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The politics of transformation: mass media and the Northern Ireland peace process

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The politics of transformation: mass media and the Northern Ireland peace process

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Content i

The Politics of Transformation:
Mass Media and the Northern Ireland Peace Process

by
Maria Armoudian

A Dissertation Presented to the
Faculty of the USC Graduate School
University of Southern California
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(POLITICS AND INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS)

May 2013

Copyright 2013 Maria Armoudian

i

Dedication

To my partner, Bernard, my parents, Garo and Agho, and my dear friend Ankine, whose
profound support during this process made this possible.
ii

Acknowledgments

I am forever grateful and indebted to my academic advisors who were relentlessly
supportive and committed to my success in this process. Thank you, Patrick James, Ann Crigler,
Hrair Richard Dekmejian, Ricardo Ramirez and Ernest Wilson, for your generous guidance,
wisdom, and support. What an extraordinary set of experiences and understandings you have
given me that have profoundly changed my life.

iii

Table of Contents

Dedication i
Acknowledgments ii
List of Tables iv
List of Figures v
Abstract vii
Introduction 1
Chapter One: Media Frames, Political Leaders, and the Making of War and Peace 10
Chapter Two: A Long War: A Brief History of the Northern Ireland Conflict 49
Chapter Three: Methodology 76
Chapter Four: Frame Wars 106
Chapter Five: Frame Changers 156
Chapter Six: Frame Wars Realized 204
Chapter Seven: Frame Change 279
Chapter Eight: Conclusion: The Politics of Transformation 323
References 347
iv

List of Tables

Table 1: Newsworthiness of the Parties 212
Table 2: Who is to Blame? 224
Table 3: Dominant Tone of the SDLP 227
Table 4: Dominant Tone of the DUP 230
Table 5: Dominant Tone of Sinn Fein 233
Table 6: Dominant Tone of the PUP 235
Table 7: SDLP’s Legitimacy 239
Table 8: DUP’s Legitimacy 241
Table 9: Sinn Fein’s Legitimacy 243
Table 10: PUP’s Legitimacy 245
Table 11: SDLP & Emotions 250
Table 12: Sinn Fein & Emotions 252
Table 13: DUP & Emotions 254
Table 14: PUP & Emotions 256
Table 15: SDLP, Hope & Fear 260
Table 16: Sinn Fein, Hope & Fear 261
Table 17: DUP, Hope & Fear 262
Table 18: PUP, Hope & Fear 263
Table 19: Future Relations & How to deal with the SDLP 268
Table 20: Future Relationships & How to Deal with the DUP 270
Table 21: Future Relations & How to Deal with Sinn Fein 272
Table 22: Future Relations & How to Deal with the PUP 273
v

List of Figures

Figure 1: Framing, Meaning, Psychological Forces, and Behaviors 13
Figure 2: Frame Flow and Filters 14
Figure 3: Journalists’ Filters 14
Figure 4: Nationalists & Republicans, Unionists & Loyalists 111
Figure 5: Murals on the Falls Road in West Belfast 116
Figure 6: Mural on the Museum of Free Derry 116
Figure 7: Mural on the Museum of Free Derry 117
Figure 8: Murals in Derry Depicting Internment and Bloody Sunday 125
Figure 9: Murals in Derry Depicting the Republicans’ Blanket Protests 126
Figure 10: Murals on the Falls Road Framing the Situation and the British Government 127
Figure 11: Mural in Derry Depicting Bloody Sunday 137
Figure 12: UVF Loyalist Mural in Belfast 141
Figure 13: Loyalist Murals in Belfast 142
Figure 14: Loyalist Murals in East Belfast Framing the Conflict 143
Figure 15: Loyalist Murals in Belfast 144
Figure 16: Percentage of Articles Including the Parties 210
Figure 17: Mean Party Frame Scores by Publication 216
Figure 18: Standard Deviations of the Situation & Party Frames 216
Figure 19: Percentage of Articles Containing Blame 222
Figure 20: Hope and Fear in Northern Ireland 258
vi

Figure 21: Hostility or Respect 265
Figure 22: Yearly Mean Situation Frames and Community Relations 283
Figure 23: Belfast Telegraph Yearly Mean Framing and Community Relations 287
Figure 24: Ulster News Letter Mean Yearly Frame Values and Community Relations 290
Figure 25: Irish News Yearly Mean Frames and Community Relations 294
Figure 26: Combat Yearly Mean Frames and Community Relations 297
Figure 27: An Phoblacht Mean Yearly Framing and Community Relations 299
Figure 28: Quarterly Situation Frames and Community Relations 302
Figure 29: Belfast Telegraph Quarterly Mean Frames and Community Relations 303
Figure 30: Combat Quarterly Frames and Community Relations 304
Figure 31: An Phoblacht Quarterly Mean Frames and Community Relations 305
Figure 32: Ulster News Letter Quarterly and Community Relations 306
Figure 33: Irish News Quarterly Frame Changes and Community Relations 308
Figure 34: Sinn Fein Quarterly Frame and Community Relation 310
Figure 35: SDLP Quarterly Frame Change and Community Relation 313
Figure 36: DUP Frame Changes and Community Relations 315
Figure 37: The PUP’s Quarterly Frame Changes and Community Relations 317

vii

Abstract

The Politics of Transformation: Mass Media and the Northern Ireland Peace Process
explores the interrelationship between mass media framing, political leadership, and group
psychology in transforming entrenched violent conflict into peaceful relationships. It examined
the construction of peace in two parallel and intertwined realms—the rhetorical and the real. In
order to measure this relationship, I conducted interviews, created two original databases,
devised a system by which to measure media frames and intercommunity relations, and
statistically compared frames across publications, over time and to the measures of
intercommunity relations. In the interviews political leaders and journalists revealed the factors
that created their respective frames: Although some of the findings, such as the forces of
journalistic structure and norms were expected, others—such as journalists’ personal
experiences, judgments, and emotions—were somewhat more surprising. By quantifying frames
from five media outlets, the degree to which each of the forces, such as political leadership,
group identity, ideology, and journalism’s norms and structures, became more evident. Further,
these measurements allow scholars to see how these two realms—the real and the rhetorical—
change over time and how intertwined they really are. Some media outlets’ framing trajectories
corresponded very closely with measures of real intercommunity relations, such as violent
conflict or peacemaking, suggesting a close relationship between these two variables.

1

Introduction
The Role of Media in the Northern Ireland Peace Process

“What does it take for citizens of one society to hate the citizens of another society to the
degree that they want to segregate them, torment them, even kill them?” asked psychologist
Philip Zimbardo in The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil. (2007:11).
Scholars from many disciplines have studied the antecedents and dynamics of political violence.
This study, The Politics of Transformation, builds upon their work and asks an equally important
question: “What does it take to resolve protracted, entrenched conflict and reconcile
communities after decades of segregation, torment and killing?”
Using the Northern Ireland conflict and peace process as a case study, this work
contributes to the impressive body of existing research in several fields, including international
relations, political communication, and Irish studies by integrating frame theory, political
psychology—identity, emotions, and group dynamics—and constructivism. The goal of this
inquiry is to better understand some key factors that help transform violent conflict into peaceful
coexistence on two planes: in the media frames and in the physical realities of the region. It
builds upon the idea put forward by Monroe Price and Mark Thompson, who argued that if war
and political violence and wars begin “in the minds of men,” then “they are not over until they
have ended there, too” (Price and Thompson 2002:1).
This chapter begins by first introducing the key concept: the frame. It then offers the
fundamental theoretical background—the integration of frame theory, political psychology and
2

constructivism—followed by the particular focus of this research: the construction and evolution
of peace in these two important parallel realms, the media’s frames and the physical conflict.
Finally, a chapter-by-chapter outline of the research process and findings follows as a guide for
the rest of the book.

Key Concept

The key concept of this work is the frame, a conceptual tool that works to select pieces of
information from a barrage of data, and then to organize or distill that information into simpler,
more meaningful “stories” and categories. Frames—as will be elaborated in later chapters—
generate ways of understanding issues, institutions, people and sociopolitical situations. But by
their nature, frames are biased, in part because they are selective, including some information
while omitting other information, and in part because their narratives are past-based and too
simplistic to accurately reflect the complexities of reality. Yet, as will be seen in the following
chapters, frames are powerful constructs, particularly when they are disseminated repeatedly
through mass media. They help construct identities, “groups,” and specifically an “us” and
“them” (Seaton 1999). They help define—and often stereotype—the membership criteria of
groups, which are built using socially constructed selection criteria; the tribal categories of
Rwanda’s Hutus and Tutsis, for example, were largely generated by European settlers who
separated them according to physical features. Over time, these groups, their stereotypes and
membership become enforced and hardened into “political reality” (Gupta 2008; Seaton 1999;
Armoudian 2011). The very presence of groups, in turn, generates additional psychological
3

forces, such as conformity, groupthink, intergroup emotions, norms, values, and beliefs that
become enforced and increasingly “real.” These interact with other social and political forces to
construct political realities (Janis 1983; Sherif et al 1961; Asche 1955; Sherif 1935; Sherif and
Hovland 1961; Sidanius 1993; Tajfel 1978; Green et al 2002; Bar-Tal et al 2007; Mackie et al
2000).
Another powerful function of frames is their ability to evoke emotions from the meanings
and appraisals that they convey. Emotions, then, elicit behavioral reactions, and a dynamic cycle
is born (Lazarus 1991 2001; Frijda 1986, 2007). For example, when a preponderance of frames
suggest that “the others” are unjustly harming one’s “own” group, or that “they” are causing a
negative sociopolitical situation, emotions such as fear, anger, resentment, contempt or hate are
prompted, triggering violent behaviors (Petersen 2002; Kaufman 2001). The violent behaviors,
then, can shape a more hostile frame and related appraisals and emotions, which may elicit
retaliation or punishment, creating a spiral of violence.
Can that spiral be reversed? What factors shift the framing? Can a change in framing
impact the emotions and behaviors that fuel political violence? Are there particular kinds of
frames that can promote greater understanding, reconciliation, positive intergroup emotions and
behaviors? And if so, can these constructions help diminish the vicious circle of violence and
lay the groundwork for more constructive community relations? This work seeks to answer these
questions with a step-by-step exploration of the construction of conflict frames, their evolution
and their relationship to real political violence and reconciliation.

4

Research Focus
The Politics of Transformation explores the construction and evolution of frames in the
public sphere and their relationship to political violence and peace. It begins with the contest of
conflict framing by distinguishing the opposing mirror frames, which work to blame and accuse
“them” or “the other” for causing the problems in conflict situations. Within these “blame
frames” or ‘hate frames” generated by parties to a conflict, the “others” are often stereotyped and
labeled into any number of villain roles—perpetrators, occupiers, terrorists, or all around “bad
guys”—while “we/us” are generally portrayed in one of three “good guy” roles—such as
“victim,” “innocent bystander,” or “hero.” These frames and the contest to establish the
dominant narrative in mass media become part of the conflict itself, and journalists become, in a
sense, referees between these conflicting mirror frames (Wolfsfeld 2004). Thus, The Politics of
Transformation begins with an understanding of these parallel wars—the rhetorical frame war
and its violent counterpart.
However, The Politics of Transformation then pushes past the conflict to explore how
media’s frames can actually evolve in a dynamic process with real changes in the environment
and analyzes whether those changes can together construct peace from long, protracted conflict.
For example, it examines how journalists’ revelations of change in leadership and events
challenge their established beliefs, generate new emotions and interact with the institution of
journalism’s structural and psychological forces to impact the next set of mass media’s frames.
This analysis required the development of new framing concepts and a new method of
quantifying conflict framing of situations and parties such that the media frames could be
measurably compared across media outlets. The new frame measures can also be used to
5

compare the media’s frames to the parties’ frames and the journalists’ understandings. And
finally, they can be tracked over time to assess if and how much frames change. By making these
comparisons, the forces in constructing frames and how those frame changes interact with the
real, non-rhetorical changes can become clearer. In theory, this dynamic process of rhetorical and
real changes in leadership, events, cognitions, emotions, and behaviors continues to unfold,
ebbing and flowing into one direction or another. New behaviors contribute to changing events,
framing, opinion and affect, while new frames help construct new opinions, emotions and
behaviors. In the theory set forth in the following pages, peace can be constructed from a
seemingly intractable conflict when the forces of leadership and journalism shift the
preponderance of framing in the public sphere from antagonistic “blame frames” or “hate
frames” into “acceptance frames,” in which “the others” are no longer unilaterally blamed and
hated but accepted as legitimate members of the society with legitimate grievances. In these
more realistic frames, blame can fade, and more positive emotions can emerge, beginning with
acceptance of the once-reviled “others.” Because positive emotions are incompatible with
negative emotions, the emergence of these more positive emotions may then intercept or thwart
the negative ones, according to some research, (which is further elaborated in the following
chapters). Using the new measuring devices, this research analyzes this relationship by mapping
the evolution of the leaders’ and media’s framing alongside the real changes in the community,
over a key period of the peace process. The latter changes are measured by acts of violence,
antagonisms, or reconciliation. The Politics of Transformation is divided into seven chapters and
a conclusion, which together identifies and analyzes these frames, their evolution, and their role
in political conflict and conflict-resolution. These chapters are described below.

6

Organization of this Work

Chapter One reviews existing research that serves as the foundation upon which this work
builds. Drawing from a broad range of disciplines, The Politics of Transformation then
integrates constructivism, frame theory and political psychology, particularly the role of group
identity and emotions, in both the formation of media frames and the construction of peace
within protracted conflicts. The chapter continues by discussing how the frames and the other
social and political forces co-construct each other. Because of their psychological impacts—
social psychological forces such as intergroup emotions and in-group conformity—particular
attention is given to the construction of groups and group identity, roles and stereotypes.
Additionally, the chapter reviews the literature about emotions that might affect violence and
conflict-resolution, how frames affect emotions, and vice versa. It then introduces its theoretical
model, hypotheses, and new framing concepts from which to conceptualize the relationship
between the evolution of the “frame wars” into frames of “acceptance” and the parallel evolution
of the physical conflict into peaceful coexistence.

Chapter Two offers the historical context of the Northern Ireland conflict, beginning with the
Easter Rising that occurred in the now Republic of Ireland and the severing of the island into the
northern six counties and the southern 26 counties. It continues by visiting some of the
institutional and structural factors in the six counties of Northern Ireland that further fueled the
conflict between those who wished to remain part of the Republic and those who wished to
remain part of Great Britain. Alongside the other institutional histories, it also examines
7

important changes in Irish mass media—both in the Republic of Ireland and the six counties of
Northern Ireland—such as the history of censorship, the struggle for the parties to disseminate
their framing and the battle for control of media operations.

Chapter Three details the methodology by which this research explored its questions. It first
discusses the original data-gathering of both qualitative data (primarily interviews with political
leaders and journalists) and quantitative data (significant events and newspaper articles). The
latter required finding and aggregating a stratified, systematic, random sample of articles from
five Northern Ireland publications. Then it describes the development of two databases and a
system by which the conflict frames would be measured to generate scores for the situation and
the parties’ frames. That process required identifying component variables that collectively make
up the frames, constructing scales with which to measure them, coding the articles and events,
and testing for inter-coder reliability. Statistical analysis computed the mean scores over two
timeframes—quarter and year. The comparisons of these final quantified media frame scores in
five iterations: first they are compared to the frames used by political leaders and the journalists’
opinions; the publications’ mean frames are compared to each other and, over time; finally, they
are compared against real intercommunity acts of antagonism or reconciliation (drawn from the
significant events). The final measurement offers the ability to assess some of the forces in the
construction of peace.

Chapter Four: Based upon interviews with leaders of five political parties in the region, this
chapter identifies and distinguishes the underlying “frame wars,” the rhetorical battles waged by
8

the political parties in Northern Ireland. These frame wars occurred parallel to the real war and
helped motivate the real physical conflict by attempting to persuade others by eliciting particular
emotions that would support each party’s desired policies and actions, such as to isolate, attack,
or integrate “the others.” The chapter traces and analyzes the parties’ efforts to maximize their
persuasion via mass media and alternative communications and promote their framing about the
political situation, “the others,” and the problem’s solution. It includes their perceived results of
those efforts and their understanding of the reasons for the outcomes.

Chapter Five reveals the dynamics that impacted the construction of traditional mass media
frames, as revealed by journalists during a series of interviews conducted in Northern Ireland. It
begins with journalists’ struggle to navigate difficult warzones and oppositional language and
framing. Then, it explores how revelations of secret meetings, changing events, leadership and
rhetoric interacted with journalists’ professional duties, their own opinions and emotions to
affect their newsgathering and framing of the situation and the parties. They also revealed how
history, personal experiences, peer and societal influences impacted the acceptability of
particular types of media framing related to of “news” events and the parties to the conflict.

Chapter Six builds upon the previous chapters to quantitatively assess how group identity,
ideology and emotions interact with the factors revealed in Chapter Five in the construction of
media frames. Using the newly measured frames and frame components, this chapter compares
the means and standard deviations of these variables in five key publications in Northern Ireland:
three daily newspapers and two paramilitary publications and to the parties’ framing and
9

journalists’ articulations The variations in these comparisons offer insights into the interaction of
group identity, ideology and emotions with the role of professional journalism roles and routines
to construct the media’s frames about both the situation and the political parties.

Chapter Seven adds the time dimension as a means of assessing the evolution of the frames and
their relationship to that of the physical conflict into peace. It first examines the frame changes—
of both the situation and the four party frames—over time, using annual and quarterly views to
analyze the frame changes in each of the five publications over the time period of the study.
Then, using the second database, it qualitatively analyzes the relationship between the framing
changes and real change in intercommunity relations. While this is the most complex chapter, the
findings offer the key insights into the co-construction of peace in both realms.

Chapter Eight summarizes the findings and contributions of this work to the fields of political
communication, international relations, and Irish studies, chapter-by-chapter and in totality.
Then, it explores possible improvements for the study and ideas for future research that can build
upon the databases, methodologies and concepts created in this work.

This next chapter explores the foundations on which this work builds. It briefly outlines
relevant international relations theories and integrates the literature of social constructivism,
political communication and political psychology, which together form the basis for the theory
and hypotheses of this work.
10

Chapter One
Media Frames, Leaders, and the Making of War and Peace

Introduction

For decades, ethnic groups in the former Yugoslavia had lived cooperatively as friends
and neighbors under the “unity and brotherhood” creed established by its leader Josip Broz Tito.
But in short order, Croats, Serbs and Bosniaks developed deep enmity for one another to the
point where they were “killing each other’s babies,” according to reports (Glover 2000). The
phenomenon was captured by one resident who remarked that after living together for 45 years,
“in the 46
th
year, we hate each other” (Vulliamy 1994:208)? In this setting, observers suggest
that killing the “others” became more than permissible; it became desirable (Simic 1990; Kellow
and Steeves 1998). Political communication scholars suggest that one factor driving the switch
was the mass media’s “hate” framing—publications and television stations that channeled
nationalist rhetoric and demonized the “other.” The onslaughts occurred first in mass media—in
the form of accusations, blame, name-calling, stereotyping, and making “monsters” out of people
11

they had known personally. “Media didn’t directly kill anyone, but while bullets may kill one
man, ideas kill thousands,” said Bosnian sociologist Mirsad Abazovic (2010).
Similarly, after decades of inter-marrying and living in relative harmony with each other,
Rwandan Hutus, en masse, mutilated, raped, tortured and murdered their Tutsi neighbors using
clubs, machetes, acid, boiling water and the spread of AIDS. By the end of three months, three
quarters of the Tutsi population—roughly 800,000 people—had been exterminated. Ordinary
people—neighbors, doctors, colleagues, teachers, even priests, who believed they were “doing a
job” executed much of the killing. Many Hutus came to believe that the Tutsis were to blame for
their troubles, and they no longer viewed the Tutsis as human beings. They were “cockroaches”
(Des Forges 2007; Kellow and Steeves; Li 2007; Chretien 2007; Thompson 2007; Dallaire 2004;
Hatzfield 2005). Again, among the catalysts were mass media messages, particularly from the
privately-run RTLM radio station, the government-sponsored Rwandan Radio, and publications
such as Hutu Power’s Kangura (ibid). It was one of the worst humanitarian and human rights
crises that scholars have noted “began with a propaganda phase, where extremists took control of
the means of mass communication and used them to incite conflict” (Price and Thompson
2002:42)
While Rwanda raged into one of the swiftest and most heinous genocides in the
Twentieth Century, its “twin,” neighbor Burundi, was also mired in internecine killing and mass
slaughter. But although the two countries shared much of the same history, culture, religion and
language, their paths diverged. Unlike Rwanda, Burundi never became genocidal; and in fact, it
gradually changed course toward peace. Among the contributing factors were again mass media
messages—the frames that some media disseminated: In Rwanda, a hegemonic “genocidal
frame” permeated the airwaves while in Burundi, a new media emerged and eventually helped its
12

war-torn communities better understand the roots of the conflict and each other’s roles within it
(Armoudian 2011; Sinduhiji 1998; Hagos 2001; Marks 2010; Melone et al 2002; Frere 2007;
Rich 2010).
What role do mass media play in lethal and brutal conflicts? And what role can they play
in reconciliation and peace building? Can mass media frames help construct peace? In reverse,
can violent conflict contribute to the construction of negative media frames? Can the move to
peace help construct more positive media frames?
The theory driving this research project suggests that these two planes—the real and the
rhetorical—influence each other in a dynamic construction process. They can spiral downward
into long, protracted conflict, and they can spiral upward into more peaceful engagement. The
two constructions are connected by the dissemination of frames that convey ideas and meanings,
evoke psychological forces, including emotions, and trigger behaviors. However, this process is
not one-directional. For example, emotions can generate cognitions, and a change in behaviors
can contribute to new emotions and frames. Both are influenced by an amalgam of institutional
forces, human agency, culture and social psychology. For example, “blame frames,” which
devalue and foist blame onto “the others” generate a view of the society as divided between “us”
and “them, and generates negative emotions such as anger and other group-based responses (see
figure 1). Together, these psychological forces elicit negative behaviors, such as attack. Those
behaviors reinforce conflict, which begin the process again.

