One negotiator from a small party reportedly had permission—and seized the opportunity—to speak for seven hours without interruption. After almost two years of negotiations, everything that needed to be said had been said. But even then it took an arbitrary deadline — spurred by rumors of possible assassination of participants—to prod the parties at the table to affirm the Agreement.

The talks ended in dramatic fashion with a round-the-clock, 17-hour photo finish. Only then did the world learn that the protracted peace talks had borne fruit in the form of a 68-page settlement document. It had taken some 11th-hour emergency political surgery by British Prime Minister Tony Blair and strategic interventions by Irish Prime Minister Bertie Ahern (who had buried his mother one day before) to help get to the finish line.

It fell to the chairman of the peace talks to announce the Agreement at the end of the marathon negotiating session. An exhausted but eloquent Senator Mitchell declared, "It doesn’t take courage to shoot a policeman in the back of the head, or to murder an unarmed taxi driver. What takes courage is to compete in the arena of democracy as these men and women are tonight."

The so-called Mitchell Principles, which declared the need "to take the gun out of Irish politics," were drawn up. Political parties could be admitted to the talks only after declaring their "absolute commitment" to the principles.

Senator Mitchell, who turns 65 in August, has been lauded for his diplomacy, patience, firmness, prudence, fairness and remarkable ability to find common ground where none would seem to exist. Many think him a strong candidate for this year’s Nobel Peace Prize. There is even talk of knighthood for this son of Mary Saad, a Lebanese immigrant mother, a textile worker, and George Mitchell, a janitor father who was himself the orphan son of Irish immigrants. It is from his father that the former Democratic majority leader in the U.S. Senate learned the values that, he believes, helped him address the challenges at the negotiating table.

Mitchell is fond of saying that his 14 years in the Senate, particularly those in the leadership position (1988-94), prepared him well for the Northern Ireland peace negotiations. "The 16-hour filibusters" and "11-hour statements" he had to endure in the Senate were played out again in the Belfast negotiations. In addition, he often was required to relay messages from people in the same room who refused to talk to one another directly—for example, Gerry Adams of Sinn Fein, the political arm of the Irish Republican Army, and David Trimble of the Ulster Democratic Party.

All of which is proof that "the Lord works in mysterious ways," quips Mitchell, who was an altar boy at a Maronite Catholic church in his native Waterville, Maine. He still can speak some Arabic. (For that reason, and his proven diplomatic skills in Ireland, his name has been mentioned as a possible negotiator in the Middle East.)

But it was his own father, who could neither read nor write, who taught his son "the dignity and worth in every human being. He also taught me that people will respond to you in the same way you treat them," Senator Mitchell tells me.

When he found himself at the peace table "in a situation where people had this mindset of distrust and acrimony," he sought to establish an atmosphere "where people could have reasonable and civil discussions, treat each other with respect, try to understand the feelings and history of the other side of the community. With God’s help and a lot of luck, we were able to get an agreement."

Not that there weren’t many difficult moments and times of little progress during the negotiations. Often, "we managed to find very few areas of agreement, but I never felt it was completely hopeless," he continues. "I always felt the people of Northern Ireland in particular wanted their political leaders to solve their problems through dialogue and democratic alternatives to violence as a way to achieve political objectives. I sensed this is what the people wanted." Still, he noted in a radio interview, "some of the most important participants could not even bring themselves to shake hands after the Agreement had been signed."

Still, the strength of the Agreement, believes Senator Mitchell, who holds a law degree from Georgetown University, is in its fairness: tolerance, mutual respect and equality of treatment for all, cross-border cooperation, the enhancement of the concept of Northern Ireland as part of the United Kingdom until a majority of its citizens declare otherwise. "This Agreement is good for all the people, North and South. Ordinary people there are finally getting a chance to prove that they want a just and lasting peace."

Furthermore, he finds great significance in the willingness of the Irish in the Republic to vote in favor of removing language from their Constitution that makes a territorial claim on Northern Ireland. For many, Father Moloney believes, this claim is something many have held dear, but they elected to sacrifice "in the interest of peace."

Eradicating sectarian hatred is the real challenge, says Father Gerry Moloney Photo Courtesy of Redemptorist Publications

Still, he would like to see more change, beginning with an unequivocal acknowledgment from Gerry Adams of Sinn Fein "that the war is over, that there is no more going back to the bomb." He believes this would change the scene dramatically, and help the Protestant Unionists in the North see that working together and power-sharing can be realized.

During his nine years of ministry in Belfast (1984-93), Dublin-born Father Liam McCarthy, O.F.M., experienced in small but unmistakable ways the good that can occur when people of differing views and perspectives work together. Stationed at a friary located near the city’s docks, Father Liam was part of a Franciscan community of reconciliation devoted to "building bridges of friendship, hospitality and kindness" as an antidote to rampant "hatred, fear and violence."

Working alongside Anglican Franciscans as well as Poor Clares and Secular Franciscans, Father Liam saw small miracles being worked "on both sides of the divide through prayer, outreach and an effort to model St. Francis’ commitment to peace."

