finally yielded to her wails and detailed a young soldier to escort the woman to her flat. When they reached the door and the lad had helped her in with her bundles, she turned and said: "Sure, you're a good boy for helping an old woman. May you have a cool seat in hell for your kindness.")

Belfast women, particularly, reveal their tension by smoking with an intensity that can't be concealed or ignored. And you can understand why when you listen to stories like the two I heard from a coolly sophisticated suburban housewife married to a successful Protestant barrister. Both concerned her five-year-old daughter. One day the little girl, after raptly watching a TV newscast on local bombings, asked: "Mommy, are we Protestants the baddies?" And more recently, there was a new twist when the mother parked her car outside a shop and instructed the youngster, as she had so often in the past, to stay in the car and be good. Unexpectedly, the child tensed up and then burst into violent sobs. "What's wrong with you, silly girl," the mother asked, "I'm only going to be a minute in the store." Finally, the hidden fear was blurted out: "But Mommy, those men will come by and shoot me."

Strangely enough, on this visit, the "coolest" reactions I experienced in company with Fr. David Bowman, S.J., a special assistant to the General Secretary of the National Council of Churches here in the U.S.A., and the Rev. Wesley C. Baker, of the Commission of Ecumenical Mission and Relations of the United Presbyterian Church in the United States of America, were among the residents of Belfast's Falls Road district, a Catholic "ghetto" and center of violence in part owing to its immediate proximity to the Shankill, a thoroughly Protestant, lower-income sector. An earlier conversation with Betty Sinclair, founding mother of Ulster's miniscule Communist party and unparalleled "valiant woman" of the Northern Ireland trade union movement, had prepared me for these personal accounts of the "midnight knock" and the resentful dread it evoked in the Catholic community. As a child back in the early 1920's, Betty had lived across the street from Catholics, though her own family was Church of Ireland (Anglican). In her customary blunt labor movement language, she had told me of the horror of awakening to a pounding at the door of a neighbor in the middle of the night, the sleepless hours of wondering who had been carried off by the troops and the sorrowful encounter next morning with the grieving, bewildered members of the victimized family.

Betty's account, interlaced as it was with candid and frequently damning expressions of opinion about the Northern Ireland government, past and present, had not prepared me, however, for the remarkable tone of several conversations I had in homes of interned men in the Falls Road area. The mothers and wives we met spoke in a calm, almost detached manner that simply emphasized the brutal nature of their bitter experience.

I think, for instance, of one young girl, in her early twenties at most, cradling her baby in her arms as she quietly recalled for us the first night the British troops broke into her home at three in the morning, woke her and her husband in bed and gave them two minutes to dress-meanwhile turning everything upside-down in the neat little house.

At the time, she was seven and a half months pregnant. Now her infant son was ten weeks old and his father had seen him only once, the day he was born. Was it resignation that kept her voice so low and free of passion? Or was it the weariness that comes from sheer frustration and an overpowering sense of helplessness?

The one bitter note that crept into her voice came when the young girl told of her husband's first stay in prison following that early morning raid. After some days of interrogation and a certain amount of rough handling, she told us, he received a "fatherly" talk from one of the officers. The gist of it was a suggestion that the military thought he might not be such a bad boy after all. In fact, they might be able to send him home. For his welfare, mind you, he might want to demonstrate his good sense and reliability by sending the officer each week an unsigned letter with a report of anything "interesting" he noticed going on in his neighborhood. The boy was in fact released, didn't write any letters and was picked up ("lifted") again the day after his son was born. He is still in internment and only Prime Minister Brian Faulkner or the British government knows when he will be free.

There was, I thought, a certain undefinably indecent appearance to the mimeographed form letter another young wife showed me. It was her official notification from the Stormont government that her husband had been interned and that she might apply to the governor of the internment camp for permission to visit him—no specification of charges, no procedure for providing the prisoner with legal counsel and, obviously, no hint as to how long internment might last.

When I looked at the name of the internee inked into the appropriate place on that rough form, I understood better why an unbridgeable gap now divides the families, and friends of families, that have received such notices and the government that issues them. Even at the time of my conversation with Prime Minister Faulkner in his office in Stormont Castle, I had wondered about popular acceptance of his confident statement that the internment process was both necessary and just because he had personally reviewed each of the five or six hundred files before signing the individual internment orders.

