie now?" Other Loyalists jumped up and down in front of Diane, in efforts to imitate her brother's murder. Eventually, the taunt of "What about Robbie Hamill?" became commonplace around Portadown. As late as last year, graffiti still cropped up with phrases such as "Where is your Robbie now?" and "Where is ya flowers now?"
This type of abuse, according to Diane, is not confined to members of the Loyalist community, but instead stretches to the RUC. In her Congressional testimony, she observed that "after publicly challenging the RUC about their failure to protect Robert or guarantee his right to life, we weren't very popular with them." Whatever the reason, the months after the murder brought on a deteriorating relationship between the RUC and the Hamill family. According to Diane, RUC vehicles drove past members of the family and beeped their horns without reason. They also began to stare at younger members of the family in order to provoke reactions. Diane's younger brother, in particular, experienced this type of harassment, including an incident when a Land Rover drove past him and brushed against his leg. The family has also been on the receiving end of aggressive driving by the RUC in Portadown, and the officers of one police vehicle parked their vehicle next to Diane's, pointing toward her in a fashion to imitate a gun.
Perhaps the most traumatic development for the family, and certainly the most telling of what it meant and still means to be a Catholic in Portadown, first occurred in July, 1997. While in the Portadown city center, Diane Hamill neared the spot where her brother was attacked and noticed some flowers where the family had once placed them. Thinking that some kind townsperson had left them in her brother's memory, she approached the flowers and saw a card next to them which read "for the Portadown Six heroes." The "Portadown Six", though, did not refer to Robert Hamill and his family, but rather to the Loyalist name of honor bestowed on the six individuals arrested for his murder.
Leading the charge with this insult was the Loyalist Volunteer Force, a relatively small yet extremely dangerous Loyalist paramilitary group with an ominous history of sectarian violence. All six persons arrested for Robert Hamill's murder were held on remand, by their own choice and with welcoming arms, in the LVF and Ulster Volunteer Force (a similar paramilitary organization) wing of the Maze Prison, Northern Ireland's main paramilitary prison. Later in 1997, local LVF supporters stepped up their "spin" war on behalf of the men, circulating a leaflet in town entitled "The Portadown Six", which read: "We would like to take this opportunity to wish you all success in your trial. Everyone of us know that the charges against you are outrageous, and anyone of us could be sitting in your place. You have been criminalized for defending yourselves against an unprovoked attack. There have been many nationalist attacks upon the ordinary Protestant people of Portadown at that same flashpoint where Taigs [derogatory term for Catholics] where [sic] a different face at night. You have our full support and best wishes and we hope to see you home soon."
In their efforts to seek legal assistance and justice in the midst of this hostility, the Hamill family turned to local solicitor Rosemary Nelson, a Catholic defense lawyer with an impressive track record in matters relating to alleged police misconduct or indifference. Nelson agreed to represent the family in their efforts to bring successful prosecutions against any or all of the arrested persons. She also began to focus her beam directly on the RUC, asking out loud and in many circles how such a terrible act of violence could transpire within shouting distance of the police. She began to pose uncomfortable questions, and pursued discovery angles others might not touch. She investigated whether a bank near the crime scene had relevant footage from its security camera: she was informed there was "no relevant footage." She made a complaint on the Hamills' behalf to the Independent Commission for Police Complaints for Northern Ireland, alleging that police officers witnessed the attack on Robert yet failed to intervene. And she spoke out about the Robert Hamill case to any press, political, and legal body that would listen.
As a result, from this case and involvement on other high-profile matters on behalf of the local Catholic community, Nelson began to experience verbal and physical harassment from the RUC. She complained about this publicly and often, to sources as high as the United Nations and the United States Congress.
On March 15, 1999, Rosemary Nelson paid the ultimate price for her legal acumen and courage as she was assassinated in a car bomb explosion near her home in nearby Lurgan. The attack was claimed by a loosely formed collection of Loyalist paramilitaries called the Red Hand Defenders. Security forces have and continue to point toward involvement by other Loyalist paramilitaries, including the LVF. Colin Port, Deputy Chief Constable of the Norfolk Constabulary, was brought from England to conduct an investigation into the Nelson murder and the broader, related allegations of security force collusion. Over the past months, a growing, international array of respected legal bodies and human rights organizations, including the United Nations and the United States Congress, have called for an independent inquiry. To this day, though, no one has been charged with Nelson's murder, although a former member of the Northern Ireland security forces, William Ian Thompson, has been arrested by the Nelson murder investigation team and charged with arms possession and membership of the LVF.
Still, even without a charges or conviction regarding Nelson's murder, it's reasonable to assume that her representation of the Hamill family, in conjunction with the other "political" cases she took on, at the very least created a situation, a challenge to the status quo, that extreme Loyalists would use to justify her killing. In their minds, and in many others, there is no separation between a lawyer and the client they represent ( a lack of separation that sometimes yields to death's addition to the equation.)
After three years of no convictions for Robert's murder, ongoing harassment from the townspeople and the police, and the death of their solicitor, the Hamill family could easily be forgiven for calling it a day, carrying on with life, and perhaps leaving town. Instead, the family is still fighting for justice, pursuing every avenue at their disposal, despite experienced or potential setbacks. These include:
- Contacting their political representative: In this case that means David Trimble and his party, the Ulster Unionist Party, the largest Unionist party in Northern Ireland. The UUP, though, has been considerably less than responsive to date, answering the Hamills' written requests for assistance with terse replies referring the matter to the police. In one UUP letter to the RUC, forwarded to the Hamill family, the sole question Trimble asked the RUC was "could you also confirm I am right in my understanding that the police patrol on the scene attempted to intervene but were prevented from doing so by the crowd?"