13

Figure 1
Framing, Meaning, Psychological Forces, and Behaviors

Blame frames and the more extreme “hate frames,” often used by some political leaders,
are filtered through the work of professional, traditional journalists, who because of the structural
and normative features of journalism, translate the “frame wars” into a more neutral frames (See
Figure 2). Those filters include professional influences, such as the goals of journalism,
journalists’ routines and the definition of “news.” But personal factors, such as journalists’
opinions and emotions also interact with these forces to construct the mass media frames (See
Figure 3).

Blame Frame
Us v Them
Focus on Conflict
Devalue “the other”
Meanings,
Beliefs &
Cultural norms
Psychological Forces
Emotions &
Group Forces
Behavior
Distancing
Attack
Shunning, etc.
Reinforcement
of Conflict

The next sections and subsections explore relevant research, beginning with the
international relations question that asks why we fight. It continues into theories of

Figure 2
Frame Flow and Filters
Figure 3
Journalists’ Filters

The next sections and subsections explore relevant research, beginning with the
international relations question that asks why we fight. It continues into theories of
14

The next sections and subsections explore relevant research, beginning with the
international relations question that asks why we fight. It continues into theories of
15

constructivism and frame theory, the construction of groups, identities and the psychological
forces that arise from group formation. The subsections review roles, stereotypes, norms, and
social laws and how media frames interact with psychological forces. Finally, the chapter
discusses appraisal theory of emotions and behavior and how frames interact with emotions to
construct political realities. The chapter ends with a set of framing concepts and hypotheses to be
tested in the following chapters.

Why We Fight

Realist Explanations for War and Violent Conflict:

To explain war and lethal conflict, realist and neo-realist international relations theories
focus on the security dilemma that arises from the anarchical nature of state relationships. With
no international police, states build power in a quest for security, according to these theorists. As
states build power to enhance security, their neighbors perceive them as a potential threat and
begin to build their own power and security in an effort to “balance” the other states’ power and
reduce threat (Walt 2003; Waltz 1959). But the realist theory leaves many questions unanswered
with regard to the drive toward conflict or reconciliation. For one, it primarily addresses
relationships between states but does not adequately explain conflicts that arise, for example,
within states, which generally do contain law enforcement and arbitration structures. Thus, the
16

anarchical insecurity explanation seems unfitting in some conflicts. In attempting to explain
within-state-conflict, some theorists such as Barry Posen argue that intrastate warring groups—
such as ethnic groups—assess their histories, relationships, demographics, and the situation’s
socioeconomics to determine whether or not to engage in violent conflict. Posen, thus, merges
realist theories with other important contexts.
Realist and neorealist theories both address the important insecurity factor, which
ostensibly plays an important role in conflict. But these factors do not adequately explain lethal
conflicts, as evidenced by some conflicts between people who have had historically positive,
affirming experiences with in which fear of “other” had subsided. For example, in both Rwanda
and Bosnia, although there had been historic conflicts, the warring ethnic groups had more
recently witnessed decades of harmonious co-existence, marked by friendships, co-working
relationships and intermarriage before fratricidal conflict engulfed them (Thompson 1999; Kent
2006). But in Burundi, the internecine killing subsided and developed into more cooperative
engagement. Given the profound shifts in behaviors—from positive interrelationships to lethal
violence and back—additional factors must help explain conflict and peacemaking.

Why do Men Rebel? In his classic work, Why Men Rebel, Ted Gurr argued that political
violence correlated with “perceived deprivation.” In this theory, Gurr highlights the important
factor of perception, or understanding, particularly as it related to relative or comparative
deprivation. In essence, Gurr hypothesized that the perception of intense deprivation drives
larger sections of a political community to rebel, usually violently (Gurr 1970:9). In contrast, if
deprivation is perceived as mild, large-scale violent rebellion is less likely to occur. In essence,
17

Gurr argues that perceived deprivation—when substantive—triggers anger and frustration,
which, in turn, provokes violence, thus incorporating the important role of appraisals and
emotions as antecedents of violent behavior (ibid).

Building on International Relations Theories: This research builds upon the theories of
conflict and peace by integrating frame theory and social constructivism to help understand the
development of key meanings, and political psychology such as the forces of emotions and
groups. While emotions and identity contribute to the construction of frames and political
understandings, frames contribute to the development of meanings and appraisals that give rise
to identity groups, emotions and their behavioral components. The framing and presence of
identity groups triggers additional psychological factors, such as intergroup emotions,
conformity and groupthink. These factors—frames, cognitions, emotions, identity—interact to
affect both war-making and peacemaking. Depending on the meanings conveyed, these factors
can either help instigate and exacerbate lethal political violence, or they can help transform
conflicts into peaceful engagement and coexistence.

Constructionism and Frame Theory:

People come to understand political issues, events, actors and groups through a
construction process. From a barrage of information and other symbols, they piece together the
meanings about politics (Neuman et al 1992; Edelman 1971; Seaton 1999; Gamson 1988). In a
dynamic process, widely-shared political perceptions and misperceptions develop and then are
18

“mutually reinforced in large collectivities of people” (Edelman 1971:2). Ideas, meanings and
understandings about political events, phenomena, people and groups become socially accepted
as “the way things are,” even though they are largely constructs of “symbolic systems” (Burke
1966:5; Edelman 1971:2).
Among the key mental constructs or tools for shaping these understandings are frames.
Frames contribute to the construction of political understandings, meanings and appraisals about
political developments, groups, individuals, and identities (Edelman 1971; Kaufman 2001;
Gamson 1988; Onuf 1989; Goffman 1974; Entman 1993, 2007). These constructs simplify and
organize massive amounts of generally disorganized information into simpler “stories,”
categories, and other abbreviated ways of comprehending and evaluating issues, institutions,
people and sociopolitical developments. And their very nature, frames are biased. Through their
use of language, symbols, historic references, and the inclusion or omission of information,
frames convey particular themes and meanings and assign values and significance (Entman
1993, 2007; Neuman et al 1992; Van Gorp 2007; Gamson 1988; Nelson et al 1997; Lakoff 1996,
2004; Nelson and Oxley 1999; Iyengar 1982, 1987).
Like other heuristic cues, frames activate people’s existing schemata. Through the use of
frames, political actors attempt to tap into schemata in order to persuade and influence opinions
and attitudes (Callaghan and Schnell 2001; Entman 2007; Loizides 2005). For example, issues
related to firearms are usually framed as either individual rights or as matters of public safety.
Similarly, advocates frame abortion rights as a matter of individual women’s rights or as the
rights of the fetus (Freedman 2000; Druckman 2002).
19

During conflicts, frames such as “us versus them,” “good versus evil” or “perpetrator and
victim” emerge and signal particular interpretations of events, which can evoke other
psychological phenomena such as emotions, including intergroup emotions, and other group-
influenced thinking and behavior, like groupthink and conformity (Wolfsfeld 2004; Janis 1983;
Mackie and Devos 2000; Mackie et al 2009; Bar-Tal et al 2007; Armoudian 2011).
Frames can be quite persuasive, particularly if they are emotionally-laden (Aday 2006).
But even less advocacy oriented frames can suggest judgments and values about the people,
policies and occurrences described within them. In one experiment, for example, changing the
frame about a Ku Klux Klan rally markedly changed the subjects’ tolerance for the rally. When
presented in a “free speech” frame, people expressed tolerance, but when the same rally was
framed as an issue of public safety, tolerance diminished (Nelson et al 1997; Druckman 2001).
Other frames, such as “us-versus-them” or “good guys-and-bad guys” tend to assign moral
correctness to some while assigning immorality to the “others.” And the “he-said-she-said”
frame may place unequal perspectives on an equal footing (Armoudian 2011; Boykoff and
Boykoff 2004).
Often, larger, overarching master frames or meta-narratives develop and become so
entrenched that they are difficult to dispel, even when demonstrated to be untrue. These master
frames are simplistic stories that often reduce people’s understandings about events, policies,
people and groups to one-dimensional portrayals or caricatures (Kovach and Rosenstiel 2001;
Scott 2003; Loizides 2005; Bennett 2007; Iyengar 1982; 1987; Entman 2007; Capella and
Jamieson 1997). Some scholars (Lakoff 2002, 2004, 2008) have suggested that when frames are
repeated and go unchallenged, they can become “hardwired” into the brain such that single
words trigger subconscious and visceral responses (ibid). This entrenchment phenomenon is
20

particularly true of strong partisans who experience a form of cognitive dissonance when
information contradicts established framing and desire (Westin 2007).
Complicating matters, however, is the fact that many frames are embedded within the
cultural milieu of groups and societies, and therefore go unnoticed and accepted as if they reflect
the true realities within those societies. Thus their effects are stealth (Gamson 1988; Neuman et
al 1992; Van Gorp 2007). Groups, cultures and societies often adopt a “shared repertoire of
frames” and repeat them like an “echo chamber,” reinforcing both their meanings and group
divisions groups (Van Gorp 2007: 61; Glasser and Gunther 2005; Croteau and Hoynes 2001;
Crouse 1974:20; Entman 2005; Kerbel 1998; Cook 1998; Bennett and Klockner 1998; Bennett
2007; Bennett and Manheim 2001; Jamieson and Capella 2010; Anderson 2006; Seaton 1999).
Simultaneously, they offer a common perspective that can act as a kind of glue for the groups
while reinforcing socially-constructed identities and thus continue their existence as “imagined
communities” (Anderson 2006; Seaton 1999).

The Construction of Frames:

Frames are constructed and disseminated through channels such as the communication of
political leaders, “norm entrepreneurs,” mass media, and peer-to-peer. Political leaders stage
events and release statements to articulate their frames for their issues in efforts to shape
opinions, attitudes and behaviors (Bennett 2007; Herman and Chomsky 1988; Sunstein 1996). In
some cases, political leaders create frames from disparate, unrelated issues in order to tap into
preconceived biases and affect opinions on policies (Winter 2008). But together, these frames
21

and other symbols generate “beliefs about what is proper; their perceptions of what is fact; and
their expectations of what is to come.” Expectations, too, affect emotions and behaviors as
efforts to address anticipated events (Edelman 1971:7; Edelman 2001).
For many years, political leaders relied upon traditional mass media to present their
frames and perspectives to the public. And for many issues about which general audiences do not
have direct access, such as science and international events, members of the public obtain
considerable understanding from mass media, making media frames an integral part of the
public’s understandings of political matters (Lippman 1922; Patterson 1989).
The frames disseminated by mass media are constructed from a variety of forces; some
are structural; others are cultural, ideological, psychological and normative. For example, the
definition of news, sometimes called “novelty without change,” impacts the choice of
information as well as the presentation of information. Institutional influences also impact news
frames. For example, historically, many traditional media outlets hired journalists with moderate
ideologies or trained them to report their stories within a moderate ideological framework to
prevent extreme perspectives (Gans 1980). Journalists also follow established routines, such as
“beats;” they are rewarded for particular kinds of reporting, and are trained to seek out and
emphasize particular types of stories—dramatic, conflict-ridden, personalized, or those that
represent a “violation of values.” Space constraints, deadlines and financial limitations also
impact the frames that emerge (Bennett 2007; Iyengar 1997; Entman 1987; Wolfsfeld 2004;
Gitlin 1980; Gans 1980).
Among their “beats,” political reporters often cover particular institutions and thus often
rely upon officials from within those institutions for information and the dominant frame, a
22

practice that leads to what scholars refer to as “indexing.” When journalists index, they narrow
the range of debate to those articulated by political leaders (Gans 1979; Cook 1998; Gitlin1980;
Bennett 2007Herman and Chomsky 1988). If there is disagreement with or within the institution,
a narrow “he-said-she-said” frame often emerges (Bennett 2007; Herman and Chomsky 1988;
Danielian and Page 1994; Entman 1996). This way of newsgathering tends to result in framing
that favors the status quo, and weakens or omits minority perspectives (Gans 1980; Gitlin 1980;
Hancock 2004). Further, because of the emphasis on drama, conflict or controversy, journalists
often rely on officials whose responses will generate these ends (Bennett 2007; Entman 1996).
Journalists are also guided by their own emotions, cultures, histories, ideologies and
identity groups, which help to shape their understandings of political phenomena. Their own
backgrounds intersect with the structural forces to create the frames disseminated about political
developments, persons and issues (Armoudian and Crigler 2010).
Collectively, these factors serves to construct particular kinds of coverage that limit or
“gate-keep” both the exposure and framing of issues, persons, groups and perspectives. The
inclusions or exclusions—which are designed to fit within the given frames—can influence the
perception and legitimacy for issues, persons, groups and perspectives. In some cases, exclusion
silences non-status quo points of view, which impact political outcomes (Bennett 2007;
Bagdikian 2000; Wolfsfeld 2004; Parenti 1986; Graber 2006; Bucy and Gregson 2001).

The Construction of Groups and Identities
Media frames help construct and reinforce groups, their boundaries, membership and
characteristics (Allen and Seaton 1999; Hancock 2004). While some groups develop organically
23

as a result of birthplace, interest, or shared aspects of life, others are artifacts, created through the
communication of ideas. Throughout modern history, for example, political leaders defined and
codified these lines of demarcation through political processes. This occurred Rwanda when
European settlers distinguished Hutu from Tutsi based upon physical features such as the size of
one’s nose while in reality, the two groups had more commonalities than differences (Mamdani
2001; Caplan 2007; Destexhe 1995). Similarly, in Nazi Germany, Nazi leaders defined
“Jewishness” based on one’s grandparents’ heritage, not religion, culture, or practice, then
codified that definition into the Nuremberg laws (Shirer 1960; Dekmejian 2007). Some
distinctions fade out while new identities emerge. For example, the Canaanites and Philistines
have all but disappeared, while ethnic groups such as Bangladeshis and East Timorians have
become established (Gupta 2008). In many cases, ethnic distinctions have no real biological
differences (Allen and Seaton 1999). But they are reinforced as if they are real, physical and
fixed when enough people believe in them. This becomes more pronounced in the face of
conflict (Seaton 1999:3; Banks and Murray 1999).
Similarly, prevailing ideas of what “should be” contribute to the construction of larger
groups such as nations and states. For example, thinkers connected to the French Revolution and
to German Romanticism disseminated the idea of nationhood based on language or ethnicity
such as a Slavic state (Yugoslavia). Other intellectuals then developed and propagated the
concept of separate nationhood based on ideas of “great” historical nations—the Great Serbia,
Croatia, and Bosnia (Ramet 2006; Naimark 2001). These are “imagined communities” in which
members will never meet most of their groups’ fellow constituents (Anderson 1983). But despite
that fact, within imagined communities, psychological forces are at work, shaping intergroup
characteristics, emotions, behaviors, values, morals, speech patterns, codes, and symbols.
24

Divisions, membership, or criteria for citizenship are enforced, and stereotypes and state and
social laws emerge. Group members form bonds with one another, set up boundaries between
themselves and the “outsiders,” and begin to perceive the world through a lens of “us” and
“them.” These imagined boundaries become more real, hardened separations from “the others,”
enforced by militaries that defend their own (Seaton 1999; Kaufman 2001; Anderson 1983).

Groups, Norms, Social Laws and Norm Entrepreneurs

Group identity matters and often carry material consequences. European settlers, for
example, lavished benefits onto the Tutsi based on physical characteristics they created to
demarcate the Tutsi from the Hutu. During the Rwandan conflict, those same identities became
the determinants for death. Similarly, group identity in Nazi Germany, the Ottoman Empire, and
Bosnia came to mean life or death based on those lines of demarcation. Other times, group
identity affects civil rights and human potential, hindering or helping them as a result of the
group in which they “belong” (Park and Banaji 2000; Smith 1993; Armoudian 2011; Dekmejian
2007).
Groups also have more subtle effects, in that they impact attitudes, opinions, and
behaviors of their members, a phenomenon that has been demonstrated in both experimental and
real-life settings. In the 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment, for example, college students
conformed to their surroundings, roles, and the situation’s norms, raising questions about the
degree to which thoughts, emotions, attitudes, identity, ideology, morality and behavior are
individually determined and to what degree they are determined by groups and societies.
25

Behavioral and attitudinal differences appear from culture to culture, sometimes even from city
to city. In one city, for example, an abandoned car with its hood open was stripped of all its
valuable parts while in another city, the same car’s hood was gently closed to protect it from
rain. In one part of the world, people believe they are “special,” while in another they shun
“specialness.” The same person, taken from one situation to the next, behaves and thinks
differently in the new setting.
Groups and roles weaken personal autonomy, heighten stereotyping, and blind
individuals to aspects of reality. Obvious truths become questionable if a consensus in the group
challenges the reality—even when it comes to something as fundamental as the length of a line
(Asche 1951, 1955; Sherif 1935; Zimbardo 2007). Belonging to groups also elicits allegiances,
intergroup emotions, groupthink, and “us versus them” thinking. Groups often self-censor,
develop beliefs of inherent morality, and stereotypes of outsiders, sometimes to avoid falling out
of the group’s graces (Janis 1983; Sherif et al 1961; Sidanius 1993; Tajfel 1978; Smith 1993;
Mackie et al 2000).
Within groups, norms and social laws such as opinion, reputation, or fashion establish
what are considered acceptable standards for their members. Often these social laws are at least
as powerful as state laws eliciting obedience lest members of the group be outcast, isolated, or
shunned. Although social laws can be harmless (e.g. fashion laws prevent men from wearing
pink skirts), they extend beyond the innocuous, and can materially impact people; public
opinion, and reputation often influencing institutions, policies, and state laws, which are built
around public understandings (Neumann 1984; Hancock 2004; De Tocqueville 1948; Locke
1894; Sunstein 1996).
26

Group members also tend to favor “their own” and sometimes express indifference or
disdain for outsiders, particularly in the face of competition, even if the groups are completely
arbitrary creations with randomly assigned memberships. This was demonstrated in an
experiment in which psychologists randomly assigned normal, young, middle-class, white,
Protestant boys into two fabricated groups that the experimenters called “Rattlers” and “Eagles”
and created a competitive game. Despite group members having no ethnic, religious, physical, or
gender differences, the boys favored their “own” members, believing that they were “brave” and
“friendly,” while stereotyping the “others” as “no-good cheats” and “rotten cussers” (Sidanius
1993; Tajfel 1978). The mere perception of belonging to distinct groups—even ad hoc and
purely cognitive groups—is enough to generate intergroup discrimination and favoritism for
one’s own group (Tajfel and Turner 1986).
Leaders can either exacerbate or quell these phenomena by use of emotive frames that
emphasize selective history, stereotypes, blame, or a sense of competition (Kaufman 2001;
Wolfsfeld 2004; Gurr 1970; Petersen 2002). Through framing, mass perceptions and
misperceptions emerge, stirring powerful emotions such as fear, anger, resentment, or hatred
toward the hostile “other.” In both the Balkans and South Caucasus, for example, leaders
renewed hostile narratives that invigorated identities among many people who had no strong
sense of being either “Croats” or “Georgians” (Edelman 2001; Kaufman 2001).
As ideas about groups harden, government programs can reinforce exclusion or
devaluation of their voices and perspectives, creating a vicious circle for members of the group
(Hancock 2004:4; Young 1997: 64; Taylor 1994:70; Schneider and Ingram 1995: 443; Hancock
2004:5). With such reinforcements, public understandings about individuals—because of their
27

group identities—can endure over generations and impoverish the marginalized group members’
potential (Hancock 2004:4).
Together, these conditions, particularly conflict, competition, and scarcity, intensify
group identification, emotions and behavior (Tajfel and Turner 1986; Sherif et al 1961). Inter-
individual friendships can easily dissolve when the friends belong to opposing or conflicting
groups (Sherif 1966; Tajfel and Taylor1986: 34). This phenomenon has actually been
experimentally manipulated by assigning the friends into opposing groups (Sherif 1966).
But leaders can also help reverse the damage. Societies, groups, and their values, norms,
social laws are dynamic constructions that are at times “fragile” and alterable by what has
become known as “norm entrepreneurs,” people who seek to change existing social norms or
laws (Sunstein 1996). In the US, for example, these leaders or norm entrepreneurs successfully
changed norms of acceptability related to groups during the Civil Rights and Women’s Rights
eras, and in South Africa, they helped to overturn the apartheid rule. These changes can occur
swiftly or over longer periods of time depending on the political milieu, culture and mass media
(Sunstein 1996; Armoudian 2011).