Most of all, this time around in Northern Ireland, I sensed the new depth and breadth of this division. Eighteen months ago, circulating among the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland, one met up with expressions of mistrust or bitter references to past injustices of the government over five decades. But most men and women spoke chiefly of steps that might be taken to reform the Stormont government and permit Catholics to have a fair voice within the existing political order. The issue of reunification of North and South of Ireland came up, but it was not the burning order of business.

Within the past year and a half, however, the events described by Father George H. Dunne, S.J., in his article, "The Irish Sea of Troubles," elsewhere in this issue, have radically changed all that. Gerry Fitt, for example, head of the opposition Social Democratic Labor Party and a member of both the Stormont and Westminster parliaments, put it in characteristic, blunt fashion at his home (marvelous Ireland with a politician's small study decorated by pictures of James Connolly, prophet of Irish socialism, John F. Kennedy and the Sacred Heart!) the night before the Derry tragedy of January 30. "Partition doesn't solve anything," he insisted to us, even though he went on to emphasize that "any organization that thinks it can gain unification through murdering innocent people and shooting down a young policeman in front of his wife and children is out of its mind."

Part of the unfolding tragedy in Northern Ireland, of course, is that events like those of "Bloody Sunday" in Derry make it increasingly difficult for a balanced political leader like Fitt to keep people convinced of the wisdom of moderation and the folly of recourse to violence. At the moment, clearly, nothing is more tragic than the process by which the begrudging respect of the Catholic minority for the British military presence in Ulster as an instrument of law and justice has turned into almost total distrust and hatred for the troops. And a by-product of this process, in all too many instances, is acceptance of the Irish Republican Army's claim that it alone defends the helpless and protects their rights in the North.

No question but that the extremist-whether he be of the Irish Republican Army brand or of the diehard Orange Lodge breed-welcomes the present state of tension as a gift from heaven. He sees every event as further proof that the only "solution" lies in a violent assault on the "enemy."

What a shock, then, to discover in many Catholic circles in a city like Belfast the extent of a sympathy bordering on admiration for the IRA man that was almost totally absent less than two years ago. And how easily a passing stranger can miss the grim reality beneath calm and innocent appearances. One night, for instance, in walking through a few blacked-out streets (the British military prefer to keep all street lamps darkened so as to hinder any would-be snipers) of the Falls Road area, I noticed the frequency with which walls of buildings at the corner of side streets had been daubed with whitewash.

My first reaction was surprise that the techniques of neighborhood improvement (sweeping up the debris, planting window flower boxes and painting over graffitiscarred fences and walls) had spread to Belfast from the slums of Philadelphia and New York. My guide soon set me straight, however. The intent behind the whitewashing was considerably less than neighborly. It was to help snipers who could more easily pick out soldiers against a white background as they turned corners in a midnight patrol of the area. So far had the lines of division hardened. One of my most vivid recollections of a remarkably free-flowing and informative interview with William Cardinal Conway, Catholic Primate of All Ireland and Archbishop of Armagh, is of his candid self-analysis in discussing his efforts as a spiritual leader to speak out against injustices and yet remind his fellow Catholics that violence is never the answer for them. One sensed with considerable respect, as he reminisced on his own childhood in one of Ulster's Catholic "ghettos," that he felt obliged constantly to check his judgments and impulses for any undue impact of "tribal" emotions or instincts. For Cardinal Conway surely

realizes that he could become overnight the most popular figure in the entire Catholic population of Ireland if for a moment he donned the robes of a militant crusader. But conscience is his sovereign, and a most demanding one.

I have tried, up to this point, to keep separate my impressions of Northern Ireland prior to the Derry tragedy from those gained after that date. The trends and changes I had remarked in comparing my experiences of January, 1972, against those of July, 1970, were then stepped up to an extraordinary degree. It seems clear to me now that the Derry incident marked a point of no return for Ulster. My hunch is that most, if not all, of the moderate Catholic and Protestant spokesmen I met in Northern Ireland would share that belief-if they did not feel the point had already been reached.