"Changing hearts" is the long-term goal, says Father Liam McCarthy. Photo Courtesy of Liam McCarthy, O.F.M.

Now stationed in Rome at St. Isidore College, Father Liam, 60, sees the peace agreement as full of promise, but also challenges. He is especially concerned that the people who voted against the peace agreement "don’t feel trampled on. This is no time to be triumphal. Peace is delicate. Let’s bring the ‘no’ voters on board. There can be no losers in this."

The stories he tells are those of one beyond his years, stories of innocent persons being imprisoned without crime or trial, including an uncle who was taken off to jail by the RUC in the middle of the night. Another uncle was shot dead in 1969, the year before David was born, while hanging up curtains in his Belfast home. Two uncles on his mother’s side were lost to sectarian violence. Two cousins were recently released from prison.

By the time his family moved from a mostly Protestant section of East Belfast to a part of West Belfast heavily populated by Catholics with so-called Republican or nationalist leanings, David was 10. By then he had seen and heard it all. Although his father was "never into political things or paramilitary organizations," young David found himself drawn to the idea of playing a part in "the struggle." By the time he was 15 or 16, David had "all kinds of ideas" running around in his head.

Today, he credits his father with helping him move beyond hatred and recrimination. "He was a man of experience, a man who had seen and been through a lot, lost his own brother to violence, pulled people out of wreckages after bombs. And he knew I was just a 15-year-old kid. I was humbled" by his wisdom.

The impressionable teenager was also saved from a fate that could have taken him from a paramilitary group to prison, untold suffering and God knows what else. Instead, David, who left school at age 15, trained as a carpenter and went to work.

At age 19 he found himself at a shrine of Our Lady, where he had "a powerful experience of God, so powerful it changed my life." When he left the shrine, he was determined "to do something" about his faith that, until then, had been lukewarm. He underwent "a radical change" in his values and his faith began to "come alive. I had fallen in love with God," David explains simply.

It wasn’t too far from there to seminary studies, although he temporarily put aside thoughts of the priesthood while he dated a young woman for a year. After that relationship ended, the idea of becoming a Franciscan "kept coming, and it didn’t go away." He joined the friars in 1993.

As a young Franciscan, not far from 30 and now living in Rome, David is light-years away from the young boy in Belfast who naively entertained the idea of fighting for his country, whatever that might have meant. "First and foremost," he says now, "I am a Franciscan and a Christian. I don’t agree with killing. I want to see the gun taken out of Irish politics altogether."

"The people are sick and tired of violence," says David McLarnon. Photo Courtesy of David McLarnon, O.F.M.

But he retains his Republican roots, finding it difficult to identify himself as "from Northern Ireland." More comfortable, for him, is to say he is "from the six counties." He doesn’t recognize Northern Ireland as part of Britain.

"It is still a problem for me to be called British. I’m Irish, and have always claimed my Irishness," he says.

Witness the anger and violence by the Protestant Orange Order in July, when it was denied the right to parade through certain Catholic neighborhoods near Belfast to recall the victory of Protestant King William of Orange over Catholic King James II in 1690. The British Parades Commission banned the march in the Drumcree area of Portadown but permitted other Protestant marches through Catholic areas in Belfast. All this left the already-delicate peace effort more precarious.

Other daunting problems remain:

• What will happen with the disarmament, or so-called "decommissioning," of the IRA’s and Protestant paramilitary groups’ weapons? While the deadline for disarmament is May of 2000, British Prime Minister Tony Blair has promised that groups seeking representation in the new Northern Ireland Assembly must persuade their military allies to begin disarmament before taking their seats. As this is being written, no such groups have stepped forward to hand in their weapons.

• How will the thorny issue of reform of the Royal Ulster Constabulary be realized? The most heavily armed police force in Europe is almost exclusively Protestant, and has long been seen by Catholics as the enforcer of Protestant domination. Christopher Patten, former Hong Kong British governor and a Catholic, is heading the independent review of the RUC. The principal goal of the international panel he now heads is to create an unarmed force that is more representative of the makeup of the population—53 percent Protestant, 47 percent Catholic—as well as more responsive to neighborhood crime and more trusted by the entire community. The group’s report and recommendations regarding future policing arrangements in Northern Ireland are due next summer

• The new peace agreement calls for the early release of political prisoners convicted of terrorist acts, possibly including murder. To some the acts are political, to others they are criminal. Following the June election of members to the Ireland Assembly, a North-South Ministerial Council was to begin seeking to resolve the issue.

Yes, the people of Northern Ireland have taken major steps toward peace in their province. But in a land where it is easier to build institutions and structures than trust among people, where centuries-old defeats are nursed and historic victories are marked, the old mind-set still exists: There are either winners or losers. "The political pull...is not toward the center but away from it," says Senator Mitchell.

Still, he holds out hope for peace for the people of Ireland, their children and grandchildren. "It is important to know, and always to keep in mind, one’s history," he acknowledges. "But an individual or a society cannot be bound to the past. It is the future to which we must look, especially for the children."