- A U.S. Congressional letter to Trimble, on the Hamills' behalf, has gone unanswered. Meanwhile, another leading UUP member, Ken Maginnis, has devoted his public rhetoric to claims that the Hamill case "can be easily debunked" and alleging that Robert Hamill and Rosemary Nelson were sympathetic to the IRA. The family, understandably, is expecting no help from this political avenue;
Awaiting results from an inquest hearing: To date, no inquest into Robert Hamill's death has been held. The current expectation is that one will be held in June or September of this year, although Northern Ireland inquests have a history of being postponed, frequently being held many years after the deaths have occurred. They also have a flawed history of bringing justice and truth to families of the deceased. Over the past two decades, legal wrangling and judicial decisions have narrowed their remit to only touching upon the basic who, what, where, and when elements of killings: facts usually known to the police, press, and public. The how element, however, the key element lurking behind most disputed deaths, has been narrowly defined to mean by what means (a gun? a knife?), not in what broad circumstances (suicide? collusion? negligence?);
Monitoring their complaint against the police: Still pending is Rosemary Nelson's complaint to the Independent Commission for Police Complaints, on the Hamills' behalf, that the police witnessed the attack on Robert Hamill yet failed to intervene. This complaint requires the ICPC to supervise the RUC's investigation into potential disciplinary matters arising from the allegations against their conduct on the night of the murder: in short, the police's investigation of themselves. The ICPC recently completed the first phase of its review, opining that the RUC's internal investigation into this matter was conducted to the ICPC's satisfaction. Following this, in phase two, last September the RUC Chief Constable announced to the ICPC that no disciplinary action will be taken against any RUC officers over the Hamill matter. The ICPC is now reviewing all the evidential documentation and will decide whether or not to bring disciplinary charges. Again, as with the inquest system, the history of the complaints system in Northern Ireland is not encouraging. In 1997, for example, out of approximately 5,500 complaints lodged (including ICPC matters), only one from a member of the public was upheld;
Other options: As the result of past and potential political and legal dead ends, the Hamill family has campaigned for an independent inquiry into Robert's death. Their call has been endorsed by members of the U.S. Congress, internationally respected human rights legal bodies, and, most recently and vociferously, by the Irish government. One human rights group, the Belfast-based Committee on the Administration of Justice, has lodged a complaint with the European Commission of Human Rights on the Hamills' behalf, and this week it will be presenting further material on the case to the Irish government. The family is also considering the expensive avenues of bringing a private prosecution or a civil action against the officers involved.
In essence, the Hamills have retained new counsel, built upon their support base for an independent inquiry, and are pushing forward. According to Diane, "it's just a matter of keeping Robert's name in the news. We'll just keep chipping away. It gets tiring, and at time you just want it all to disappear away, but why should we let four RUC officers get away with that? We just want the RUC to acknowledge that Robert was killed by a mob. We want them held accountable. The time they were needed most was on that night, and they didn't fulfill their duty morally or ethically."
Last year, near the anniversary of Robert's death, two traffic poles at the crime scene were painted red, white, and blue, the colors of the Union Jack: the flag of Great Britain so revered by Loyalists. The poles are still painted in those colors, a symbol, a statement that this piece of ground belongs to Loyalists, an assertion that was no more obvious than on April 27, 1997. One of the greatest misperceptions of the Northern Ireland conflict is that the problem stems solely from two tribal forces, Protestant and Catholic, who cannot get along peacefully, despite the best intentions of the security forces and the British government. It's this perception that was promulgated by the RUC's first press release and initially found eager ears in Northern Ireland and beyond. But the Robert Hamill case renders this analysis shallow, as do many killings over the past 30 years of conflict. Too many persons and groups with guns, too many breakdowns in the rule of law, and too many strains of animosity have been and still are in play to prevent easy answers and tidy story lines.
Since Robert Hamill was killed, many positive developments have occurred on the larger Northern Ireland stage. The Good Friday Agreement was signed, heralding a new political dispensation for a troubled land. A commission chaired by former Hong Kong governor Chris Patten recommended thorough and far-reaching reform of Northern Ireland's policing structures, among which will be the office of the new Ombudsman: a post to monitor and adequately investigate future allegations of police misconduct. And, at some point, Northern Ireland's devolved government will once again be set in motion, forcing politicians toward the direction of transparency and responsiveness and away from obfuscation and intransigence.
Still once can't help but wonder about seismic ground like Portadown and how long it will remain impervious to change. What happened to Robert Hamill on the morning of April 27 was hate: pure, unadulterated hate , a distasteful, scorned emotion, but not one subject to eradication courtesy of mere political breakthroughs. Diane Hamill remains resolute in her quest for justice in her brother's death and believes over the long haul that some portion of the truth will win out. She and her family remain in Portadown, their birthplace, in the isolated comfort of their supportive Catholic community, in a place where they endeavor to honor Robert's memory. But she is not optimistic about the town's prospects for reconciliation. She and her family do not go to Portadown's city center to speak of their tragedy, or for any other reason. Many other Catholics take similar precautions, choosing to stay within the safety of their own rather than taking the risk of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
As Diane Hamill asked in her final words to Congress last year, "I am not black, I do not live in Alabama and the year is not 1962, but can you tell the difference?" In Alabama, time moved on, slowly. As the recently televised PBS documentary, "George Wallace: Settin' the Woods on Fire", revealed, twenty years after his zenith as a staunch segregationist, Alabama governor George Wallace tempered his rhetoric and made initiatives to open Alabama's political and societal doors. Can this, will this happen in Portadown? The answer is at least one generation away.