Mass Media Frames, Norm Entrepreneurs, and the Social Construction:
Ideas—such as groups, their boundaries, membership criteria, identities, and social
laws—spread through communication and are increasingly perceived as real when accepted by
masses of people. Mass media allow for a much broader and quicker dissemination of these ideas
(Altheide 2002; Graber 2006; Gamson 1988; Zaller 2006). Through the media’s frames and
filters, some constructs gain more traction and acceptance than others. Over time, with repetition
28

in mass media or ubiquity, these ideas can harden, increasingly seeming concrete and true.
Categories, groups and their social laws, for example, seem real in people’s minds. These
“realities” then influence emotions and behavior that further enforce the narratives and frames
and demarcate “us” from “them” (Seaton 1999; Armoudian 2011). This is particularly
pronounced if a consensus emerges about acceptable frames, narratives, stereotypes, or other
concepts, in which case, people rarely dissent, even when something is clearly unjust or wrong.
The lack of dissent further reinforces the status quo (Noelle-Neumann 1984; Asche 1951, 1955).
By publicizing constructive challenges to destructive ideas and practices, leaders and
mass media can together supplant the harmful norms (Sunstein 1966). In Senegal, for example,
norm entrepreneurs challenged social laws that long required that young girls undergo female
genital cutting (FGC) in order to be accepted as part of their communities. “Uncut” women were
considered dirty and thus outcast. Leaders undertook a concerted campaign to introduce and
promote new concepts and frames that showed the incompatibility of FGC with health and
human rights through a combined grassroots and media campaign. Without both elements—
leadership and mass media—to propagate these concepts, FGC would likely still be the criterion
determining fitness for marriage and community (Melching 2001; Easton et al 2003; Armoudian
2011).
In some cases, this combination paves the way for large concepts that build countries. For
example, some scholars credit the framing of Thomas Paine’s Common Sense for the birth of the
United States (Nelson 2006). In Common Sense, Paine regularly attacked the old country’s
feudal system and insisted that leaders—whether monarchs, tyrants, or legislators—had power
only through citizens’ consent and their granting of that power. Paine’s dissemination of this
framework offered the revolutionaries a new perspective: They were not “traitors,” so much as
29

“pioneers and forefathers struggling to create a better world for future generations.” And through
these ideas in Common Sense, readers could envision “life without a monarch,” inspiring the
Declaration of Independence and the Revolutionary War. Paine continued using his medium to
disseminate additional revolutionary ideas and frames, such as the moral rightness of ending
slavery and limited suffrage, by framing them as disgraceful (Nelson 2006).
In the reverse, the combination of leadership and media frames can also encourage the
dissolution of nations or states, such as in the case of Yugoslavia’s breakup. In this case, by
emphasizing the idea of group divisions, the nationalist parties used their respective media to
frame and stereotype the “other” ethnic groups as evil outsiders who should be ousted from
“our” land. Those media, similar to the nationalist media of Rwanda and Nazi Germany, made
associations with a socially constructed ethnic group a primary determinant for matters of
belonging, life or death, affecting many for whom this grouping had been relatively meaningless
for decades (Des Forges 2007; Kellow and Steeves; Li 2007; Chretien 2007; Thompson 2007;
Dallaire 2004; Hatzfield 2005).
Mass media frames can also compound conflict by propagating stereotypes, repeating the
demarcations between “us” and “them,” reinforcing these frames and “differences” between
groups, and by portraying groups in frames that imply innocence or guilt (Seaton 1999; Reljic).
When media frames emphasize and prime stereotypes and group differences, for example, their
audiences may forget the shared qualities, characteristics, and values, thereby creating illusions
of great chasms of separateness. Oversimplification, stereotypes, and the illusion of static
societies also make intergroup cooperation and conflict resolution more difficult. For example,
propagating myths about groups or their members “are just this way” or “have always been this
way” are gross simplifications that can have material consequences. In the worst cases, such as
30

in Rwanda, Nazi Germany, and other wartime situations, media perpetuated stereotypes that
diminished the “others” as categorically evil or subhuman. But media can instead emphasize
commonalities among groups and broader shared goals and frames for which group members can
strive together, which may help fade the appearance of great separation, paving the way for
possible reconciliation, collaboration and cooperation (Armoudian 2011; Marks 2010; Sinduhiji
1996; Rich 2010).

The Interaction of Media Frames, Emotions, and Group Phenomena

Frames contribute to the social construction of three powerful psychological phenomena
that come together to shape conflict and conflict resolution: 1) the meanings, understandings and
appraisals that evoke emotional responses and their behavioral counterparts. 2) The definition,
boundaries and membership of symbolic groups and identities, and the psychological dynamics
that accompany them; and 3) the social laws, norms, values and related cultural drivers that help
to shape groups and societies. These forces work together in a dynamic process. For example, as
discussed earlier, some frames demarcate groups and help identify those who belong and those
who are outsiders. They may suggest meanings and appraisals such as guilt or innocence,
righteousness or wrongness and may cast blame onto one group or another. These appraisals
evoke emotions processes and other psychological phenomena to trigger behaviors, which can
include attack, peacemaking, exclusion or participation. Through the framing process, for
example, narratives may arise about who “really owns the land,” “who doesn’t belong here,” or
“who has power over whom,” which generate appraisals about domination/subordination or
31

justice/injustice, which triggers the emotion of resentment and its related “corrective” behaviors
(Petersen 2002). They can also activate belonging and group-based psychological phenomena
such as groupthink, conformity, intragroup, and intergroup emotions. The next two sections will
first give an overview of relevant emotions, their dimensions, related appraisals and behavioral
counterparts, and secondly, address the frames that can shape the appraisals that give rise to their
related emotions.

The Emotions:

Appraisals and Emotions -- There is debate about the directional interplay between cognitions
and emotions—whether one precedes the other or whether they occur simultaneously. But
evidence is mounting that both occur: cognitions trigger emotions, which then evoke their
behavioral counterparts, and in reverse, emotions can trigger cognitions. Emotions and
cognitions, say scholars, are generally “fused” (Lazarus 1984: 248). And while emotions can
arise from a number of triggers, including other emotions (Izard and Ackerman 2000: 253;
Lazarus 1984, 1991, 2001), appraisals, particularly as they relate to one’s well-being and goals,
do motivate affect. For example, negative appraisals related to unmet expectations, thwarted
goals, or a sense of threat elicit negative emotions, such as anger, resentment and fear (or other
negative emotions such as guilt-shame, sadness, disgust and contempt). In particular, the
appraisal of blame activates anger and anger-related emotions and is a key component in more
intense emotions such as hate and hostility (Lazarus 1984, 1991, 2001; Sternberg 2005; Beck
1999; Gudjonsson and Singh 1989). In political settings, blame arises when one perceives
32

another has perpetrated an injustice or political wrong. In contrast, the appraisal that one’s well-
being, goals and values are attainable or en route elicits positive emotions (e.g. hope, empathy,
contentment,
1
happiness, joy, pride, love/affection, relief) (Lazarus 1991: 84; Frijda 1993, 2007).
Some appraisals elicit more “borderline” emotions, such as acceptance (Plutchik 2003; Lazarus
1991).
The appraisal process is on-going, such that people constantly evaluate information and
respond emotionally (Scherer 2001: 369). Among important appraisals, two are key—relevance
and significance (Roseman and Smith 2001; Scherer 2001: 370). These appraisals respond to
questions such as: “How much . . . affect major goals or values . . . and how much adaptive
action or internal adjustment does this require” (Scherer 2001: 370)?
Emotions also affect cognitions (Isen 2000). For example, positive emotions allow for
greater access to positive thoughts. They can fundamentally reorganize cognitions, improve
thinking, and promote creativity, flexibility, efficiency, thoroughness in decision-making, and
negotiation (Isen 2000: 417).

Appraisals and Emotional Dimensions: While some psychologists suggest that emotions are
discrete, others believe emotions are dimensional and contain at least two basic dimensions: the
negative/positive dimension and the intensity/arousal dimension. Both respond to appraisals
(Lazarus 1991) with more intense appraisals generating more intense emotions (Lazarus 1991:
84; Frijda 1993, 2007). Thus, intensely negative appraisals elicit high intensity emotions such as
rage whereas mildly negative appraisals evoke less intense emotions such as irritation or

1
Some scholars consider hope and contentment as more borderline emotions.
33

annoyance, the latter which are thought to be “relatively mild anger” (Lazarus 1991: 59). With
intensity may come other distinctions, however. For example, rage, while more intense than
anger, may have additional dimensions that make it more than merely strong anger (Frijda 248).

Emotion Families: Some theorists suggest that emotions are not simply a “single affective state
but a family of states” (Ekman 1999: 8). Members of an emotion family share particular
characteristics or constitute a theme that is unique to that family (Ekman 1999). For example, the
“attack” family emotions include anger, rage, fear, contempt, resentment and hatred (Fischer and
Roseman 2007; Petersen 2002; Frijda et al 1989; Kuppens et al 2003; Ortony et al 1988;
Roseman and Smith 2001). Other theorists group emotions by their core relational appraisal
themes. Anger and related emotions’ themes, for instance, are blaming others, while fear’s theme
is danger or threat, and guilt’s is blaming the self (Lazarus 1991; Smith and Lazarus 2001: 97).

Appraisals and Affective Systems: Appraisals such as threat also trigger a different monitoring
system (Marcus et al 2000). Normally, people simply monitor the environment using their
dispositional system. But when a situation appears threatening, a surveillance system is
triggered, creating alertness that also allows for faster responses and absorption of more
information (ibid).

Emotions as Antecedents of Behavior: Emotions are thought of as a primary motivational
system for behavior (Izard and Ackerman 2001: 253). They act like “adaptive switches,”
34

triggering a compulsion to act as a means of addressing the situation at hand (Lazarus 1991;
Smith and Kirby 2001; Petersen 2002; Frijda 2004). They “drive” people toward a goal or to
address a concern. For example, a threatening situation heightens fear, which motivates self-
protective action tendencies (Smith and Kirby 2001; Frijda 2004; Peterson 2002). The process
can be either near instantaneous with little awareness or cognitive effort, or slow and deliberative
(Smith and Kirby 2001: 128 Izard 1992; Zajonc 1980; Scherer 2001: 371). Scherer suggests that
there are as “many different shades of emotion as there are appraisal profiles” (Scherer 2001:
371-373).

Negative Emotions, Conflict and Violence: Negative emotions narrow people’s thought and
action repertoires. They tend to trigger behavioral counterparts, such as exclusion, repulsion, or
hostile actions, as efforts to remedy the negatively evaluated situation (Frijda 1986, 2004;
Petersen 2002; Fredrickson and Joiner 2002: 172). Fear, rage, resentment, hatred, and contempt
are some of the negative emotions found underlying hostility and violence (Fischer and Roseman
2007; Petersen 2002; Frijda et al 1989; Kuppens et al 2003; Ortony et al 1988; Roseman and
Smith 2001). They drive people to change their situations often through remedial action
(Petersen 2002: 19).

Fear: “Fear is the emotion of uncertainty and lack of control, which motivates protective
action” (Frijda 1986: 429). It signals danger and triggers impulses and actions of either
avoidance or aggression (Lazarus et al 1984: 225). Fear heightens attention and generates a
“tunnel vision.” This emotion is tied to the “security dilemma” noted by international relations
35

theorists. But whether or not it leads to the “fight” instead of the “flight” depends on the
interpretation about one’s power in the situation. Some scholars believe that fear is the key
motivator for violent action. Barry Posen, for example, suggests that the drive for security can
produce “near genocidal behavior” (Posen 1993: 30). The emotion can arise from any number of
perceived dangers, including fear of domination, conquest, injury, loss, and subordination (Moisi
2010:103-104).

Anger, Rage, Resentment and Contempt: The “attack-emotion family” includes negative
emotions such as anger, rage and contempt, which tend to respond to infringements and are
usually tied to a sense of morality/immorality (Rozin et al 1999). “Attack-emotions” have a
tendency to generate an attack on “the other” in order to gain a better outcome (Fischer and
Roseman 2007:103). Key in this family is anger, a powerful, intense emotion, with a core
relational theme of blaming others; it often responds to loss, and it suggests that “fighting is
meaningful” by its agency (e.g. not reducing one to “mere passivity”) (Frijda 1986: 429, 430).
Anger is distinct from some other attack family emotions in that it can be short-term and
permissive of continued relations, such that one may be angry at a loved one but may continue to
engage with them after expressing the anger (Averill 2001; Frijda et al 1989; Lazarus et al 1984:
225).
Anger’s action tendency—when not suppressed—is hostile or aggressive behaviors. It
mobilizes and sustains high levels of energy and physically moves blood into the muscles
(Cannon 1929; Izard and Ackerman 2000: 259). Some go so far as to suggest that anger is the
primary “drive or motive behind . . . most forms of aggression” (Berkowitz 2001: 339; Averill
36

2001). But in many cases, it “make[s] bad matters worse” (Izard and Ackerman 2000: 259;
Tomkins 1963, 1991). When preceded by emotions such as shame, anger is sometimes
heightened, which makes violence more likely (Izard and Ackerman 2000: 260). And extreme
anger in the form of rage (from frustration) may drive highly destructive behavior, including
intolerance of “the others” and support for abusive policies toward them (Halpern 2008, 2009;
Petersen 2002).
Less intense negative emotions such as annoyance fall within the anger family but have
different traits and action tendencies. People experiencing annoyance, for example, tend to
suppress their reactions and leave the situations while anger represents more commitment and
tends to demand expression.
Resentment arises from theme of injustice, usually the belief that one group unjustly has
power over the other, and is a common emotion across conflicts. However, violence—or punitive
and discriminatory laws—connected to resentment depends on other factors such as status,
structural change, group hierarchy and emotional intensity (Petersen 2002:256). This reaction is
usually a means to “put them in their place” (Petersen 2002:264).
Contempt, which often occurs with anger, may be less intense than rage, but because of
the negative appraisal of the “other” as unworthy of engaging, it can be more destructive.
(Fischer and Roseman 2007:104). Contempt is both a direct and indirect cause of aggression and
can cause shame (Izard and Ackerman 2000: 260; Tomkins 1963).

Hate: Hate is a very deep, intense, hostile and enduring emotion. Some theorists believe that
hate is a complex emotion containing other emotions such as anger, fear, resentment, contempt
37

or rage. But because hate’s appraisal includes a belief that one’s nemesis is evil, ridiculous or
subhuman, it is distinct from these other emotions (Royzman 2005; Halpern 2008; Sternberg
2005). Like other attack emotions, hate contains the “intent of destructive aggression” (Staub
2005: 59; Sternberg 2005; Royzman et al 2005:5; Blum 20-22; Elster 1999; 2003:6; Beck
2005:44; Solomon 1977). But like disgust, it is marked by distancing (from disgust or repulsion
from the appraisal that the “other” is vile, subhuman or garbage), passion (anger-fear in response
to threat, leading to avoid or approach the object), commitment, (devaluation-diminution through
contempt, leading to foment more hate toward the target) (Sternberg 2005:39; Royzman 2005:7).
Its action tendencies are related to intolerance, abuse and violence, either directly or indirectly
through support of intolerant, abusive or violent policies toward the “others” (Halpern 2008,
2009). Often, this emotion triggers the desire to annihilate the “other” from the combination of
anger, fear and disgust (Beck 1999; Sternberg 2005; Kressel 1999; Halperin 2007; Kaufman
2001; Post 2003).

Positive Emotions

Positive Emotions include hope, love/affection, pride, satisfaction/contentment, interest,
joy/happiness, compassion/empathy/sympathy (Lazarus 1991: 264; Ekman 2000; Frederickson
inclusive). While there is considerably less research on positive emotions (Fredrickson 2004;
Lazarus 1991: 264), certain positive emotions may have important qualities for resolving conflict
due to several phenomena. For one, because positive emotions are ostensibly incompatible with
negative emotions, they can undermine some of the effects of negative emotions (Wolpe 1958;
38

Solomon and Corbit 1974; Baron 1976; Fredrickson 2004: 1971). Secondly, positive emotions
are linked with flexibility, creativity, openness to new information, and efficiency (Isen 2000;
Isen et al 1987; Isen et al 1991; Isen and Daubman 1984; Isen and Means 1983; Fredrickson
2004: 1369-70). They help people to more effectively integrate diverse material and appear to
help people understand the events in their lives in a broader context, which can reduce the impact
of negative events (Fredrickson 2004). Third, while negative emotions narrow the cognitive and
behavioral repertoire, positive emotions increase preference for variety and acceptance of
diversity (ibid).
Positive emotions also signal approach or continuation behaviors (Fredrickson 2004:
1369), allowing people to interact with newcomers. Positive emotions appear to expand the
“self-other overlap,” or that sense that self includes others. They are associated with a greater
sense of familiarity, desire to get to know and interact with others, and a greater, more complex
understanding of other people (Waugh and Fredrickson 2006: 102). Generally speaking, positive
emotions appear to be important for forming new social relationships (while negative emotions
appear to hamper their development). Finally, positive emotions generate resilience and build
psychological resources and promote what some scholars call “upward spirals toward greater
well-being” (Frederickson 2004: 1375; Fredrickson and Joiner 2002). People experiencing
positive emotions actually become more “generative, creative, resilient, ripe with possibility and
complex” (Frederickson 2004: 1375).
The appraisal process related to positive emotions is reciprocal. So while finding positive
meaning triggers positive emotions, positive emotions also increase the likelihood of finding
positive meaning in events. These phenomena may be important during adverse situations, such
as conflicts. In fact, positive emotions have been linked to pro-social behavior, behavior that
39

benefits others. For example, emotions such as empathy, pride or gratitude may influence
people’s tendency to advance pro-social and pro-moral behavior (Michie 2009; McCullough et al
2001). These are sometimes called “moral emotions,” because they benefit the interests or
welfare of communities or society as a whole (Haidt 2003; Michie 2009).

Hope: While some scholars hold hope as an intermediate emotion, many hold it as positive: It is
more positive than the lack of hope and certainly more positive than despair (Lazarus 1991;
Fredrickson 2004). Hope relates to the belief that a negative situation can change for the better
and functions as an antidote to negative emotions such as despair (Lazarus 1991: 282). It is
generally associated with uncertainty but orients toward reward-oriented solutions (Plutchik
2003: 53). Hope’s core relational theme is “yearning for amelioration,” usually from a negative
outcome (Lazarus 1991: 282), and its action tendencies tend to encourage “looking up” rather
than down, mobilization, and resilience toward a desired outcome (Lazarus 1991: 285). Hope
also has an element of confidence and can become engrained within cultures to construct a
“culture of hope” (Moisi 2010: 30).

Compassion (or sympathy or empathy): Compassion is an affect marked by concern for
another’s plight or distress by the other’s distress and the desire to ameliorate the distress
(Lazarus 1991: 288). Its core theme is “being moved . . . and wanting to help” (Lazarus 1991:
289). One key element in compassion is the lack of blame for either the self or the victim.
Blame, instead, distances people from victims, often dehumanizes them, and defeats compassion
(Lazarus 1991: 289). Compassion’s action tendency is the impulse to help the other, to express
40

sympathy while maintaining a self-protective detachment (Lazarus 1991: 290). Similarly,
empathy involves sensitivity to another’s feelings and is considered one of the five broad areas
of emotional intelligence (Goleman 1995).

Love/affection: Some scholars hold love/affection as “more or less the same emotional state”
(Lazarus 1991: 274). Others see love as an amalgam of other positive emotions such as joy,
interest and contentment (Fredrickson 2004: 1369). Love’s core relational theme is “desiring or
participating in affection, usually but not necessarily reciprocated,” according to Lazarus (276).
Its action tendencies are related to approach—urging social intimacy, affection, and a tendency
to play, explore, savor and integrate (Fredrickson 2004: 1369).