Where to go from here? The answer to that question will be found only in part in Ulster. For any way back to sanity and harmony in Northern Ireland must be a tale of three cities: London and Dublin, as well as Belfast, My hope is to write later of the other corners of this uneasy triangle.

[Donald R. Campion, S.J., is the editor-in-chief of "America." In the summer of 1970 he had traveled to London, Dublin and Belfast as a member of a mission sent by the Appeal of Conscience Foundation for fact-finding purposes. His companions on that mission were Rabbi Arthur Schneier, president of the Appeal of Conscience Foundation and spiritual leader of the Park East Synagogue in New York City, the Rev. Dr. David H. C. Read, minister of the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, and Angier Biddle Duke, former U.S. Ambassador to Spain and Denmark. The present report is based on impressions gained on a recent trip solely to Ireland.]

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL SUBMITTED BY HON. HUGH CAREY, A REPRESENTATIVE IN CONGRESS FROM THE STATE OF NEW YORK

ILLUSTRATIONS OF UNITED STATES INVOLVEMENT IN FOREIGN DOMESTIC

SITUATIONS:

(Note: The examples citing military intervention are included for historical integrity; It is not suggested that they are analogous to the present situation.)

THEODORE ROOSEVELT AND THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR,

After a year and a half of fighting marked by overwhelming Japanese victories, Russia and Japan agreed to meet at a peace conference called by President Roosevelt and held in Portsmouth, New Hampshire in August 1905. Roosevelt's motivation was due in part to his perception of United States national interest as it related to the balance of power in the Far East. Russia presented a threat to that balance and therefore Roosevelt backed Japan. However, the Japanese military successes in the war made Roosevelt apprehensive that the pendulum would swing too far in the other direction.

The peace treaty was signed in an atmosphere of amity and good will on September 5, 1905. The treaty recognized the paramount interest of Japan in Korea and ceded to Japan the southern half of the island of Sakhalin, all Russian rights in Liaotung peninsula, and the South Manchuria Railway from Port Arthur and Darien to Changchun. Both sides agreed to withdraw all troops from Manchuria except railway guards and also agreed to restore Manchuria to Chinese civil administration. Theodore Roosevelt was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for ending the Russo-Japanese War.1

Guatemala, June 1954: The United States supported forces led by Colonel Castillo Armas in the overthrow of the Communist-influenced government of Jacobo Arbenz.

Venezuela, January 1958: A company of U.S. Marines on board the U.S.S. Des Moines remained on station off the coast during mob violence in Caracas. Indonesia, March 1958: A Marine company, attack squadron, and helicopter squadron were deployed with elements of the Seventh Fleet off the coast to protect U.S. citizens and interests.

Lebanon, July 1958: At the request of President Chamoun of Lebanon, U.S. Marines landed in support of the president, who felt threatened by antigovernment elements in light of a recent coup which ousted a pro-western government in Iraq.

Congo, July 1960: In response to the general chaos which followed Belgium's granting independence to the Congo, United States Ambassador Timberlake convinced Congolese leaders Lumumba and Kasavubu to request aid from the United Nations. The United Nations responded by sending an international peace-keeping force transported by U.S. Air Force planes.

Cuba, April 1961: The United States supported the Cuban exile invasion of the Bay of Pigs.

Dominican Republic, November 1961: A show of force by U.S. Naval units stationed 3 miles off the Dominican coast convinced the Trujillo brothers that the United States did not approve of their attempts to reestablish the Trujillo dynasty. Haiti, May 1963: A Marine battalion was stationed off the coast of Haiti at the time of an internal political crisis.

Laos, 1964-1965: At the request of the Laotian Government, unarmed United States planes began flying reconnaissance missions over the Plaine des Jarres in May 1964 in order to gather information on rebellious forces headed by leftist Pathet Lao. In June, U.S. Navy jets attacked Communist gun positions and posts. Communist supply routes in Laos also were bombed.

1 Source: Pratt, Julius W. A. History of United States Foreign Policy, Englewood Cliffs, N.J., Prentice-Hall, Inc., pp. 245-246.

