When there is no peace.

Mr. Myers is a columnist for the Irish Times.

DUBLIN

THE television camera caught the moment perfectly: Gerry Adams looking a trifle stunned as he listened to President Clinton address the huge crowd in Belfast, apparently realizing that the forces of history were closing inexorably not merely on him but also on the entire Sinn Fein/IRA tradition. That tradition is an armed tradition -- yet here was the President of the United States addressing the people of Belfast, not merely endorsing the peace process but apparently throwing the weight of his Administration toward a real, disarmed conclusion.

Adams -- I believe -- really does want an end to the violence which has disgraced Irish civilization for the past quarter of a century. But he does not want and has not been seeking a foreclosure on the entire tradition which he represents -- the Sinn Fein tradition of a conspiratorial nationalism with, if need be, resort to arms. How strange it must have been for the former IRA chief to hear the President so forcefully embrace a peace utterly short of the aspirations of Sinn Fein/IRA and to realize: This is as far as it goes, and I am in part responsible.

Gerry Adams's reservations aside, Irish history has not witnessed a state visit so astoundingly successful, so brilliantly managed, so genuinely warm and so rich in spontaneity as that of the Clintons to Ireland. In that sense at least it was historic. The Irish are not a credulous people; they are quite cynical about politicians. Previous post - Kennedy presidential visits -- those of Nixon and Reagan -- were regarded with tolerant derision. The Clintons' visit was an utter triumph, from the first moments in London, in the aftermath of the American-brokered deal between London and Dublin, to a deeply moving address to a vast and enraptured assembly in Belfast, through to the final banquet in Dublin.

Even the most cynical and jaded observer -- and the first person singular comes to mind -- who was not previously inclined to be sympathetic to the Clintons, was left feeling an inexplicable affection for them. It was almost irritating. Nor was it just a personal triumph for the Clintons -- it was also for the architects of America's policy toward Ireland, most notably Nancy Soderberg.

It all leaves one feeling quite giddy, like a great ride in an amusement park. But that giddiness soon ends, and we return to work. So what, in the long term, was achieved during the Clinton visit? The accord signed by the Irish and British prime ministers has been presented as a breakthrough, but in reality, it is not. It is instead an instrument of controlled deferral which will enable the two governments to face up to the awful realities of Northern Ireland in a measured way, outside the overpowering glare of publicity generated by the presidential presence.

The truth remains: the central dispute does not reside in London or in Dublin and to a large degree remains outside the control of either or both. Relations between the two capitals over the past decade have been so close as to urge the use of condoms. The recent pre-visit spats over the issue of IRA arms are no more than disagreements about cookie crumbs in the bed. Both governments long since decided that the reality of their relationships should not be decided by the behavior of terrorists or the vagaries of Northern Ireland politics, though specific policy details toward the North might differ.

The central dispute remains where it always has been -- within Northern Ireland, where two racially and linguistically identical groups with two distinct identities (with certain perplexing overlaps in the center) have to share the same limited space. It is important to separate different elements here. The people of Northern Ireland are sick of war -- but they have been for years. They want peace -- but they have done for years. They adored the presidential visit -- but that is over. And their response to the twin-track approach -- unveiled by British and Irish governments the day before the visit began -- which has been largely hidden from view by the euphoria of the visit, has in fact been guarded.

THE people of the province have learned to be cautious. The twin- track approach -- exploratory talks leading to all-round talks at the end of February, while simultaneously a commission led by the affable Senator George Mitchell examines the issue of disarmament -- looks good on paper. But even while the visit was taking place, old positions were being reaffirmed. Prime Minister John Major repeated: No talks with Sinn Fein before a handover of guns. The Unionists said the same, just days after observers in London, apparently forgetting the dreary realities of life in Northern Ireland, were yodeling with joy as if permanent peace had been signed, sealed, and delivered.

The problem is that nothing is signed, sealed, and delivered until the last veto has been cast, and Northern Ireland is one big Vetoville; not merely does each sectarian community retain a veto over all political developments, so too does any sizable faction within either community. And since no real opprobrium attaches to those who say no, the veto comes easy. In this ballgame, any player can walk off with the ball, and there's no referee to call foul!