Pride and Awe: Pride is most often considered a higher intensity emotion related to feeling
good about one’s self and accomplishments or those of one’s group. It is generally a self-
conscious emotion, arising from the appraisal that “one is responsible for a socially valued
outcome (Mascolo and Fischer 1995, Michie 2009) or for being a socially valued person.” Pride
may also be extended toward members of one’s family, social circle or identity. Awe is,
perhaps, more intense, and relates to the feeling of being in the presence of something truly
great, whether a person, a great act or a natural wonder (ibid).

Acceptance: Some scholars consider acceptance as a primary (basic) positive emotion, (Plutchik
1991). It is considered a low intensity emotion marked by “taking in” or “incorporation” with the
41

integrative self and is the opposite of “rejection, elimination or spitting out behavior” (Plutchik
1991: 69, 96; Plutchik 2001). Acceptance is a key emotion for group formation and identity
whereby it regulates who can be a member of the group and who must kept out (Plutchik 1980:
29).

Intergroup and Collective Emotions:

In addition to individual appraisals, emotions can also arise from one’s affiliation with a
group or society. Intergroup emotions are triggered by appraisals about the goals or well-being of
one’s group or group members, and individual members experience emotions on behalf of the
group. They can also be elicited from symbols that have come to mean something to a group,
such as colors, flags, uniforms or words. This occurs in group settings such as sports teams,
political parties, ethnic groups, professional associations, and societies in general (Frijda 1986;
Johnson-Laird and Oatley 199; Mackie et al 2000; Jarymowicz and Bar-Tal 2006; Marcus and
MacKuen 1993; Mackie et al 2008).
Over time, intergroup emotions become integrated into what it means to belong to a
group and guide group behaviors (Mackie et al 2009). For example, intergroup anger increases
the desire to attack or harm the “other” whereas disgust may elicit distancing from the “other”
(Mackie et al 2009:1874). The actions taken, such as attacks or retaliations, sometimes dissipate
negative emotions such as anger. In larger groups such as societies, emotional climates develop,
which play an integral role in conflict and conflict resolution (Bar-Tal et al 2007).

42

Frames and Emotions:

What frames might correlate with positive or negative appraisals and emotions? For
example, do some frames elicit the attack-family-emotions and destructive behavior? In contrast,
might other frames evoke appraisals that generate hope, acceptance, or other positive emotions
that can help resolve violent conflict? This next section explores these questions and the framing
concepts, “blame frames,” “hate frames,” “genocidal frames,” and “acceptance frames.”

Framing for Conflict:

Blame Frames: Blame has long been associated with anger and aggression. As attribution of
blame increases, so does aggression (Kulik and Brown 1979). But the level of anger and
aggression depends in part upon legitimacy. In other words, when the act for which one is
blamed is justified or legitimate, intermediate levels of aggression are produced, while the acts
for which one is blamed are unjustified and illegitimate, the other-directed aggression is highest
(Kulik and Brown 1979: 183). In political settings, blame is often used to help establish
meanings and assert legitimacy related to sociopolitical developments and positions (Wolfsfeld
1997: 54).
This work offers a new concept, the “blame frame,” which is in essence, a frame that
faults persons or groups for complex sociopolitical problems that they alone did not create, while
43

exempting others, including other individuals, societies and institutions from their respective
roles and responsibilities. These blame frames ignore the complex factors that collectively
created the state of affairs and instead distill causality into simplistic narratives, often using roles
such as “bad guys” who cause the problems and “good guys” who are either victims or heroes.
When these frameworks are consistent and repetitive across media outlets, they can seem like
real explanations, particularly to people without access to all the contexts and additional facts.
Blame frames contribute to appraisals that stir emotions such as anger or resentment toward “the
perpetrators,” and the expectations of imminent harm elicit fear, a combination that historically
has been used to justify civil or human rights abuses against constructed enemies and has
contributed to self-fulfilling prophecies. They divide the world into “us,” usually, the “good” and
“them,” usually, the “bad.” Repeated mass dissemination of these types of frames can reduce
critical thinking, leading some audiences to believe simplistic, black-and-white blame
explanations for political problems.
Blame is a vital component of the more deadly frames—the “hate frame” and the
“genocidal frame.” Mass dissemination of these frames—under certain conditions, such as
hardship and scarcity—may trigger the hate, desire and justification for harming, torturing and
killing the “others.” These are discussed below.
Hate Frames and Genocidal Frames
Framing for Hate: Hate can be stirred through particular frames that fit within what
psychologists call “stories of hate” (from Keen 1986; Rhodes 1993; Sternberg 2005). The six
components of a hate frame include: 1) blame for serious sociopolitical problems; 2)
dehumanizing or evil depictions; 3) stereotyping the targeted group members; 4) selective use of
44

history or other information as “evidence” for the narrative; 5) the suggestion or implication that
the “other” will continue to cause the problem, which generates fear and anger; 6) the solution
for the problem, which is harming, punishing, or killing “the other.”
In essence, the underlying narrative is good-versus-evil/bad. The evil/bad character in
this story can range from a number of characters: the stranger, the impure or contaminated
person, a controller, a faceless foe, an enemy of god, the morally bankrupt, a purveyor of death, a
barbarian, the greedy, a criminal, a torturer, murderer, seducer, animal pest (vermin), power
monger, subtle infiltrator, clown-like or a thwarter or destroyer of destiny (Sternberg 2005). In
essence, the “others” are unredeemable “bad guys,” laughable clowns, or less than human. As the
hated are portrayed in villainous or subhuman roles, the “haters” or the preferred group members
are portrayed positively or as victims (Beck 1999, 2005; Sternberg 2005). Each of these
components is important to distinguishing the hate frame, which triggers the emotion and its
action tendencies. Some believe that the component of anticipation/expectation, for example,
foreshadowing an “anticipated set of events,” is the key that distinguishes the triggering of hate
(Sternberg 2005). As the elements seem more real, hate intensifies or becomes “hotter” (ibid).
Hate becomes hottest when the target is seen as a true threat and achieves some success
(Sternberg 2005).

Framing for Genocide: The genocidal frame includes the five components of a hate frame plus
three additional elements: 1) a “grand cause” for which eliminating the members of a particular
group (the “bad guys”) is necessary; 2) a “kill-or-else” dichotomy; and 3) hegemony of the frame
with either no counter-frame, or a level of consensus or dominance that make counter-frames
45

seem implausible. In earlier genocides such as the Holocaust and the Rwandan genocide, media
frames stereotyped members of targeted identity groups as evil and subhuman, blamed them for
a catalog of sociopolitical problems, and offered the “only solution”—preemptively eliminating
the members of that group to prevent the “bad guys” from annihilating the “good guys.” The
Hutus blamed and targeted Tutsi “cockroaches.” The Nazis blamed the international Jewish
conspiracy and their collaborators. In both cases, the groups were portrayed as evil at their core
by their very existence. In both the Holocaust and the Rwandan Genocide, mass media was
controlled by central forces that silenced alternative messages, creating a hegemonic meta-frame
(Armoudian 2011; Herf 2005; Bytwerk 2004, 2005; Herzstein 1978; Naimark 2001; Kallis 2005;
Hoffman 1996; Welch 1987; Hardy 1967; Des Forges 2007; Kellow and Steeves; Li 2007;
Chretien 2007; Thompson 2007; Dallaire 2004; Hatzfield 2005).Similarly, during the Bosnian
war, many media frames blamed “the other” groups, depicted as evil, for the problems in the
former Yugoslavia. Several Serbian journalists blamed “Albanian terrorists,” the Muslim
Mujahideen, and Ustashas, which triggered similar retaliation. In each of these cases, a grand
cause was stated as the reason for the lethal violence: In Rwanda, the Huts were fighting for
majoritarian democracy, rescuing humanity, purity, and self-defense. In Nazi Germany, the cause
included creating a utopia by “cleaning” the “dirty” aspects out. And in all three cases, “kill-or-
else” was embedded in the frame. If the Hutu failed to kill the Tutsis, they would face genocide
themselves. If the Nazis failed to kill the Jews, the international Jewish conspiracy would
annihilate the Germans and so forth. Under conditions of hardship and with a single, dominant
message, the genocidal frame, gains traction. If widely believed, such a frame can convince
people to support or, at least, turn a blind eye to the elimination of “the others” for the sake of
46

rescuing their “own” community (Armoudian 2011; Kellow and Steeves ; Des Forges 2007;
Kellow and Steeves; Li 2007; Chretien 2007; Thompson 2007; Dallaire 2004; Hatzfield 2005).

Framing for Transformation:
If blame, hate and genocidal frames evoke the emotions that can lead to violent conflict
or mass killing, can another kind of frame instead elicit emotions and behaviors that are more
conducive to peacemaking? This research argues that the dissemination of “acceptance frames”
can motivate peacemaking and the transformation of war into more positive intergroup relations.
Acceptance frames avoid simple blame frames and are the antithesis of hate frames. Rather, they
portray the situation with 1) normal humanized people, who are 2) legitimate members of
society, appraisals that thus help evoke a minimum of 3) the positive emotion, acceptance and 4)
the absence or minimal levels of negative emotions such as fear or anger. For deeper, more
positive intergroup relations, the framing must portray the warring parties and their grievances in
a sympathetic or positive way to generate either compassion/empathy or love/affection.

Hypotheses
With this background and theory, the following chapters test these hypotheses:
o Media frames change in a dynamic process with three essential forces: 1)
changes in leadership, language, and real circumstances that affect opinion
and emotions. 2) Journalists’ own histories, appraisals, and emotions; and
group forces, such as conformity, intergroup emotions and self-censorship.
47

o Factors such as focusing on conflict and drama and insularity will create
some resistance to change in the traditional media’s frames.
o The structures and norms of traditional journalism, (such as the norm of
“neutrality” and “impartiality), will influence media’s framing with a
“softening” or moderating influence on frames.
o The nonprofessional/nontraditional publications will feature more intense
emotions and greater variation in framing than the professional/traditional
newspapers.
i. The changes in media framing and real changes in the physical
environment will influence each other in a dynamic construction
process as follows: Persistent and repetitive use of “blame frames” will
contribute to negative community relations while antagonistic
behaviors will contribute to negative situation framing in mass media.
ii. Persistent and repetitive use of “hate frames” will contribute to greater
hostility (such as violence) toward the targeted group or its members,
and hostility will contribute to more negative framing.
iii. If hate frames become hegemonic, as “genocidal frames,” the hated
group will be more likely targeted for genocide.
iv. The increased use of “acceptance frames” will contribute to more
positive intercommunity relations, and more positive intercommunity
relations will contribute to more positive framing.
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1
Most data gaps resulted from the harder-to-obtain paramilitary publications, which were not as well-archived as
newspapers within the Northern Ireland libraries. A few dates are also missing from the daily newspapers, either due
to library misfiling or user error.

49

Chapter Two: A Long War
A Brief History of the Northern Ireland Conflict

How the South Was Won: Partitions and Militias
Red flares and smoke filled the skies, obfuscating the green flag, embossed with the
words “Irish Republic” that flitted from the General Post Office (GPO), the self-declared
“Headquarters of the Provisional Government” (English 2003: 3). Gunmen stood, lurched, or
knelt just inside the building’s broken windows and atop the roof, pointing rifles out at the
British “occupiers” of Ireland (English 2003).
Ireland is a “republic” of its own, not a colony of Great Britain, declared the Irish rebels.
“In every generation, the Irish people have asserted their right to national freedom and
sovereignty; six times during the past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms,”
declared Patrick Pearse. “Standing on that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the
face of the world, we hereby proclaim the Irish republic as a sovereign independent state”
(English 2003: 4).
It was Easter of 1916 when Irish rebels—the Irish Republican Brotherhood—the Irish
nationalist militia, the Irish Volunteers, and the labor movement’s Irish Citizen Army—rose to
declare their independence from Britain (English 2003). The insurgency emerged, in part, from
intense feelings of betrayal toward the British government after it acquiesced to the unionists’
1913 resistance to “home rule” (self-governance). At that time, the unionists–those desiring to
remain unified with Great Britain--feared that any devolution of government would lead toward
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breaking from the Crown and organized a resistance militia, the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF)
(English 2003:9; Hennessey 1997: 4). Its formation catalyzed a counter-militia, the Irish
Volunteers of Dublin, which later became the Irish Republican Army (IRA) (English 2003:10;
Hopkinson 2004).
Strategically planned during World War I at the height of British vulnerability, a
thousand Easter Rising rebels occupied the GPO and other key buildings in Dublin. But within a
week, the British Army crushed the insurrection, executed the rebel leaders, and incarcerated
scores of additional Irishmen thought to be part of the Easter rebellion. Although Britain handily
won the battle, the impact of their crushing defeat of the Irish engendered a long-lasting
sympathy toward the Irish martyrs, along with an intense bitterness toward Britain, and a
growing separatist philosophy among the native Irish. “In Easter week, the historic Irish nation
was reborn,” asserted Florence O’Donoghue, one of the rebels who joined the IRA (English
2003: 5-6, 11).
In April 1918, the British introduced conscription, further inflaming relations and
intensifying Irish nationalism (Hopkinson Irish War 2002; English 2003, 2006). Irish leaders
organized draft resisters, nationwide rallies, and a general strike that stopped work in railways,
docks, factories, mills, shipyards, newspapers, shops and arms manufacturing plants (English
2003: 12; Cahill 1990). The British responded by arresting dozens of leaders in the separatist
political party, Sinn Fein (meaning “ourselves”), accusing them of sparking unrest and of
conspiring with the Germans (Hopkinson 2004: 10; Hennessy 2004). Among the arrestees was
Sinn Fein president and Easter Rising rebel Eamon De Valera (English 2003, 2006).
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Britain’s response deepened divisions between the Irish community and Britain, and grew
support for Sinn Fein among the native Irish, so much that in the December 1918 United
Kingdom general election, the party won 73 of the 105 Irish seats in Britain’s parliament
(English 2006: 283; Hennessey 1997; English 2003: 11). But in their refusal to recognize the
legitimacy of British rule in Ireland, Sinn Fein’s newly elected parliamentarians refused to take
their seats in the British Parliament (Hennessey 1997:8). Instead, in January 1919, the party
proclaimed the Declaration of Independence of the Irish Republic, separate from Great Britain
(Hennessey 1997:8). In it, the document asserted that “for seven hundred years, the Irish people
[have] never ceased to repudiate and [have] repeatedly protested in arms against foreign
usurpation and whereas English rule is, and always has been, based upon force and maintained
by military occupation against the declared will of the people . . .now, therefore, we, the elected
representatives of the ancient Irish people . . . ratify the establishment of the Irish Republic”
(http://www.oireachtas.ie/parliament). Sinn Fein’s call to establish an independent Irish Republic
was viewed as impractical by the Irish Party, which undermined the parties’ effectiveness to
defeat legislation pertaining to Ireland, including the Government of Ireland Bill (Hennessey
1997:9).
Through acts of “public defiance,” passive resistance, a spy network, and strategic
publicity campaigns, Irish nationalists waged guerilla warfare (English 2006:284). Britain
responded overzealously, punishing entire communities, rather than only perpetrators, blunders
that the Irish nationalists used to build their case against British rule. Britain’s heavy hand and
the nationalists’ publicity campaigns increasingly turned public opinion against Great Britain and
the local law enforcement agency, the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC). The IRA was winning the
public relations war (English 2006: 287).
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The growing Irish animosity toward Britain was perhaps matched by British leaders’
acrimony toward the Irish. Winston Churchill referred to a “diabolical strain” in the Irish
character, which he claimed was the “treacherous, assassinating, conspiring trait which has done
them in the bygone ages of history and prevented them from being a great responsible nation
with stability and prosperity” (Hopkinson 2004: 7). British Conservative Party leader Bonar
Law called the Irish an “inferior race,” and General McReady said, “I loathe the country . . . and
its people with a depth deeper than the sea” (Hopkinson 2004: 7).
In the next month, February, 1919, De Valera escaped from Lincoln Gaol (jail) and was
elected President of the Council of Ministers by the self-declared Irish parliamentary body, the
Dail Eireann (English 2003: 16; English 2006: 286). The British government declared the Irish
Dail illegal, which further hardened the Irish nationalists’ grounds for disunion. Determined to
wrest the island out of the British grip, a group of Irish Volunteers waged a decentralized guerilla
war in which individual units of Volunteers independently executed sneak attacks on British
property and persons, before returning to the civilian population (BBC, “the Anglo-Irish War”).
As the IRA’s tactics grew increasingly violent, a chasm grew between the paramilitary group and
the party Sinn Fein (English 2006: 287).
De Valera appointee Michael Collins coordinated individual units, weapons, plans, and
intelligence through a network of spies, some that had penetrated the Dublin Castle. But the
Volunteers had used minimal violence until January 1920. That month, however, with an official
sanction, one of the IRA units attacked RIC soldiers in their barracks, escalating the violence
into what some consider the “real start” of the Irish War for Independence (English 2006: 287).
As the conflict escalated, Ireland witnessed its first “Bloody Sunday” when Collins’ unit shot
dead more than a dozen suspected British Army intelligence officers who had been living as
53

civilians in Dublin (BBC; English 2006). In ostensible retaliation, the British killed twelve
civilians at a Gaelic football game, then two IRA members later that evening (English 2006:
287).
The Crown launched an internment program arresting and incarcerating scores of
suspects without trial, further enflaming public opinion. In response, emboldened Volunteers
made the island essentially ungovernable and moved into camps and safe houses, from which
they continued guerilla attacks on the British troops (English 2006: 288).
As the conflict intensified, the British Parliament, for a fourth time, debated Ireland’s
governance or home rule. And although Sinn Fein held most of the Irish parliamentary seats,
their abstinence policy prevented them from voting on the issue. The Irish Party, convinced that
the Government of Ireland bill, or Fourth Home Rule Bill, would permanently partition Ireland,
also abstained from voting on the legislation. On December 23, 1920, the parliament passed the
Government of Ireland Act, which devolved local governance back to Ireland, divided the island,
and created two distinct governments–one for six northern counties, which were mostly
dominated by Protestant unionists, and one for the twenty-six southern counties. The line of
demarcation assured a unionist majority with the “maximum territory that Unionists could hold.”
Uniting the island and governance required acts of both parliaments—north and
south(Hennessey 1997: 6-9).
In “the South,” Irish nationalists believed the new Home Rule deterred their goal of
independence. But in “the North,” self-governance began functioning as intended. Irish Party
leader Joseph Devlin prophesied the impact of the vote: “Once they [the unionists] have their
54

own Parliament . . . I’m afraid that anything like subsequent union [with the rest of Ireland] will
be impossible,” he said (Hennessey 1997: 9).
By mid-1921, Britain and Sinn Fein, both war-weary, signaled to each other their desires
to end the conflict. Already, the Irish War of Independence had claimed some 1,300 lives, of
which 550 were troops and police. At the request of Prime Minister David Lloyd George, De
Valera sent five delegates, including Collins and Arthur Griffin, to negotiate the conditions for
ending the war. The emerging Articles of Agreement for a Treaty between Great Britain and
Ireland, or Anglo-Irish Treaty, created a self-governing Irish Free State that remained within the
dominion of the British Empire. But it also contained the option for Northern Ireland to
withdraw, which it did in December 1921 (Documents on Irish Foreign Policy
http://difp.ie/viewdoc.asp?DocID=215).
Fierce fighting between pro-Treaty and anti-Treaty factions erupted (the latter which
included President De Valera), until on January 7, in a close vote (64-56), the Irish Dail ratified
the treaty. De Valera never accepted the agreement, and Collins, who had served as the treaty’s
chief negotiator, was assassinated by an anti-treaty group.
While the treaty came into force on December 6, 1922, a fierce and bloody Civil War
raged until May 1923, costing, by some estimates, more lives than the War of Independence
(Hennessey 1997; English 2003). When the civil war finally ended, the division between the
southern 26-county Republic of Eire and the six-county Northern Ireland was formally accepted,
though without enthusiasm from the Irish nationalists (Hennessey 1997; English 2006, 2006). To
them, the border demarcating Ulster was a “scar on the Irish island,” while for unionists, the
55

division was the “reasonable” answer to the problem of deep disagreements about the island’s
governance (English 2003: 41).

What’s the Matter with Ulster?
What drove Ulster to separate from the Irish Free State? In part, it was the region’s
history and demographics. The six counties were dominated by Protestant descendants of
Scottish and English settlers who had begun moving to the island during the 1609 “Plantation of
Ulster,” Britain’s concerted effort to colonize the island. Through the Plantation, Great Britain
confiscated millions of acres of land from the native Irish and forbade its settlers to employ or
house them, in essence, institutionalizing segregation (Fitzduff 2002; English 2003; Dekmejian
2007). Religious differences—the native Irish practiced Catholicism while the settlers practiced
Protestantism—made differences seem more pronounced (Darby 1997; Journalist #6 2009,
2010).
The Protestant community in Ulster was decidedly committed to remaining part of Great
Britain and vehemently opposed to uniting with the Free State (English 2003; Hennessey 1997).
For these unionists, lopping off the northern six counties assured two things—first, that
unionists, as the majority of Ulster’s population, controlled the region’s destiny and connection
to the Crown. And secondly, it severed unionists’ ties with the so-called agitators of the South
(Hennessey 1997). The demarcation, they argued, would prevent the violence from spreading
north to the six counties. Ironically, however, the exact opposite occurred.