Congo, July-September 1964: In July, the United States sent 68 officers and men to Leopoldville to advise the Congolese army after the withdrawal of the U.N. force. In August, the United States sent four C-130 transport planes with maintenance crews and paratroopers to provide airlift for the regular Congolese troops in combat against the government of Premier Tshombe and President Kasavubu. In September the U.S. transports dropped Belgian paratroopers in the Stanleyville area to liberate over 1,000 foreign nationals held as hostages by the rebels. A second rescue operation was carried out later in the month.

Dominican Republic, 1965: The United States landed 400 Marines in the Dominican Republic on April 28, 1965 to protect American lives threatened by the civil war between military factions. The U.S. military intervention, which eventually rose to over 20,000 troops, had the effect of supporting the "Loyalist" faction and eventually defeating the "Constitutionalist" faction. Ellsworth Bunker, part of the OAS negotiating team, played a major role in getting both sides to agree to the designation of Hector Garcia Godoy as provisional president. The Garcia Godoy administration prepared the way for eventual democratic elections.

Jordan, April 1967: The Sixth Fleet was dispatched to the Eastern Mediterranean as a display of United States support for King Hussein, who was in severe political trouble following the dismissal of his pro-Nasser Prime Minister. The United States then granted Jordan $10 million in emergency aid.

Congo, July 1967: Responding to an appeal from President Mobutu, who was threatened by a revolt by white mercenaries and Katangese troops, the United States sent three military transport planes with their crews to perform airdrop functions.

Robert Kennedy in Dispute Over Sabah, January 1964: Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, at the request of President Johnson, conducted a 13-day peace mission to bring disputants over Sabah to the conference table. Indonesia and the Philippines claimed territory in North Borneo (Sabah), which along with Malaya, Singapore, and Sarawak became the Federation of Malaysia on September 16, 1963 with strong British backing. Indonesian President Sukarno's threat to "crush" the federation was backed by guerrilla troops from the Indonesian part of Borneo who frequently clashed with British and Malaysian troops assigned to defend Sarawak and Sabah. The British were prepared to go to war against Indonesia to uphold their commitments to Malaysia. In addition to the British, a full-scale open conflict might have involved Australia, New Zealand, and the United States.

Kennedy succeeded in cooling off the dispute by obtaining from Sukarno an agreement to halt the guerrilla raids and by persuading Prince Abdul Rahman, Prime Minister of Malaysia, to agree to a preliminary meeting of the foreign ministers of Indonesia, Philippines, and Malaysia at Bangkok in February, where details would be worked out for a meeting of the leaders of the three countries.?

Bethuel Webster in Dispute over British Honduras (Belize), 1965-1968: At the request of Guatemala and the United Kingdom, the United States agreed to mediate this long-standing dispute in which Guatemala claimed the entire territory of British Honduras. Bethuel Webster, a New York lawyer who once represented the United States at the World Court, was appointed mediator by President Johnson.

On several occasions the dispute has presented a real threat to the peace and security of the Carribean area and Central America. Since the end of World War II, Guatemala has actively pursued its claims. British Honduras' road to independence after years of British-supported self-government was strongly protested by Guatemala, especially after the victory of the pro-independence People's United Party headed by George Price.

After three years, Webster submitted his plan to the British and Guatemalan governments in April 1968, but it was rejected by both. Great Britain rejected it because of British Honduran objections to provisions for ties with Guatemala affecting British Honduran sovereignty. Guatemala rejected it because it failed to include points of agreement previously decided with Great Britain.

Although the dispute continues to play a role in Guatemalan and British Honduran politics, tensions between the two have remained at a relatively low level. The seriousness of the situation, however, was illustrated in late January 1972 when the British reacted to reports of Guatamalan troop movements at the border by sending a 3,000-man air, land, and sea task force to British Honduras.3

2 Sources: New York Times, January 17, 25, 27, and 29, 1968; February 14, and 17, 1968. Sources: Christian Science Monitor, May 29, 1968; International Law and Comparative Law Quarterly, October 1968; New York Times, May 5, 1968; The Times (London), May 10. 1968; and the Washington Post, September 21, 1968.