LET us be clear here. The British and the Irish governments have said that round-table talks must include all factions in Northern Ireland -- the largely centrist parties from the Protestant and Catholic communities, and those on the flanks. On one flank we have Sinn Fein and Gerry Adams. On the other we have the Democratic Unionist Party, led by that turbulent and implacable opponent of any reconciliation with Irish nationalism, Ian Paisley.

The sad truth is that this particular peace vehicle came off the twin tracks the day it was launched, though nobody has had the bad taste to remark on this. To switch metaphors, Paisley and his Democratic Unionists picked up the ball and walked off the field, denouncing the two governments' proposals, which are that political talks will go ahead at pre-round-table levels, while lucky old Senator Mitchell gets to listen to all those who want to bore his head off with their opinions about how to get the guns out of Northern Ireland -- at a rough count, about 1.5 million people, i.e., everybody.

But round-table talks, to work, must include those on the right of the Protestant community -- Paisley, after all, is personally the most popular politician in Northern Ireland, and his party attracts a bigger vote than Sinn Fein. Paisley's party has reaffirmed that it will never do business with Sinn Fein while the IRA exists.

In short, we are in a fresh stalemate, but a stalemate that has been timelocked not to be evident until the end of February, when round-table talks are scheduled to begin.

This stalemate should surprise nobody. It results from the simple division in intent between the two sides -- and like all great and unbridgeable chasms, each side has merit in its stance toward the next logical step in the peace process.

The "moderate" -- actually a worthless word within Northern Ireland -- Ulster Unionists say that Sinn Fein/IRA cannot be allowed at the talks while the IRA holds onto its arsenals. We can't have one group sitting at this nice round table with illegal guns under it. Either hand in the guns -- to whomever -- or no talks.

Very reasonable.

Sinn Fein/IRA insists that no undefeated terrorist/guerrilla group has ever handed in its guns anywhere -- and certainly not in Ireland, where most political parties have their origins within terrorist conspiracies, from which they peeled away to become fully fledged and lawful constitutional parties. So in a soft, soft voice, Sinn Fein points to the obvious reality -- the IRA will not disarm. Face facts. Live in the real world, buster. The IRA is the Irish Republican Army, not a thousand Danish manicurists called Karen. Armies don't disarm until they are beaten, and this one isn't. We disarm only after the peace process is concluded.

Very reasonable.

Both sides are being reasonable -- and that of course is the essence of any authentic deadlock. Both sides command logic and, strange to say, a certain morality. So of course the unionists are right when they say they cannot negotiate with a minority group which has not forsworn illegal violence. All democrats would understand their viewpoint instantly. And of course the IRA is right to point out that clandestine groups do not surrender their weapons short of a permanent settlement agreeable to them. All realists would agree that that is so.

In their recent disagreements, the British government aligned itself with the democrats, and the Irish government with the realists. Between those two positions there is no common ground. The English language is capable of many shifts and fudges -- but "before" and "after," as in disarmament before talks or after talks, are immune to deconstruction or analysis. Time makes an infinity of difference. No? Then try sex: consent withdrawn before is maybe an irritation: but withdrawn after is life imprisonment.

And the dismal reality is that a disarmed Sinn Fein/IRA at talks would have nothing to bargain with -- it garners just 10 per cent of the total vote in Northern Ireland, and less than 1 per cent in the Republic. In such talks, all it could do is to abandon its cherished ambition, for which it has conducted an unspeakably savage 25-year war.

Gerry Adams knows this; hence his expression while President Clinton spoke. The unionists know it too. Why, they argue, should the weight of a participant in round-table talks be enhanced by its ability to use violence for undemocratic ends? For ultimately, two, three, or four can play at that game, i.e., here we go again.

Time for absolute despair? No. The longer this fudge continues, the harder it will be for the IRA to go back on the warpath. Meanwhile, much real unification at a low level is taking place within Ireland. The border has all but disappeared -- Northerners know that they have driven into the Republic only when they vanish down a pothole. Joint-government schemes, backed by the European Union, are transforming border areas. Southerners provide the backbone to the Northern tourist industry -- and people adore peace.

Between now and February, some poor bastards from the two governments will have to relisten to the thousand rehashed arguments from the various entrenched positions. And George Mitchell will discover, at great, great length, how astonishingly boring Northern Ireland bores can be on the subject of guns. Still, it's better than war -- though by February, Mr. Mitchell might not agree.