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During the War of Independence, unionists attempted to fight the “Sinn Feiners’
conspiracy” to “overthrow the authority of the King and bring about secession from the British
Government” by calling for more British troops, which heightened tensions between the groups
(Hennessey 1997:11-12). In what was then called Londonderry (“Derry” to Catholics), violence
between the groups took some 40 lives and led to mass expulsion of Catholic and socialist
workers, particularly people affiliated with Sinn Fein, from local businesses. Divisions hardened
and riots between communities erupted (Hennessey 1997:13). To Sinn Fein, it was a “war of
extermination being waged against us.” The party’s supporters launched a “Belfast Boycott”
calling on the Irish, particularly in the republic, to reject goods and banks from Belfast as a
means to protest against the violations against their community (Hennessey 1997:14).
By the end of 1920, more than 20,000 Special Constables, drawn largely from
reorganized loyalist Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), were called to duty. Because they were
almost exclusively Protestant, Catholics considered the “Specials” a force of oppression, while to
Protestants they were “defenders of the statelet from an IRA terror campaign” (Hennessey
1997:15).
In two years—from July 1920 to July 1922—557 people died from the violence; 303
were Catholic, 172 Protestant, and 82 were members of security forces, including British army
(English 2003: 39-40). Hundreds of republicans were interned (English 2003:41). As violence
subsided in the Irish Free State, it raged in Northern Ireland (Hennessey 1997:24). Making
matters worse, the unionist government’s failure to control violence gave rise to loyalist
paramilitaries, which assassinated Catholics in vigilante-style attacks. Riots broke out on the
streets (Hennessey 1997:13). Each side blamed the other: The Protestant unionists blamed
nationalists for the violence and waged “defense” against them, while the Catholics considered
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the violence a systematic pogrom against their community (Hennessey 1997). The British Army
redeployed the Special Constabulary (Hennessey 1997: 24) while the IRA deployed its own
force, kidnapping some 42 loyalists, including the High Sheriff of Fermanagh (Hennessey
1997:p. 26).
In March of 1922, Collins joined with Northern Ireland leader Sir James Craig
(Craigavon) to declare peace and express their commitment to cooperate, restore peaceful
conditions and establish a “mixed special police” through a Catholic Police Advisory Committee
that would recommend Catholic recruits (Hennessey 1997:27). In their pact, they addressed
numerous issues and grievances, including the right of return, employment, restoring expelled
workers, release of political prisoners, and relief funds for unemployed Catholics. But the
Collins-Craig pact was mired in deep distrust between the two governments and ultimately
collapsed from a lack of resolve (Hennessey 1997:27-29). Key among their disagreements was
the continued treatment of the Catholic community: Collins maintained that Northern Ireland
maintained a systematic pogrom against Catholics while Craig blamed the nationalist community
for continued violence. “The Ulstermen are up against, not Catholics,” said Craig, “but . . .
against rebels . . . murder . . . Bolshevism and up against those enemies not only of Ulster, but of
the Empire” (Hennessey 1997:31).
With the Civil War in the south and the Specials in the north, an overwhelmed IRA
officially ended its offensive in Ulster at the end of 1922 (Hennessey 1997:33). But although it
was defeated, the IRA was not destroyed. And the disputes between the Protestant unionist and
Catholic nationalist communities were far from settled (Henessey 35-37; English 2003 42).
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Underlying all disputes was a fundamental disagreement between about the legitimacy of
the island’s partition—nationalists never believed it was legitimate. This colored all other issues
ranging from education to governance (Hennessey 1997:33-35; English 41). Unionists enacted
discriminatory policies, exacerbating tensions. And Catholics, as a minority group, had little
power to make change through regular political channels. Making matters worse for Catholics,
unionists institutionalized their control by changing the electoral system (Hennessey 1997:33-
35; English): In 1922, they worked to abolish proportional representation in favor of majority-
won seats, which assured fewer electoral seats for Catholics—1/3 of the population—and more
representation for unionists (Hennessey 1997:43-45). Subsequent gerrymandered redistricting
weakened the nationalist voice even further. Many councils shifted from nationalist to unionist
control (Hennessey 1997:50). Educational policies that attempted to establish secular education
further aggravated the Catholic community who believed that their children should be educated
in schools with a Catholic ethos (Hennessey 1997:41).
Throughout the late 1920s, nationalist leader Joseph Devlin attempted to persuade the
unionist-controlled government to make concessions to the Catholic minority and to build a
nationalist-labor alliance. But by the 1930s, he had given up and led a delegation to withdraw
from Parliament. “We were willing to help. But you rejected all friendly offers,” he said, “You
refused to accept co-operation” (Hennessey 1997:61). Upon withdrawal, they sought support
from the Irish Free State.
Suspicions intensified: unionists questioned whether Catholics could be “loyal” to
Northern Ireland and implemented additional discriminatory policies, justified as “prevention”
and protecting the state. Policies, such as those excluding Catholics from obtaining government
jobs, were designed to prevent “disloyalists” from compromising Ulster’s safety (Hennessey
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1997:p. 62 & 63). Northern Ireland Prime Minister Lord Craigavon also justified the policies as a
mirror to “Southern Ireland being a Catholic state.” He argued, “All I boast of is that we are a
Protestant Parliament and a Protestant State” (Hennessey 1997:63). Nationalists, he added, had
attempted to prevent the establishment of Northern Ireland’s government, and unionists should
not “forget all the turmoil, murder and bloodshed” caused by the nationalists (63). Further, with
high unemployment rates, Craigavon argued that the public should only employ “loyalists – I say
only loyalists” (63), which distinguished the constitutional issue from that of religion. (Already,
government employees were required to take an oath of allegiance to Northern Ireland’s
government and to the King) (63-64). This spirit of exclusion seeped into every branch of
government and offered an automatic means to disqualify employment to Catholics or “free-
staters.”
“Wherever possible, employ Protestant lads and lassies,” agreed Sir Basil Brooke when
speaking to a unionist audience (Hennessey 1997:64-65). The move was an effort to eliminate
“every man . . . who I thought might betray me” (Hennessey 1997:65). More specifically, he
said, “political Catholics—should not be employed” (Hennessey 1997:65).
Meanwhile, the Irish Free State embarked on its own efforts to reclaim its Irish identity
distinct from Britain. “The true nationalist ideal means far more than an Ireland governing
herself without interference from any outside source. It means an Ireland true to herself . . .
living her own life, thinking her own thoughts, preserving and proud of her own distinctive
characteristics that have come down through the centuries. . . In a word, it means an Irish-
Ireland—not an Anglicized Ireland” (Hennessey 1997:74).
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Such efforts, particularly as Catholicism became more intertwined with the Free State’s
laws, further alienated unionists, who identified with their British heritage. The 1937 Irish
constitution, which laid claim to Northern Ireland, then intensified unionists’ hostilities toward
the South and by association, toward Ulster’s Catholics (Hennessey; English 2003 p. 65). In the
1940s, in fact, one unionist Member of Parliament (MP) called to “liquidate” the “majority” of
Catholics in his county, which he believed numbered 3,684. “This county . . . is a unionist
county,” he said. “The atmosphere is unionist. The boards and properties are nearly all controlled
by unionists. But this is still a millstone around our necks . . . I would ask the meeting to take
whatever steps, however drastic, to wipe out this nationalist majority” (Fitzduff 2002: 4).
Fear and deep distrust drove unionists to institutionalize segregation and discrimination
against so-called nationalists, but the policies were directed at all Catholics. Catholics were
denied equal housing, education, jobs and political representation (Fitzduff 2002; English 2003;
Dekmejian 2007). The police became enforcers of the discriminatory system, protecting
Protestants against Catholics who opposed the laws. And while these zealous measures were
intended to control the “nationalists” and prevent nationalist-driven violence, they, instead,
virtually assured it (Coogan 2002; McKittrick 2009).
Toward the end of 1941, the IRA leadership began focusing its energy on what they saw
as liberating the North from British occupation by targeting security forces. The British
government retaliated with harsh punishments, which then triggered displays of political
symbolism (English 2003: 67). For example, the British government sentenced six IRA
volunteers to death for their ambush on a Royal Ulster Constable. The day of their execution
became a day of mourning for Catholics who knelt in prayer. Protestants, however, marked the
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day with celebration, for which they cheered and sang their traditional anthem (English 2003:
68).
Over the next two decades, the IRA continued waging guerrilla warfare in hopes of
uniting the island into “an independent, united, democratic Irish republic” (English 2003: 73).
Their attacks destroyed the BBC relay transmitter in Derry in 1956 (“Londonderry” for
unionists) and attacked British army barracks in County Armagh. Though the IRA stepped up
attacks, its goals remained elusive. Meanwhile, in the Irish Republic, the political party Sinn
Fein, which had become the IRA’s “political wing,” won four seats in the Irish general elections
(English 2003: 74). In 1962, the IRA ended its cross-border campaign (English 2003: 74).
During the 1960s, free higher education and new emerging leadership produced great
change within the Irish Catholic community. Thinkers such as C. Desmond Greaves, Cathal
Goulding, Derry Kelleher, Anthony Coughlan and the Wolfe Tone Societies influenced both the
republican and civil rights movements. In their philosophy, Great Britain was a colonial power
while republicanism was a liberation movement aimed at freeing the native Irish from their
occupying force. In this view, any British presence on the island signified Britain’s occupation of
Ireland. Ireland’s liberation depended upon ending the occupation and eliminating the island’s
partition (English 2006: 85-88; Journalist #6 2009). This inherently anti-British, anti-unionist,
and anti-loyalist framework fueled the birth of the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association
(NICRA) and the civil rights movement (English 2006: 91).
One strand of republicanism, adopted by the Official IRA, included an element of
Marxism that sought “ending exploitation of our people and placing them in the position of
masters of their destiny rather than slaves of a capitalist economy” (English 2006 85). Many of
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its adherents hoped to join the downtrodden working class from both communities—Protestant
and Catholic—and transcend sectarian divisions (English 2006: 91).
Inspired by the U.S. civil rights movements, Irish leaders organized public
demonstrations against discrimination and called for equal rights. But while some Protestants
joined demonstrations, the civil rights movement mostly deepened divisions, sending working-
class Protestants into paramilitary organizations, such as the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF),
vowing to fight the republican and nationalist “threat.” In their fight, paramilitary members
attacked and killed Catholics thought to be affiliated with the republican movement (English
2006: 92, 99, 100; Journalist #6 2009, 2010, 2010; CAIN). In its first year, the UVF killed three
Catholics (English 2006: 100).
The mostly unionist-populated police force suppressed the civil rights demonstrations,
while it often supported unionist parades, such as the annual celebration of King Williams’ 1690
defeat of Catholic King James II in the Battle of the Boyne. Police escorted parading unionists,
sometimes directly through Catholic neighborhoods, leaving Catholics feeling antagonized.
After the Official IRA’s decline in the late 1960s, Catholics felt particularly defenseless
and vulnerable. In the City of Derry, a group of Catholics attempted to block a 1969 unionist
parade from entering their neighborhood, using petrol bombs, tossed into the pathway. The
streets erupted into a four-day riot that was later called the Battle of the Bogside, and the erection
of what became known as “no-go” areas—areas within the Catholic communities in which
neither the police nor the British army were welcome (McKittrick & McVea 2002; Bew &
Gillespie 1999: 18). The violence spread from Derry to Belfast and escalated into arson,
gunfights, fistfights, rock-throwing and widespread destruction (McKittrick & McVea 2002;
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English 2006: 102). Hundreds of homes in Belfast burned down. The events displaced nearly
2000 families, killed eight people, injured 750 and burned 180 homes and other buildings to the
ground. Catholics suffered the most damage and injuries (McKittrick & McVea 2002; English
2003, 2006).
Because the RUC was stretched thin and rejected by Catholics as a fair arbiter of law
enforcement, Britain deployed military troops, initially to protect each community from the
wrath of the other (Bew and Gillespie 1999: 19). But to many Catholics, the army’s deployment
was more evidence of the British occupation. Catholic families felt despaired, marginalized and
ghettoized; their churches were attacked by mobs and petrol bombs. By the end of 1969, the
perceived “failure to provide the maximum defense possible of our people in Belfast” gave birth
to a new IRA. They called themselves the Provisional IRA (Bew & Gillespie 1999:24; English
2006: 81 & 103-104). The new IRA became the Catholic community’s de facto security force
(English 2006: 110; Fitzduff 2002).
In July 1970, the government imposed a curfew on the Catholic community, while police
searched their neighborhoods. They discovered firearms, bombs and other explosives (Bew &
Gillespie 1999: 29). Relations deteriorated, and the British government launched Operation
Demetrius, which included mass internment without trial for suspected saboteurs (Bew and
Gillespie 1999), ultimately detaining 1,874 Irish Catholics, some who were IRA members, and
some who were not. Their treatment of Irish prisoners became the subject of human rights group
Amnesty International’s condemnation and defined as torture by the European Commission of
Human Rights (CAIN; Amnesty International 1971).
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In response to Operation Demetrius and the continued inequalities, civil rights leaders
organized mass demonstrations. On January 30, 1972, roughly 20,000 Irish Catholics
accompanied by sympathetic Protestants marched through the streets of Derry, chanting, singing,
and calling to end internment without trial and to advance equitable political change. By the time
they reached the “Free Derry” corner where 21-year-old Member of Parliament Bernadette
Devlin was preparing to speak, a group of angry youth had squared off with British soldiers.
Shortly after Devlin began her speech, soldiers plowed into the demonstration while its snipers
opened fire, killing 13 unarmed people and wounding several others (McCann 1972; Mullen and
Scully 1997; Grimaldi 1996; CAIN; McKittrick et al 1999; McKittrick & McVea 2002).
The event, which became known as “Bloody Sunday,” catalyzed even the more neutral
people to join the movement (SDLP leader 2009). “We are all IRA now” became a common
sentiment. On the day of the victims’ funerals, tens of thousands mourned; in the South, ninety
percent of sympathetic Dubliners stopped work, and another fifty to one hundred thousand
people marched, carrying with black flags and thirteen coffins to the British Embassy. By the
end of the day, protesters, using petrol bombs, had burned the Embassy to the ground
(McKittrick et al 1999; CAIN).
With a deepened commitment to fight the British “occupation,” Provisional IRA
members shot dead more than a dozen British soldiers and detonated bombs in the barracks of
the Parachute Regiment, in busy pubs and streets. Although the PIRA primarily targeted the
army as its occupying force, the group killed several civilians (CAIN; McKittrick et al 1999).
The revival of the IRA gave rise to growing attacks from the loyalist paramilitaries, such as the
Ulster Volunteer Forces and the Ulster Freedom Fighters that targeted Catholics, who were
ostensibly under IRA protection (Fitzduff 2002).
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The atmosphere was “poisoned,” according to British authorities. They called for a “fresh
start” and suspended Northern Ireland’s Stormont government. Britain would now rule directly
over Northern Ireland (Bew and Gillespie 1999). The new moves, according to Conservative
Prime Minister Edward Heath, were an opportunity for Irish Catholics to obtain “fairness . . .
prosperity . . . peace and a chance at last to bring the bombings and killings to an end” (Bew &
Gillespie 1999: 46-47).
For the IRA, Heath’s efforts signaled hope. The parties agreed upon conditions for
negotiations, and on June 22, 1972, the IRA declared a “suspension of offensive operations”
(Taylor 1999:165). But while the IRA leadership entered negotiations with the British
government, loyalists and unionists rose to protest their perceived loss and to fight against the
possibility of a “united Ireland” that the Irish nationalist community desired. Some 100,000
Protestants demonstrated in the streets, staged massive strikes that shut down the transportation
system, parts of the power supply, and many businesses. The ranks of loyalist paramilitary
groups swelled in efforts to forcibly prevent what they saw as being coerced into a “United
Ireland” (Bew & Gillespie; Taylor 1999; loyalist interviews 2009, 2010). In their vigilante war,
loyalists erected barriers and attacked and petrol bombed Catholics to either block Catholics
from entering their communities or force them out (Taylor 1999; Loyalist interviews 2009,
2010).One such confrontation became a turning point. After loyalists had petrol bombed into
Catholic homes, the families began their move into a mixed neighborhood, a prospect that the
loyalist paramilitary organization, Ulster Defense Association (UDA) said would result in
“mayhem.” The IRA, thus, led an entourage of supportive community members to escort one of
the families to a new vacant home. British soldiers blockaded the caravan and ordered them to
stop the move. IRA leader, Seamus Twomey confronted the British soldiers when a British
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Saracen vehicle rammed into the family’s moving truck. An angry mob of Catholics swarmed in
on the British troops, who then opened fire on the crowd, triggering return-fire from the IRA.
The confrontation left five people dead and spread gunfights into the city with gun battles
(Taylor 1999).
The region spiraled into a renewed civil war. Twelve days after the incident, the IRA
detonated 22 bombs throughout the city of Belfast, crumbling homes, hotels, rail stations,
businesses, bus stations and bridges. Nine people died; 130 sustained injuries (Flackes and Elliot
1994). Loyalists responded with more beatings and shooting attacks on Catholics civilians
(McKittrick et al 1999).

After attempts to re-enter negotiations failed, the British government began a new
offensive, deploying 4,000 new British troops into the “no-go” areas, regions that the IRA had
deemed “free” from British rule(Bew and Gillespie 1999; McKittrick et al 1999). With In a
search for weapons and IRA members, the new troops raided Catholic homes, arrested suspected
republicans, beat and tormented detainees in a quest for information (Taylor 1999).
By end of the year, Northern Ireland lost nearly 500 people, witnessed some 1,500
explosions, more than 10,000 shootings, 5,000 serious injuries, and 36,000 house searches
(McKittrick and McVea 2002). Some victims were soldiers and loyalist paramilitary, targeted
by the IRA. But many were innocent civilians – either caught in gun-battle crossfire, in the
vicinity of an IRA bomb or simply Catholic, targeted by loyalists as revenge on the IRA (Taylor
1999; McKittrick et al 1999). It was the bloodiest year of the Troubles (BBC, The Search for
Peace).
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Renewed talks between the British government and the IRA continued intermittently,
which resulted in a new pact, the Sunningdale Agreement. But while Sunningdale addressed a
number of the nationalist community’s demands and offering a power-sharing arrangement, for
loyalists, Sunningdale conceded far too much to the IRA. And fearing the drift toward a united
Ireland, they vowed to wreck the agreement, organizing strikes, factory closures, power cuts and
a renewed paramilitary war on Catholics, even after the IRA had called another ceasefire. The
chaos effectively ended Sunningdale (Bew & Gillespie 1999; Journalist #6 2009, 2010; Loyalist
Leader 2009).
Reciprocal killing between the groups mounted, and coordinated campaigns between the
British and Irish governments imprisoned more than 200 IRA leaders, including Martin
McGuinness and chief of staff, Sean MacStiofain. The IRA then moved its bombing targets to
London (CAIN).
The Media as a Battleground for Communication
Central to the conflict in the North was the battle to communicate. Both Ireland and
Britain enacted censorship laws, and under institutional pressure, many journalists self-censored.
The Republic of Ireland’s censorship began in 1971 as an effort to block the broadcast of IRA or
Sinn Fein members, whether they were authors, artists, intellectuals or elected officials.
Disobedient journalists were relegated to the children’s, religious or agriculture departments
(Meehan 2003; Rolston 1996). Britain used terrorism laws to prevent offering terrorists a
“propaganda platform”. In the view of British authorities, “Britain is at war with the IRA . . . and
the IRA will get no more coverage than the Nazis would have done in the last war” (Miller 1994:
28; Curtis 1984: 10).
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Independent Television (ITV) limited republican airtime to a total of “four mostly-hostile
minutes,” according to some observers, and a totality of six interviews for the entire 1970s for
each of the Independent Television News (ITN) and the BBC, with their last interviews of IRA
members broadcast in 1974 (Maloney 2005). But the coverage of bombings, devastation and
mutilated bodies continued, with one explanation: they were the acts of terrorists (Rolston 1996).
In 1976, British leadership changed, ushering in a more severe approach to the Irish
issue: “Ulsterization, criminalization and normalization.” The new Secretary of State, Roy
Mason would “roll up the IRA like ‘a tube of toothpaste,” he said. His approach, called the
“conveyor-belt” process, involved arresting suspected republicans and loyalists, using torture to
extract “confessions,” and imprisoning them as common criminals, not prisoners of war, as the
IRA called themselves (Coogan 2002: 162; Taylor 1999:237). The new language and new
approach was part of the new offense against the IRA.
By 1978, Britain had militarily overpowered the group, imprisoned their leaders, and
minimized its media exposure in both the South and the North (Sinn Fein interview 2009;
McKittrick and McVea 2002). In this “normalization” campaign, Mason and his communications
staff flooded the region with the message that all was “normal” except for this small group of
prisoners, unworthy, common criminals, “terrorists” and “godfathers,” who only wanted to
destroy society and terrorize the population (Sinn Fein interview 2009; McKittrick and McVea
2002). In this frame, the republicans were entirely to blame for “the troubles” (Miller 1994).
With control over the media messages, Mason asserted, “There will be less and less
sympathy for prisoners . . . [They will be] quietly forgotten about” (Staff Writer, Sunday Journal
2008).
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The IRA fought back by targeting prison guards, killing some 19 between 1976 and 1980,
and by launching high-profile communication campaigns, such as the highly visible “blanket”
and “dirty” protests. The “blanket” protests began when republicans refused to wear prison
uniforms or perform prison labor because they symbolized a “criminal,” rather than “political”
status. The government responded by leaving them naked in their cells, stripping them of
furniture, family visits and remissions, and prison guards periodically beat them or extinguished
cigarettes on their bodies. The republicans opted for wearing nothing but prison blankets. In the
“dirty” protest, republicans refused to wash, exercise, or leave their cells then smeared their feces
and urine on prison walls and doors (Coogan 2002; McKittrick and McVea 2002; Taylor 1999).
The protests were central to the communication campaigns, which highlighted the
republican cause and reached across borders into news headlines. Republican wives, mothers and
sisters addressed parliaments and organized discussions, forums, and press conferences. They
wrapped themselves in blankets, demonstrating in front of the British embassies of Europe and in
the US. Religious leaders called to end prison conditions that were “worse than Saigon in 1968”
(Coogan 1997: 169-192).
International media detailed prisons of H-Block torture: “hundreds of Irish prisoners were
subjected to “conditions of indescribable filth and physical deprivation.” They reported that
convictions were obtained by “uncorroborated statements and forced confessions made in Stalin-
like kangaroo court procedures” (Coogan1997: 169-182).
It was during these dark, dirty times that the most transformational republican campaign
in Northern Ireland began, giving birth to their so-called “long war.” In this campaign, twenty-
seven year old republican prisoner Bobby Sands and nine fellow prisoners began a hunger strike
in pursuit of “five demands.” Simultaneously, Sinn Fein developed Sands’ campaign for
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Parliament against unionist candidate Harry West. On the 40
th
day of his hunger strike, from the
confines of his prison cell, Sands defeated West by approximately 1,500 votes (Taylor 1999:
281). The victory acted like a catapult for the republicans’ political strategy: enter politics, win
elections, abstain from participating, while continuing the “long war.” Senior republican Danny
Morrison articulated the two-pronged strategy at an annual conference: “Will anyone here object
if, with a ballot paper in one hand and the ArmaLite [firearm] in the other, we take power in
Ireland" (CAIN)?
The propaganda wars were on. But under the harsh conditions, the underdog republicans
managed to repeatedly score publicity wins, in part because of their guerilla approach. With their
own publications, they told dramatic inside stories of prison beatings, assassinations, escapes
from prisons, and they published the much coveted, exclusive writings and interviews of the
hunger strikers, which were smuggled out of the prison on tiny scraps of toilet paper. It was a
strategy long-embedded in their early movement to defeat the British, fueled by the belief that “if
only the Irish people properly heard their arguments, and had these explained to them . . . they
would support” them (English 2003: 47; Coogan 2002). And many did. In fact, through the
streets of Belfast, thousands of people marched, calling for the British government to grant the
“five demands to the hunger-striking republicans. When Britain refused, the demonstrations
became riots.
Newspapers tracked Sands’ conditions, as he and the other hunger strikers deteriorated.
The Washington Post interviewed leading Irish voices, who argued, “[Britain is] running a
concentration camp in Northern Ireland.”. Newsweek quoted former parliamentarian Bernadette
Devlin-McAliskey who said,, “I cannot see how even Margaret Thatcher could stand by and
watch a legally elected Member of Parliament starve to death” . . . “if he starves himself to death
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– the result is likely to be more trouble for bloodstained Ulster (Wilkinson with Clifton 1981).
The Globe and Mail’s headline noted, “Irish Hunger Striker ‘Very Noble Person,’ Belfast Priest
Found” (Smith 1981) and warned of an “Irish Bloodbath,” should Sands died of starvation
(Simpson 1981). And the Economist found “Hope Starved in Ulster” and warned of a “violent
protest if IRA hunger striker, Mr. Bobby Sands, dies” (Economist 1981).
Sands and the other strikers died of starvation (CAIN, O’Brien 1999; McKittrick 2006),
the news of which , triggered new riots, demonstrations and gunfights. International mourners
joined in sympathy with the Irish Catholics. Parliaments passed resolutions; demonstrators
blocked British ships, burned the Union Jack and marched in the streets (ibid). Radio Peace and
Progress for Africa compared Northern Ireland to apartheid South Africa (BBC Summary of
World Broadcasts 1981).
This was the IRA’s “last card,” declared British Prime Minister Thatcher. But support for
Sinn Fein escalated beyond expectations. While the BBC predicted Sinn Fein’s support at three
percent of the electorate, the party won 10.1 percent of the vote and five parliamentary seats in
1982, and in 1983, their support grew even more, to 13.4 percent of the vote (Davis 1994). In
keeping with their tradition, elected Sinn Fein parliamentarians, in their refusal to recognize the
legitimacy of the British government, abstained from taking their parliamentary seats.

More Media Bans
Mrs. Thatcher was fed up with the media criticism and the IRA’s public justifications for
their violence. She would “starve the terrorists . . . of the oxygen of publicity on which they
depend” (Thatcher 1985 speech to the ABA). In 1988, the British government enacted a
broadcasting ban that prohibited broadcasters from airing the voices of “terrorists,” their
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supporters, or members of paramilitary-affiliated political parties, even if they were bona fide
elected officials. The restrictions could be lifted only at particular times and on a limited range of
subjects that were unrelated to the conflict. The Republic of Ireland where Sinn Fein represented
roughly 100, citizens, also renewed its ban that prohibited giving airtime to either members of
the IRA or Sinn Fein (Maloney 1991; Cooke; Irish News 1989).
Although many journalists complied with the ban, some, including BBC’s local chief
Collin Morris, attempted to fight it through official channels and courts. But they failed. A few
reporters mocked the ban by honoring the letter of the law while circumventing its spirit. They
aired Sinn Fein leaders’ images but not their voices, the latter of which was prohibited. Instead,
actors read the statements, sometimes achieving a perfect lip-sync. Shortly thereafter, lip-syncs
were prohibited (Interviews 2009, 2010). Meanwhile, newspaper coverage, divided largely by
religion and ethnic background, also dwindled for the groups, even though the publications were
not under the same legal obligations (Sinn Fein leader 2009).
The media were one of the public arenas in which republicans were shunned. With the
tone set by Thatcher’s public refusal to “talk with terrorists under any circumstances,” most other
political leaders also refused to work with them, even in their official capacities as elected
leaders. Republicans—the IRA and Sinn Fein—were locked out, collectively branded as “a
killing machine with no off switch” (Journalist #3 2009, McKittrick 1992).

Behind the Scenes
Journalists and their audiences would soon learn that Thatcher’s public position did not
comport with her private behavior –the realization of which would rock the journalistic
establishment. As it turned out, Thatcher’s government had long been secretly talking with the
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IRA. In addition to Thatcher and her officials, civil rights leader, peace advocate and
parliamentarian John Hume, had also been secretly meeting with Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams
since 1986.
The revelations, once exposed, sent loud protests through the headlines and in political
forums. Hume initially bore the brunt of the attacks, from unionists and media which denounced
him, while loyalists threatened his life (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Leaders in the Hume-
founded Social Democratic Labor Party shunned him, called him a “laughing stock” and accused
him of “killing the party” (ibid). Hume expressed concern beyond “killing the party . . . People
are being killed every day,” he said (ibid). About the criticism, “[I don’t care] "two balls of
roasted snow," he remarked (www.sdlp.ie/about_hume.php).
Simultaneously, the republican leadership and strategy were also changing. During the
1989 Sinn Fein conference, for example, Adams argued for a “soft power” approach that would
persuade people to “increasingly participate . . . in their own liberation” (Adams 1989). While
still facing a hostile public in parts of Northern Ireland, Adams campaigned abroad, winning the
support of the Irish American community (Journalist #3 2009).
In 1993, Hume and Adams released their joint statement: “We accept that the Irish people
as a whole have a right to national self-determination. The exercise of self-determination is a
matter for agreement between the people of Ireland.” The two continued to dialogue toward
creating “justice and peace in Ireland (CAIN)."
In 1994, the transformation began to take root. In the first month, the Republic of Ireland
lifted its broadcasting ban; Sinn Fein launched a “peace commission,” and the US granted
Adams a limited visa, which allowed Sinn Fein greater access to the public sphere. The IRA
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announced its pivotal ceasefire at the end of August, in order to “enhance the democratic
process” and to demonstrate the republicans’ “definitive commitment to its success.” The
Catholic media celebrated, declaring “A New Era.” It was “not the end of something” but “the
beginning. From today the future of Ireland is in the hands of its people . . . We must seize the
day and build for peace (Irish News 1994).”
Both republican and loyalist leaders began articulating arguments for peace and for using
democratic processes rather than violence. President Clinton’s appointment of George Mitchell
to lead the peace process signaled to unionists that their concerns would be heard (UUP leader
2010). In late November, 1995, President Bill Clinton arrived in Belfast – the first US sitting
president to do so. He publicly shook the hand of Adams in the heart of republican territory – the
Falls Road, elevating Adams’ stature as a statesman. The handshake made headlines and fueled
hope in the media’s headlines. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” said the headline in Belfast’s Irish
News and, “A Tale of Two Leaders: Bill Clinton and Gerry Adams Shake Hands on the Falls.”
The paper dedicated the issue to the peace process (Irish News 1995). Hope crept into other
headlines as well. The BBC for example stated, “Clinton Kindles Hope in Northern Ireland.” The
Evening Standard wrote, “The Target: Lasting Peace; President Uses Historic Visit to Play
Honest Broker.” And the Daily Mirror declared that the City of Derry, the site of Bloody
Sunday, was now “a City Set Alight by Hope and Not Bombs.”
In the following months, negotiations broke down and violence resumed, dashing the
hopes of the regions. But by April 1998 Northern Ireland’s major parties—except for the
Democratic Unionist Party—signed the Belfast Peace Agreement, agreeing to a governance
structure that would respect the communities of Northern Ireland and share power. The
paramilitary organizations disarmed and decommissioned weapons. How did this come about?
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Political observers suggest five key factors: Both the IRA and the British army realized they
could not militarily defeat the other (Miller 1994; Journalist #2 2009; Journalist #4 2010).
Secondly, political leaders, particularly MP John Hume, President Bill Clinton, and later Prime
Minister Tony Blair escorted Sinn Fein leaders such as Gerry Adams “from the sidewalks to the
corridors of power (Journalist #1 2009; Journalist #4 2009, 2010).” Third, dedicated negotiators,
including Hume, George Mitchell, Brendan Duddy, Harold Goode, and Father Alec Reid worked
tirelessly to find agreement among disputing parties. The British and Irish governments had
earlier issued the Downing Street Declaration, which promised to “foster agreement and
reconciliation” through consent toward resolving the issues of the six counties. Finally,
paramilitary leaders themselves, including republicans Adams and McGuinness, and loyalists
such as David Ervine and Billy Hutchinson, convinced their members to choose an alternative to
violence for problem resolution (Interviews with Loyalist leaders 209). Finally, during the
ratification period, SDLP MP Hume, and Ulster Unionist Party leader David Trimble convinced
their respective parties to partake in the peace process.
Woven within these factors appears to be another force: mass media’s framing of the
political situation and the parties involved. How did the media frame the Northern Ireland
conflict and its parties? And did changes in that framing affect the transformation of the political
situation?

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Chapter Three
Methodology

Overview

The Politics of Transformation: Mass Media and the Northern Ireland Peace Process
seeks to understand the construction of peace on two planes—the rhetorical plane in the framing
of mass media and in the real physical realities of the conflict resolution. In its exploration, the
research sought to answer several questions, including the following: Do mass media frames
evolve? If they do evolve, how do they change during efforts to resolve political conflict? What
factors contribute to their changes? What factors maintain their persistence? What is the
relationship of media’s frames and their changes to conflict and peacemaking? Do some types of
frames contribute to more antagonistic community relations? Do other types of frames contribute
to more amicable community relations? Can a change in framing contribute to the resolution of
political conflict?
To answer these questions, this project took the following steps: 1) conducted interviews
with political party leaders about the conflict and peace process in Northern Ireland, their
framing, efforts to communicate those frames, and their assessment of the mass media’s frames;
2) conducted interviews with journalists in the six counties known as Northern Ireland about
their processes in making news frames; 3) created an original mass media database of randomly
sampled articles from five publications over the period of 1994-1998; 4) built an original
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database of real acts that signify the real intercommunity relations, such as acts of intergroup
violence, other antagonisms, or efforts toward conflict resolution; 5) identified components of
frames and devised scales and other means to measure the media’s frames about the political
situation and four key political parties; 6) coded approximately 3,000 articles and 400
community acts for the two databases using the new scales; 7) compared the frame means and
standard deviations across the five publications and to the comments made during interviews;
and 8) compared the frame changes over time and to the real changes in community relations.
This chapter details these methods beginning with the interview subjects and methods, followed
by an explanation of the data collection, database creation, construction of necessary scales and
codes, and the statistical analyses and comparisons.

The Creation of the Databases

Gathering Data: This research began by identifying five criteria: 1) the relevant political
parties for which interviews would be conducted; 2) key journalists who had covered the conflict
and the peace process; 3) the timeframe for which the study would focus; 4) the media sources
from which the frame analysis would be conducted; 5) the events that signified intercommunity
relations (e.g. violence, antagonisms, efforts for resolution).
These determinations required first consulting the relevant literature and experts on the
region and the conflict. The historical record offered the preliminary guidance for the selection
of the key period of January 1994-May 1998. This date range offered some of the most important
events of the peace process. For example, the 1994 selection offered three of key events: 1) On
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August 31, 1994, the IRA called its first and pivotal ceasefire. 2) In September 1994, the British
government lifted the broadcasting ban against Sinn Fein. 3) In October 1994, the Combined
Loyalist Military Command announced its ceasefire. Thus, the year 1994 allowed the research to
examine the media’s frames before and after these important events. However, although both
paramilitary groups called ceasefires in 1994, attacks on the respective communities periodically
occurred. The research tracked the frames and the violence during this time. In 1995, President
Bill Clinton made history as the first sitting US president to visit Belfast and take an active role
in peacemaking between the groups (CAIN). In protest of the direction of the peace process, in
February 1996, the IRA ended its ceasefire and did not ceasefire again until July 1997. These
years marked intense negotiations and standoffs between the groups. Finally, and most
importantly, most of the political parties signed the historic Belfast peace agreement on Good
Friday of 1998. But while most parties agreed to the accord’s terms, the people of Northern
Ireland still had the opportunity to reject it. During this time, some of the major parties, including
the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), campaigned to reject the agreement. But in May 1998, the
citizens voted to ratify the agreement, creating a new governance process and engagement with
“the other” (Fitzduff 2002; CAIN; Bew 1999; English 2006, 2003). Thus this period, 1994-1998,
allows the research to observe the real changes alongside the changes in media’s framing.
Literature reviews and discussions with scholars, journalists, community leaders, and
politicians about media and consumption provided guidance for selecting the media outlets for
the framing analysis. Newspapers were abundant in Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland.
Locally, three large-scale newspapers are published, reflecting the political and religious
differences of their respective communities. The City of Belfast also features numerous
provincial/community papers and offers several newspapers published from England and the
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Republic of Ireland. Finally, both republicans
2
and loyalists
3
publish their own periodicals.
Scholars and journalists assert that the republicans’ publications were considerably more
professionally prepared than those released by loyalists (Scholar #1 2009; Scholar #2 2009;
Journalist #4 2009, 2010; Journalist # 3 2009).
Altogether, the first dataset included more than 6,000 articles from the five different
publications, which included the three primary daily Belfast newspapers and the key available
republican and loyalist publications. The daily newspapers were important for understanding
framing of the groups for several reasons. First, they capture the daily unfolding of events and
tended to offer some political context from which readers can seek to understand the occurrences
(Interviews, including SDLP leader 2009). Secondly, Ireland is a reading society (Woodman
1985). Six out of ten people read a newspaper each day, and eight out of ten read a Sunday
newspaper. More than forty percent read an additional British newspaper (ibid).
The three key local Belfast newspapers chosen for analysis include the following:
• The Irish News is a daily, independent morning newspaper with “nationalist”
4

ideological leanings that serves the Catholic population (Irish News; Horgan
2001). Political elites consider the newspaper to be moderate and generally
reflective of the Social Democrat Labor Party’s (SDLP) political perspective
rather than the politics of the republican party, Sinn Fein (SDLP Leader 2009;
Sinn Fein leader #3 2009).

2
Republicans were those considered to be willing to resort to violence to unite with the Republic of Ireland.
3
Loyalists are willing to resort to violence to maintain the union with Great Britain.
4
Nationalists are those who aspire to unite Northern Ireland with the Republic of Ireland.
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• The Ulster News Letter/Belfast News Letter is a daily, morning Protestant
newspaper that is strongly unionist in its politics (Horgan 2001). The News Letter
has historically openly expressed anti-Catholic, anti-nationalist and anti-
republican views (ibid).
• The Belfast Telegraph is a daily, evening newspaper that is also considered
Protestant and unionist in its political identity and ideology, although it is
considered more moderate than the Ulster News Letter. Still, its content straddles
both nationalist and unionist communities in efforts to appeal to both Catholic and
Protestant readers (Horgan 2001; Community Leader 2009, 2010).

A sample of the primary republican and loyalist publications was also selected. Both
published at different intervals and were not widely available. Thus, a smaller, less systematic
random sample was obtained. These publications are important to understand viewpoints,
communications, and ideological perspectives reflective of the more militant sectors of society,
which might not be expressed in the three daily newspapers. Because the publications were
much more difficult to obtain, some data is missing from the sample. The publications analyzed
from these groups include:
• An Phoblacht/Republican News (AP/RN) –Sinn Fein’s primary publication was
eventually issued on a weekly basis. At the height of its readership –during the
hunger strikes – editor senior republican estimated its readership at 80,000 (Sinn
Fein Leader #1 2009). Other researchers have estimated it closer to 60,000
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(Davis 1994). Currently, staff at the publication suggested that circulation is
approximately 15,000 (2009).
• Combat – This appears to be the most prominent publication issued by the loyalist
community. While loyalists’ operations were not considered as sophisticated as
those of republicans, Combat’s readership, at times, still reached roughly 60,000
(Davis 1994; Interviews with journalists & scholars 2009, 2010).

Because the vast majority of newspapers during the timeframe under study are not
electronically available, and none contain an index, word-searches and sampling based on the
word-searches were impossible. Further, the primary archive in Belfast, Linen Hall, forbids the
use of scanners and digital cameras, which created challenges for data transportation. Interviews
helped to reveal a public archive that allowed digital documentation for the newspaper articles.
However, its collection of republican and loyalist publications was extremely limited.
Due to these complications—particularly the hard copy, bound nature of the daily
newspapers—this research relied upon a random sample of articles from the newspapers.
However, the random sample generator omitted too many months, making the sample too
irregular. Further, because the study includes a time dimension, it was important to make
chronological observations. Another challenge arose with the reporting style of the newspapers:
They tended to report on political parties in separate articles, rather than in the same article.
Thus, to ensure all political parties were included, this research used a stratified, systematic,
random sample (every 17 days) based upon days of publication that included the articles from
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the sampled day across the three main newspapers (Irish News, Belfast Telegraph and the Ulster
News Letter).
On each of the random sample days, a digital camera captured images of all articles that
mentioned any political group or party (roughly ten political parties and several groups), their
acronyms or leaders, or relevant words, such as “loyalist,” “republican,” “nationalist,”
“unionist,” “provos,” “IRA,” “UDA,” “UVF,” or “Orange Order.” Every article in the sample
that contained a political group was entered into the database with the headline, subject matter,
and a list of groups mentioned. Those articles that mentioned one of the four key political parties
under study underwent thorough frame and content analysis and coding.
Obtaining republican and loyalist publications was more complicated than obtaining daily
newspapers. The Newspaper Library carried a limited supply of these periodicals, which did not
correspond with the dates of the random sample. After a series of interviews and negotiations,
Sinn Fein granted access to view its collection from which a sample of digital images of An
Phoblacht/Republican News were obtained.
5
The Lord Mayor of Belfast made special
arrangements and obtained one-time permission at the Linen Hall Library to allow for digital
reproduction of available loyalist publications.
i

5
The author also sought television footage from the period of 1988 to 1998 from the primary news outlet in
Northern Ireland – the BBC. However, public access to archives does not exist. Ulster University is in process of
creating such an archive but it is likely several years away.

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The Interviews

In addition to newspaper data, twenty-six extensive interviews were conducted with
journalists, party leaders from the five key political parties, clergy leaders, scholars, advocacy
groups, and members of paramilitary organizations. Most journalists had worked in both print
and broadcast media. Interviewed journalist had also worked at several media outlets and could
offer a broad perspective about the different media outlets.
Of the political leaders, most had held elected public office. Three represented or had
represented the key unionist and loyalist parties—the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), the
Ulster Unionist Party (UUP) and the Progressive Unionist Party (PUP). Three officials
represented or had represented Catholic nationalist and republican parties—Social Democratic
Labor Party (SDLP) and Sinn Fein (SF). In addition to party officials, press officers and
journalists, interviews included non-elected political leaders, such as clergy, scholars,
community leaders and paramilitary leaders. Shorter, more context-oriented interviews were
conducted with approximately twelve Belfast residents. They were local residents, drivers of
buses and taxis, unemployed persons, youth and rank-and-file republicans and loyalists.
The interviews were designed to understand the two primary phenomena: 1) the parallel
“frame wars” that occurred—and likely motivated—the physical conflict and how those party
frames interacted with the mass media’s framing; 2) the factors that contributed to the
construction and evolution of the mass media frames. They sought to address the following
hypotheses:
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• The traditional newspaper frames will be constructed by the following
factors:
1) The norms, structures and ideology of traditional journalism,
such as the pursuit of impartiality, the goals of traditional news
journalism, the definition of “successful” reporting, the definition
of news, and a moderate ideology;
2) Journalists’ own histories, desires, judgments and emotions;
3) Social psychological forces, including societal and group
pressures, such as peer pressure, groupthink, and group
conformity.
4) The group identity and ideology embedded in the structure of
the media and the communities that they serve.
• Mass media framing will change as a result of changing political leaders
and events, journalists’ own judgments and emotions, and because of
social psychological forces.
• Those media which are more entrenched in a particular identity and
ideology will change less than others

All interviews contained a combination of guided questions and freeform dialogue with
follow up questions arising directly from the respondents’ answers. A digital device and
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extensive hand notes recorded each interview. In effort to understand the construction of media’s
news frames, questions were geared toward identifying the factors that affected the final frame,
including the processes, structures, norms, interviewees’ experiences, understandings and
emotions. Thus, the questions varied depending on the interviewee. This next subsection details
some of the primary questions.

Interviews with Leaders:
During interviews with the party leaders, subjects responded to queries that analyzed the
following: 1) the parties’ understandings and framing of the political conflict and their own and
the other parties 2) the means by which they communicated with their constituencies and general
audiences; 3) their relationships with media professionals and their understandings about the
traditional and nontraditional media outlets, their importance and those outlets’ political
identities and ideologies; 4) their experiences with the media; 5) their efforts to persuade
journalists and shape the frames; 6) the degree to which they were successful; and 7) how they
believed journalists and media frames influenced political outcomes. Questions also specifically
addressed the broadcasting ban, the media’s treatment of particular groups and more generally,
the media’s impact in the peace process.
6
Sample questions for political elites include the
following:
1) Which media are most important here to the politics of Northern Ireland?
What makes them important and who consumes them?

6
Data from the interviews has filled approximately 200 single-spaced, type-written pages.

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2) Are these media and their journalists neutral, or do they have a particular point
of view or ideology?
3) If not neutral, were they fair to the your party and to other parties?
4) What strategies and other means of communication did you and your
colleagues use with journalists as efforts to shape the media’s framing?
Alternatives?
5) What about with the other parties?
6) Did the institutionalized censorship (during the broadcasting ban) seem to
affect the conflict? If so, how?
7) Did the censorship also affect the newspaper coverage?
8) What was your party’s primary use of mass media – to communicate with the
other parties, the public?
9) Do you think that the media coverage and framing impacted the conflict or the
peace process? If yes, how?
10) Did they abate or enflame negativity between groups? Did they work to
legitimize some people or parties?
11) Did coverage and framing change during the conflict and the peace process?
12) Do you think that media helped build support for some groups over others?
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13) How did you deal with communication on particular issues (e.g. when the
British government or the IRA took a particular action)?

Interviews with Journalists:
With journalists, questions were intended to reveal the construction of the media frames,
including their professional norms and guidelines, their own understandings and the making of
the frames. Questions were geared toward understanding how professional factors and personal
backgrounds, judgments and emotions interacted to construct their news stories. Journalists
responded to questions about their struggles, their personal histories, publications and
experiences as both reporters and as residents, about their processes for understanding the
political situation, and the ways in which the frames developed. Follow up questions asked
journalists to identify and discuss their thoughts about key political actors, their importance, the
political parties and important events. Journalists were also asked about their process for
identifying, pursuing and framing stories. Finally, they were asked to consider and assess their
own roles, their colleagues’ roles and more generally the media establishment’s role in political
developments in Northern Ireland. Throughout the interviews, questions called for examples of
important moments, stories and revelations. Questions included the following:
1) How did you decide what stories to pursue and what sources to use?
2) How did you decide how to portray events?
3) How do you (or did you) decide the credibility of sources? Did you trust some
sources more than others?
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4) Were there people and perspectives that you didn’t bother with? Or didn’t trust?
5) How did you deal with the broadcasting ban?
6) Were you ever afraid of covering something or covering it in a particular way?
7) What was your own perspective on the conflict? The Peace Process?
8) Do you think your own perspective and background ever impacted your choice of
stories and how you approached them?
9) Did your own perspective of the politics impact your inclusion of sources and
leaders?
10) What about your own desires for a particular outcome?
11) What about your colleagues? Do you have a sense about their perspectives and
desires? Was any of that seeping into the stories? Did these things impact the
troubles or the peace process?
12) Did you empathize with any of the political actors?

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Quantifying the Media’s Frames
Frame Measurement
Why affix specific values onto frames?

While identifying particular kinds of frames has been very useful in past research, the
additional step of quantifying aspects of the identified frames can offer a more precise
understanding—of the frame itself and of its potential impact. For example, in numerous types of
contests and conflicts, merely identifying “conflict frames” or “us versus them” frames gives
researchers limited traction for more in depth analysis, particularly when trying to understand the
relationships between frames and other aspects of politics, such as attitudes, emotions, and
political behaviors. This is partly because the “other” or “they” can take on a number of roles,
which vary in degrees of negativity. These roles and degrees of negativity suggest different
means of relating or dealing with “them.” In other words, there are different political solutions
suggested within the range and types of “other.” So, if “they” are another team in sports, the
level of animosity is likely low to moderate. Here, the way to deal with “the other” is merely to
win the game and thus defeat the other side within a set of established rules. Similarly, if “the
other” is another political party, in normal democratic settings, the way to deal with “them” is to
defeat them in the polls. But in wartime and certainly in genocide, the “other” is often portrayed
as a categorically evil force that must be destroyed, not merely defeated on scoreboards or in
polls. This research attempts to get at this level of assessment to better understand the potential
impacts of these frames to the construction of conflict and peace.

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Past Efforts for Frame Measurement: Identifying and studying frames has transcended
disciplines (Chong and Druckman 2008). Frame research and identification help scholars define
issues, compare coverage across media and time, and to assess trends and variation (Chong and
Druckman 2008). In their 2008 Journal of Communication article, Chong and Druckman have
identified steps for assessing framing effects. Initially, scholars identify the issue or event or
actor of interest (Entman 2004, 23-24). Second, scholars locate an attitude about that particular
event, actor, or issue. Third, scholars use inductive logic to identify the frame or frames used for
the issue. Fourth, from those frames, researchers create a coding scheme and identify the source
materials from which content analysis will be conducted (Chong and Druckman 2008). This
process served as guidelines for the frame identification.
While there is no single standard means of measuring frames (Chong and Druckman
2008), scholars have identified five different approaches for measuring framing research. These
include the hermeneutic, linguistic, manual holistic, computer-assisted, and deductive
approaches (Matthes and Kohring 2008). In the hermeneutic approach, researchers attempt to
interpret qualitatively without quantification with an in depth description of the frames
themselves (ibid). In the linguistic method, researchers seek out specific words, sentences,
dimensions of frames, and sentence structure as a systematic and thorough means of analyzing
news texts (ibid). The manual holistic approach uses an in depth qualitative analysis to identify
the working frames, such as “master frames” (ibid). The computer-assisted approach uses a more
specific and objective method by generating “frame mapping” by seeking out words and patterns
of words within texts using cluster algorithms (ibid). Finally, the deductive method uses a
method to (identify) frames that have been previously identified from the framing literature using
specific analytical procedures.
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The literature also offers some possible framing scales, such as those created by Semetko
and Valkenburg (2000). These scales, created in 2000, utilized a series of questions to identify
the frequency of five kinds of frames—attribution of responsibility, human interest, conflict,
morality, and economic consequences. They were primarily utilized to conduct content analysis
of articles surrounding the Amsterdam meetings of European heads of state in 1997. With their
binary coding system on a set of questions and trained coders, the researchers attained a high
level of inter-coder reliability (above 92 percent). De Vreese et al also used these scales to
assess the frames used by mass media in four European countries when the common European
currency was introduced (de Vreese et al 2001).
The past efforts to measure frames offered direction from which this research drew. Thus,
in a similar logic, this project created a series of questions, keywords, and parameters. However,
this project’s need to assess two important dimensions of the frames—the degree of intensity and
charge (negativity or positivity)—both on the conflict situation’s frames and the framing of the
“us” and “them” within those conflict frames. And therefore, new scales and codes needed to be
designed to measure these frames, which together contributed to an original mass media database
of articles from the key Northern Ireland newspapers.

The Frame Analysis: The frame analysis in this work sought to understand the factors that
construct conflict and peace in both the rhetorical and physical planes. By quantifying and
comparing the frames in five publications that each serve a different community, for example,
one can see if group identity, ideology, and group psychology influence the frames’ construction.
By comparing the professional news publications to those that are more directly connected to
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ideological groups, one can see if journalism’s professional norms and structures influence the
frames’ construction. Comparing the frame quantifications to the utterances from journalists and
political party leaders, one can explore if journalists’ appraisals, emotions and histories also have
an effect on the frames’ construction. By comparing the changes in the framing to the changes in
the physical conflict, one can analyze if the two affect one another. By comparing the changes in
the various publications, one can also analyze why and where changes are more likely to occur
and why and where the frames are more entrenched.
These factors are expected to together construct mass media’s frames: group identity,
ideology and psychology; journalism’s professional norms and structures; and journalists’
appraisals and emotions; the real, physical changes in the environment. For example, it is
expected that the professional factors will soften or temper both the group factors and journalists’
judgments and emotions. But all of these will still be present.

Database #1 - The Articles and Their Frames:
The first step in the content and frame analysis required identifying the groups in the
articles. Thus, in the five publications selected for the study, each article that mentioned a group
was entered into the database with its headline, date and publication. This assisted in evaluating
the frequencies, or the parties’ “newsworthiness,” in comparison to the other parties and offered
comparisons across publications for differences in reporting on the parties, use of sources, and
the “newsworthiness” bias.
Secondly, each article that mentioned one of four political parties under comparative
study—Sinn Fein (SF), the SDLP, the PUP, or the DUP—underwent additional content analysis
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and coding across several additional categories designed to evaluate two dimensions of two
frames (the situation and the parties) in each publication. The categories (discussed below) are
meant to measure both manifest and latent content, the latter meaning content that cannot be
measured directly (Hair et al 1998 from Neuendorf p. 23). Approximately 3,000 articles
underwent a series of analyses in efforts to quantifiably address the questions and hypotheses of
this work.
• Do group identities and ideologies play a role in the construction of mass media’s
frames? The following hypotheses are tested in chapters Four, Five, Six and
Seven as follows: Through qualitative interviews, Chapter Four explores the
frames used by political leaders in specific parties. Chapter Five then discerns the
journalists’ experiences, emotions, judgments and frames, also using a qualitative
method of interviews. Chapters Six and Seven will test these hypotheses using
quantitative frame measures across publication and over time.
o Hypothesis 1: Group and partisan identity and the social psychology
forces of groups influence mass media’s framing (including group
ideology, conformity, groupthink, intergroup and intragroup emotions).
o Hypothesis 2: The structures and norms of traditional journalism (such as
the definition of “news,” of “successful” journalism, the hiring of
journalists with moderate ideologies, and the norm of “neutrality” and
“impartiality), while not free from bias will soften or moderate the effect
of group identity and ideology.
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• Do frames change over time? Or do they persist? What are the factors that lead to
framing changes or their persistence? The following hypotheses are initially tested
in Chapter Five with interviews conducted with journalists and more precisely
tested in Chapter Seven by observing the frame measures over time:
o Hypothesis 3: Frames change as a result of a dynamic process that
includes changes in leadership, language, and real circumstances that
affect opinion and emotions.
o Hypothesis 4: Journalists’ own emotions and judgments will interact with
real changes in the community that will cause some frames to change.
o Hypothesis 5: Journalism’s practices of focusing on conflict and drama
will create some resistance to change in the degree of conflict in frames.
o Hypothesis 6: Some media that are rooted in insular communities who
have intensely negative emotions toward “others” will feature framing that
is more resistant to change.

Measuring the Frames—the Component Variables:
To quantify the frames in the articles, this research first identified a series of component
variables within each article. Drawing upon the literature’s past frame analysis, a series of
questions were developed that were assigned to each component variable. Then scales and codes
were created to measure the precise degree to the answers to those questions. The final codes in
each category were combined in a formula to comprise the five frame scores, one for the
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situation and one for each of the four parties under study. The final frame scores were then
converted to a value that varied between -1 and +1. This process allowed for quantitative
comparisons, which tested the above hypotheses and the relationship between the framing and
the real circumstances in the community, which are discussed further below.

The Situation Frames: The situation frame relied upon four component variables that
corresponded to the following questions and codes:
1) Presence of “groups”—were people divided into or identified by their respective groups?
(yes =-1; no = 0). This category was designed to account for the presence of social and
political psychological influences, such as groupthink, intra and intergroup dynamics
such as stereotyping and intergroup emotions.
2) Presence of blame—was a person, group or government blamed for a political problem or
negative event? (yes = -1; no blame = 0; context & complex understanding offered = 1).
Blame directly relates to this work’s core hypothesis about “blame frames,” which blame
one or more groups or members of those groups for major political, social or economic
problems and appear as negative frame values on political parties. As discussed in
Chapter One, blame increases negative emotions such as anger or hate toward the blamed
party, particularly when the alleged blame is framed as unjust/unfair (Lazarus 1991;
Frijda 2000; Beck 1999, 2005; Sternberg 2005).
3) Degree of hostility/conflict or respect/accord—was there either hostility or respect in the
frame? Media scholars have found that a common practice of journalism is to focus on
conflict, which may magnify the public’s sense of the scale of conflict or exaggerate it,
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thus compounding negative emotions and behaviors. Thus this work explores the degree
of conflict and hostility or respect/accord in the frames (-2 = extreme hostility and
conflict, including two or more bombs; moderate hostility and conflict, including
physical or verbal violence =-1; neither hostility nor respect = 0; respect, even if
disagreement = 1; strong respect, agreement, accord = 2).
4) Fear or Hope – This category derives from the political psychology, international
relations, and constructionist literature, which suggests that fear and the sense of threat
signal danger, heighten awareness for surveillance purposes and triggers impulses of
either avoidance or aggression (Marcus et al 2000 Lazarus 1984; Frijda 1986). Further,
people tend to adjust their behaviors in accordance to their anticipation of positive or
negative outcomes, which may create self-fulfilling prophesies without the actors
realizing it (Zimbardo 2007; Edelman 1971, 2001). Fear = -1; neither fear nor hope = 0;
hope = 1.

The Party Frames: To measure the framing of each of the four political parties under study, the
research identified a related series of categories and developed questions, scales and codes to
measure the responses to the questions. Together, using a similar formula as above, the codes
comprised the frame scores of the parties, and detected the presence of either “blame frames,”
“hate frames,” “genocidal frames,” or “acceptance frames.” This quantification allowed for
comparative measures—comparing the parties’ framing to one another, comparing the frames
across publications, over time, against real events and against the remarks of both journalists and
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party leaders. The component variables and questions identified to comprise the parties’ frames
included the following:
1) Was the group blamed for a negative development? Blame, discussed above, is key in
the portrayal of a party. This was coded -1 = blamed; 0 = not blamed.
2) What was the dominant tone used toward the party? This is a vital component of a
parties’ frame and is designed to measure the overall tenor and depiction of each of the
four parties and their members. In combination with the other factors, these depictions
can arouse positive or negative opinions and emotions and their action tendencies, and
include two dimensions—one negative-positive dimension, and one intensity dimension.
The essence of the seven-point scale for dominant tone included the following: extremely
negative (-3) includes the use of subhuman descriptions, such as cancer, plagues, or
insects; very negative (-2) included one-dimensional depiction of party members as
terrorists, criminals or terrorist supporters; can’t tell was coded as 0 for a neutral value;
somewhat negative (-1) meant less than acceptable, flawed, problematic; somewhat
positive (1) meant acceptable, functional, normal human; very positive (2) suggests
constructive leadership for the larger community; extremely positive (3) included heroic.
3) Was there a counter tone? This measure was designed to assess the diversity or
homogeneity of the depictions within and across articles. If the party or another
perspective countered the dominant tone, this activated a counter code measure. No
counter = 0; counter to a negative dominant tone = -1; counter to a positive dominant
tone = 1.
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4) Did the party have a voice in the article? This category sought to determine which
political parties were granted public voice to articulate their positions and grievances.
Such voice may also generate legitimacy for parties in the media (Bucy and Gregson
2001). Either paraphrasing or quoting a member of the party was noted. Voice: Yes = 1;
no = 0.
5) How positive or negative was that voice (including a paraphrase)? This category is
intended to address the fact that journalists have a choice about the quotes or
paraphrasing selected for their articles and segments, and that frames tend to include
material that fits within its confines and exclude material that does not fit into its
confines. Extremely positive = 2; somewhat positive = 1; neither negative nor positive =
0; somewhat negative = -1; extremely negative = -2.
6) Was the party portrayed as a legitimate member of the political system? This category
extends to another core in the conflict about legitimate governance and belonging. As
discussed in Chapter One, legitimacy or the lack of legitimacy interacts with blame to
influence the emotions, intensifying anger, for example, when legitimacy is absent and
blame is present. Definitely not legitimate = -2; probably not legitimate = -1; can’t tell =
0. Probably or marginally legitimate = 1; definitely legitimate = 2.
7) What emotions were present in the frames? Emotions are key for understanding
behaviors. As elaborated in Chapter One, psychologists suggest that emotions are
dimensionalized along two dimensions—charge (negative or positive) and intensity. For
example, some researchers believe that irritation is a mild form of anger and rage a more
intense form (Lazarus 1991). Before finalizing the emotions, this research first explored
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an initial set of articles to ascertain which emotions appeared most. The following
questions and emotions emerged.
a. Positive emotions are important for reconciliation. They have been found to be
powerful antidotes to negative emotions and allow for greater access to positive
thoughts. They can fundamentally reorganize cognitions, improve thinking, and
promote creativity, flexibility, efficiency, thoroughness in decision-making, and
negotiation (Fredrickson 2004; Isen 2000). Were there positive emotions, such as
acceptance, liking, pride or adoration, in the frames? In this first category,
positive emotions included either low-intensity emotions such as acceptance or
liking (+1) or high-intensity emotions such as pride or adoration (+2) that were
associated with the party. If there was no emotion detected, not even acceptance,
the code assigned was 0.
b. The second category included negative emotions, ranging from low-intensity
negative emotions, such as upset, irritation, mild/moderate anger, contempt or
disdain (-1), and high-intensity emotions, such as rage, outrage, disgust or hate (-
2) associated with the party. No emotion received a code of 0. While there is
some debate about the action tendency of anger, many researchers (Peterson
2002; Moisi 2010; Frijda 1993; 2007) have found anger to be an important
emotion in the fueling of violent conflict.
c. The third category coded the presence of the negative distancing emotion, fear
that was associated with the party (-1). (The presence of no emotion received a
code of 0). This category was associated with the appraisal that the party or its
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members may harm “us” (politically, economically, culturally or physically). In
addition to the behaviors and dispositional systems triggered, fear also
corresponds with expectations of what is to come, for which people adjust
behaviors according to their anticipations of either positive or negative outcomes.
Psychologists also suggest that expectations can create self-fulfilling prophecies
because without realizing it, people tend to conform to expectations as well as to
others’ beliefs about them, even without their realization (Zimbardo 2007).
d. The final emotions category coded for the presence of the positive emotion, hope
(+1) that was associated with the party. (The presence of no emotion received a
code of 0). Hope, like fear, is future-focused, corresponding with expectations
that the group will contribute constructively in the future.
8) How should the community relate to and deal with the party? This final category was
designed to assess the cues within the article that suggest what type of political solutions
should be used to relate to or deal with the party being evaluated. For example, -3 =
killing, or torturing; -2 = imprisoning or stripping of civil rights; -1 = censure, shunning,
exclusion, lawsuits/courts, conquering nonviolently; 0 = can’t tell; 1 = inclusion,
diplomacy, invitation; 2 = actively engage, work with and/or solve problems with the
group; 3 = honor or exalt.

These new scales and frame measuring methodologies were then used to assess the more
than 3,000 randomly sampled articles. (The raw data includes more than 10,000 JPEGs).
Analysts coded each article on the sampled day from each of the five publications for the four
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parties over the time frame under study (January 1994 through May 1998). Once coding was
completed, the project weighted the categories and generated an aggregate frame score,
expressed on a scale that ranges from -1 to 1 with higher scores implying a more positive frame,
and lower scores suggesting a more negative frame. Positive numbers signified “acceptance
frames.” Negative party scores (below -.1) generally meant the presence of “blame frames.”
Very negative scores (below -.5) meant the presence of “hate frames.” These measurements—
individually and in combination—created a quantifiable means of comparing framing of the
parties and the political situation within each publication, across publications and against the
journalists and party leaders’ statements. Researchers could also quantifiably compare the frame
components, such as the presence of group identification, and the degree of blame, hostility,
respect, fear, or hope within the frames. In combination, these variables detected the presence of
“acceptance frames” (positive frame scores), “blame frames” (below -.1), “hate frames” (below -
.5) or “genocidal frames,” signified by hegemonic “hate frames.”
Once coding was completed in the first database, a second coder analyzed five percent of
the articles to test for inter-coder reliability using specific coding instructions that defined the
categories and gave guideposts for evaluation (see appendix for coding instructions and results).
All categories attained greater than 80 percent inter-coder reliability, and many attained higher
than 90 percent reliability.
Finally, these frame scores could be compared over time with the real physical events to
assess if the two variables were related. The latter comparison could address the following
questions and hypotheses. Does the consistent and repeated use of negative situation framing
contribute to negative or antagonistic community relations? Do negative or antagonistic
behaviors contribute to negative situation framing in mass media? Does the consistent and
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repeated use of negative framing of “the others” (such as blame frames and hate frames)
contribute to negative or antagonistic community relations? Do negative or antagonistic
behaviors contribute to negative framing (such as blame frames and hate frames) of “the others”
who are involved with the antagonistic behavior? The following hypotheses are tested in
Chapter Seven.
o Hypothesis 7: Negative framing of “the others” will contribute to negative
or antagonistic community relations while antagonistic behaviors will
contribute to negative framing of “the others” in mass media.
o Hypothesis 8: Persistent and repetitive use of “blame frames” will
contribute to negative or antagonistic community relations and
antagonistic behaviors will contribute to negative situation framing in
mass media.
o Hypothesis 9: Persistent and repetitive use of “hate frames” will contribute
to extremely hostile activities such as violence toward the hated group.
o Hypothesis 10: If hate frames become hegemonic, as “genocidal frames,”
the hated group will be targeted for genocide.

In contrast to the construction of conflict, this work also seeks to understand the
construction of peace. Can a change toward more positive situation frames contribute to more
positive and less antagonistic community relations? Can more positive and less antagonistic
community relations contribute to more positive situation frames? Can a change toward more
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positive frames for “the others” (“acceptance frames”) contribute to more positive and less
antagonistic community relations? Can more positive and less antagonistic community relations
contribute to more positive framing (“acceptance frames”) of “the others”? This too is tested in
Chapter Seven.
o Hypothesis 11: Positive situation frames—or the increased use of
“acceptance frames”—will contribute to less antagonistic community
relations, and positive, less antagonistic behaviors will contribute to more
positive situation framing in mass media.

Creating the Community Relations Database:
In order to assess the relationship between the media’s frames and the real, physical
community relations, a second database that affixed a numerical value to the real hostility or
(reconciliation) in the community was required. The first step of developing this database
reviewed existing databases, particularly the Northern Ireland data from the Global Terrorism
Database at the University of Maryland. That data was compared, edited, and merged with the
University of Ulster Chronology of the Conflict, created by Northern Ireland scholars. When
data conflicted, this research used the information from the latter source. The final data set
included 410 significant events, including political violence, antagonistic parades, peace rallies,
ceasefires, apologies, and other such acts, the new database coded the level of antagonism or
accord/reconciliation. Analysts then developed a scale and codes for the final data set to assess
the level of intercommunity relations. The codes, ranging from -3 to +3 included the following:
Acts of terrorism were coded as -3, for extreme hostility and antagonism. Additional events
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from the latter chronology were added and coded as follows: Acts of terror/lethal (including
potentially/intentionally lethal) destruction received a -3. Acts of hostility and antagonism that
included physical violence but were not lethal (such as rock-throwing, fist-fighting) received a
code of -2. Other acts of antagonism that did not include violent contact—such as antagonistic
parades or pickets—received a -1. On the positive side of the scale, acts of non-antagonism,
such as ceasefires, were coded as a 1. Cooperation or joint effort between conflicting groups,
particularly toward resolution received a 2. Acts of embracing or honoring “the others” received
a 3. These numbers were then aggregated and coded by multiplying the number of incidents with
the score of the incident to affix a final code for intercommunity relations. Those numbers were
then aggregated annually, quarterly and monthly.
7

Comparing the Frame Scores
Construction of Peace
After completing the coding and inter-coding of the component variables and final
frames, computerized statistical analyses generated their overall means, high and low scores and
standard deviations for each party and in each publication. A comparison of those numbers
allowed for the testing of hypotheses (above) related to the construction of the frames and the
influence of several factors, including the institution of journalism (its norms, dynamics and

7
The second dataset of community relations needs review to ensure that all significant dates are
included. Also, while the random sampling used for obtaining the articles should contains representation
of uneventful and eventful days, it likely missed some important dates, while the antagonism data base
contained all, or nearly all, significant events. Thus, the random sample of publication articles did not
necessarily match the dataset of the events. Some of this may be fine, particularly if media’s framing and
their effects linger after events until the next sampled date. However, it could also be the case that another
event or set of events could act to modify the media’s framing.

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ideology), group dynamics (identity, ideology and psychology), and journalists’ own judgments
and emotions. These numbers were plotted in bar graphs and tables for comparison purposes.
Using the time plots, the means, standard deviations and high and low scores for the five
composite frames were then analyzed yearly and quarterly, which allowed for testing hypotheses
related to how, when and why frames either change or resist changing. Graphs of these frame
changes offered a visual understanding of the changes. Finally, by comparing the changes in
these frames with the changes in real intercommunity relations, derived from the second
database, the relationship between these two planes—the rhetorical and physical—could be
analyzed by tracing and comparing the pattern of change.

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Chapter Four
The Frame Wars:
Parties, Paramilitaries and a Framing Fight

Background and Purpose:

Political conflicts, as discussed in Chapter One, are constructed, in part with conceptual
and linguistic components that motivate them, justifying fighting, giving reasons for going to
war, and extolling a valuable and vulnerable thing for which taking or risking life is worthwhile.
These connotations arise largely from frames and narratives—conceptual tools that organize
otherwise disorganized data into more meaningful understandings within the context of real
politics. As discussed in Chapter One, in a dynamic process, these meanings and understandings
elicit emotions and with them, automatic behavior tendencies that when adopted by masses of
people, construct real political situations, such as political conflict and war.
Based upon interviews with leaders in five key political parties in Northern Ireland, this
chapter’s purpose is fourfold. It seeks to: 1) distinguish the specific narratives and frames used
by the parties of the conflict that helped motivate the real physical wars; 2) identify the
components embedded in these frames—for example, the meanings, roles, assessments and
emotions—that worked to justify each party’s direction; 3) discern how the parties’ “frame
wars,” or the struggle to control the region’s dominant frame, were conducted, as a means to
persuade others to adopt these interpretations.; and finally, 4) understanding how the traditional
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news media and the parties’ experiences with media professionals fit within the parties’
narratives and frames (their explanation for their framing’s successes and failures).

Organization of this Chapter

The chapter begins with an overview of the overarching narratives and frames in the
region and their components—the roles and meanings conveyed by them and the emotions they
evoked. This first section explains how the frames and narratives fit with the construction of the
conflict in Northern Ireland. It then identifies the sub-narratives and frames that fit within the
two broader narratives along with their distinguishing features, followed by a brief summary of
the struggle to communicate their frames in the public sphere, particularly through traditional
mass media. In the second section, the chapter ventures more deeply into each of the five key
parties’ narratives and frames, their specific strategies in the frame wars, particularly the parties’
efforts to use frames to communicate and persuade people, and how these struggles themselves
became part of the “frame wars.”
Because both the real, physical war and the rhetorical frame wars were largely tied to the
historic battle between Great Britain and the Irish republicans, the third section begins with an in
depth exploration of the Irish republican narrative and frames, followed by the republicans’
efforts to communicate, their related experiences with traditional media, and finally, their
guerilla frame warfare, as articulated by leaders within the Irish republican political party, Sinn
Fein. The next subsection includes the frames, narratives, and communication strategy of the
Social Democrat and Labour Party (SDLP), which represents those nationalist people who are
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not of the republican persuasion. It then moves to the unionist and loyalist side, exploring their
narratives, frames, communication efforts and experiences. For the latter, the chapter includes
interviews with three key unionist parties—the Ulster Unionist Party (UUP), the Democratic
Unionist Party (DUP), and the loyalist Progressive Unionist Party (PUP). The two largest
unionist parties, the UUP and DUP, represent conservative unionist politics, while the smaller
PUP represents the “left-wing” of working class unionism and loyalism, including the loyalist
paramilitary group the Ulster Volunteer Force.
8
Two additional smaller unionist parties were
engaged in Northern Ireland politics, the United Kingdom Unionist Party, representing, at times,
.5 to five percent of voters, and the now defunct loyalist Ulster Democratic Party.
9

The Frame War Overview

Northern Ireland’s conflict contained two broad opposing metanarratives—or
overarching stories—about the political situation, the role of the various parties in the conflict
and the causes and possible solutions to the conflict—what a “happy ending” might be. These
two metanarratives embody several sub-narratives and frames within them. And while the broad
narratives are largely mirror opposites of each other, the frames are nearly identical,
interchangeable, and the “roles” are merely reversed. For example, the opposing narratives both
contain what has been identified in the literature as the “us-versus-them” frame; but the “us” and
“them” are switched. Simultaneously, the narratives use a specific kind of framework—what this

8
Edwards, Aaron. 2010. “The Progressive Unionist Party of Northern Ireland: A Left-Wing Voice in an Ethnically
Divided Society.” The British Journal of Politics and International Relations.
9
http://www.ark.ac.uk/elections/gparties.htm
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work has identified as “blame frames,” which assign cause for the political problem at hand.
Like the role reversal in the “us-versus-them” frames, the “blame” is also switched and placed
squarely on “them.”
The Meaning of all this: In Northern Ireland, the parties’ narratives and frames carry an array of
meanings and assumptions, particularly about belonging, legitimacy, righteousness, values, the
problems’ causes, and the roles that “we” and “the others” are playing. For example, a key
argument in the narratives pertains to who rightfully belongs in the land simultaneously known
as Northern Ireland, Ulster, and “the Six Counties,” and who is therefore, wrongfully occupying
the land (Interviews 2009, 2010). These narratives and their frames also suggest that some
parties, systems, laws, behaviors, and cultures are legitimate in the region, while others are not.
Inside the frames are roles, such as “perpetrators,” “heroes,” “victims;” and “bystanders.” They
contain values about what is just and important; who is “good” and “bad,” and offer explanations
about the root causes of the conflict and its solutions.
As discussed in Chapter One, the meanings and appraisals conveyed through these types
of frames and narratives evoke negative emotions, such as resentment, anger, rage or hatred
toward the “perpetrators” and pride and sympathy for the heroes and victims. Each emotion,
then, elicits associated behaviors, according to the political psychology literature. For example,
the attribution of blame triggers anger, which elicits a drive to change, often by attack (Fischer
2007: 103; Lowery, Imada & Haidt 1999).
The two broad community metanarratives—those of the nationalist and unionist
community—house sub-narratives and frames, including those of the republicans and loyalists,
respectively, which are both generally more intense, emotive and extreme, and reflect the
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behaviors of those groups. These republican and loyalist frames, while generally falling under
the same metanarrative as the nationalists and unionists (respectively) contain components that
differ, particularly related to the problem’s cause and solution (see figure 4). For example, while
republicans and loyalists share the “us-versus-them” and “blame” frames, their frames portray
“the others” as a destructive force that must be forcibly stopped, by violent means if necessary,
lest “they” destroy the thing of value, thus calling for destructive or lethal action to stop “them”
and their pernicious activities. These additional components, through their intensely negative
appraisals of “the other,” generate fear, rage and hate, such that it becomes desirable to kill and,
in some cases, torture “them.” In their worst form, these become “hate frames,” which, when
hegemonic, can elicit support for genocidal behavior.
Both republicans and loyalists are considered a part of the broader nationalist and
unionist communities (respectively), sharing general goals, and representing people from the
same constituencies, but they part ways in their absolute or extreme positions. For example,
republicans are considered part of the nationalist community and generally represent native Irish,
Catholic people. But while they share goals to unite Ireland and gain civil rights for their
constituents, their fundamental approach to the problem in the six counties and the solutions to
the problem differ: Republicans’ positions were more inflexible, and they were willing to use
strategic lethal violence to attain their goals.
Similarly, loyalists are considered part of the broader unionist committee, which are
generally Protestant, of British or Scottish descent, with goals to maintain union with Great
Britain. Like the nationalist-republican connection, loyalists, while sharing identity and broad
goals with unionists, tended to be more rigid, and willing to use lethal violence to achieve their
aims (Clergy Leader 2009).

Figure 4: Nationalists & Republicans, Unionists & Loyalists

The Frame Wars in the Battleground of Mass Media:
parties all attempted to disseminate their narratives and frames as a means of persuasion and
justification for their respective actions. For some, this parallel war took place on the pages and
airwaves of traditional mass media. But for others, the wars could not be won in those traditional
venues, which led them to develop alternative communication tactics
counterparts’ approach to the ground war, these groups developed
an attempt to circumvent traditional mass media and communicate directly to citizens. And some
parties—particularly Sinn Fein—
Based on their frame war experiences, party leaders developed different und
of traditional mass media, which then became part of their larger narrative about the political
situation in Northern Ireland. Most
particularly from the daily newspapers, as biased and, at
: Nationalists & Republicans, Unionists & Loyalists
The Frame Wars in the Battleground of Mass Media: As part of the conflict itself, the
parties all attempted to disseminate their narratives and frames as a means of persuasion and
justification for their respective actions. For some, this parallel war took place on the pages and
ass media. But for others, the wars could not be won in those traditional
to develop alternative communication tactics: Thus similar to their
counterparts’ approach to the ground war, these groups developed a more guerilla “frame war
an attempt to circumvent traditional mass media and communicate directly to citizens. And some
—pursued both strategies (discussed more below).
war experiences, party leaders developed different und
of traditional mass media, which then became part of their larger narrative about the political
situation in Northern Ireland. Most—but not all—for example, viewed the media’s coverage,
particularly from the daily newspapers, as biased and, at times, unfair toward their cause, and
111
: Nationalists & Republicans, Unionists & Loyalists

As part of the conflict itself, the
parties all attempted to disseminate their narratives and frames as a means of persuasion and
justification for their respective actions. For some, this parallel war took place on the pages and
ass media. But for others, the wars could not be won in those traditional
: Thus similar to their
a more guerilla “frame war” in
an attempt to circumvent traditional mass media and communicate directly to citizens. And some
pursued both strategies (discussed more below).
war experiences, party leaders developed different understandings
of traditional mass media, which then became part of their larger narrative about the political
for example, viewed the media’s coverage,
times, unfair toward their cause, and
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therefore hurting their efforts toward their respective goals. Here, a milder version of an “us-
versus-them” frame portrayed “us” as victims treated poorly by “them,” the mass media
professionals. The experiences with the traditional media battleground drove some groups,
particularly the republicans, to supplement their traditional media campaign with an alternative
means of communication, including, in some cases, their own mass media. Others, such as the
unionist DUP and loyalist PUP, at times, either ignored or shunned the traditional news media. In
hindsight, both of the latter parties suggested that this decision to bypass the traditional media
may have limited their reach and was thus detrimental toward their cause. Based upon interviews
with party leaders, the next section first details the narratives and frames of each political party,
followed by their “frame war” strategies to disseminate their frames, their experiences with
traditional mass media, and how those experiences then became part of their narratives.

The Battle Frame of the Republicans

Republican Narratives and Frames: The narratives and frames of the Irish republicans are
perhaps the most vital to understand the Northern Ireland conflict. In the republican narrative, a
whole, undivided Ireland rightfully belongs to the native Irish people. To republicans, Britain is a
colonial invader and an oppressive—and historically abusive—imperialistic occupier. In fact, the
six counties that make up Northern Ireland were but one of Britain’s “40 or 50 colonial wars,” in
which the Irish people were but one victim (Sinn Fein Leader # 3 2009). This narrative
incorporates and activates the broad frame, “us-versus-them,” and its siblings, “right-versus-
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wrong,” “good-versus-evil,” and “perpetrator-versus-victim,” which, in this case, is “occupier
versus occupied.”
Although the native Irish people tended to identify as Catholic and faced discrimination
based on their religious identity, republicans dismiss the notion that religion was the conflict’s
motive, returning instead to the frame of “occupied versus occupier” and its larger “right-versus
wrong.” “The conflict is not religious but about an age-old conflict – colonization, plantation,
leaving us lost people,” explained one high ranking member from Sinn Fein. “It’s about power . .
. colonial power . . . not religion—I’m an Atheist . . . The single issue is the constitution, the
Union versus the Republic” (ibid).
Viewed through this framing lens, a series of assumptions and meanings emerge. For
example, the “occupier-versus-occupied” connotes belonging, legitimacy, fairness, justice,
rightness/wrongness, “us” and “them,” and “good” and “evil.” For example, the frame suggests
that the “native Irish” belong on the land while the British occupiers do not, making their “war”
to oust the imperialist occupiers a legitimate use of force, a “just” war that is fighting its “unjust”
colonizer. It also implies illegitimate governance on the part of the “occupiers.”
Sinn Fein’s specific “us-versus-them” frame (the “Union versus the Republic”) also
connotes a broader war that transcends a mere conflict between republicans (us) and the British
Army (them). Rather, it implies that 1) the “Union” (Great Britain) is at war with the entirety of
the Republic (Ireland); 2) that “we” (the republicans) in some way represent the Republic of
Ireland; 3) that “the six counties” (Northern Ireland) still belong to the Republic of Ireland and
were wrongfully appropriated by Great Britain; 4) that the island’s partition is illegitimate and a
symbol of the occupation, which must be eliminated (ibid). It is thus a just war—a fight for
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justice, for legitimacy, and for restitution—restoring what rightfully belongs to “us,” according
to republicans (Sinn Fein interviews 2009).
The frame acts like a lens, coloring all political institutions, events and policies in
Northern Ireland. Thus, in the republican view, the attempt by the Great Britain to govern in the
six counties is wrongful interference in the Irish polity: The British governance structure and the
presence of British “authority” are illegitimate, violative, and further evidence of the
“occupation,” according to interviews. The “other” community--the largely Protestant
descendants of Scottish and British descent—were an extension of the occupation, their presence
a constant reminder of the native Irish’s occupied status (ibid). In fact, republicans believed that
unionists and loyalists “identified the British army as working for them” (Sinn Fein Leader #1
2009).
A second frame activated by the narrative is what this research identified as a “blame
frame,” which explains negative phenomena by blaming “the other,” which in this case, is the
British government and by extension, its supporters, loyalists and unionists. All problems in the
six counties directly arise from the wrongful “occupation” and the occupiers (ibid). As discussed
in Chapter One, blame then elicits negative anger-related emotions, and their related behavioral
components, and justifies “corrective” action. Seen through this lens, the historic institutional
discrimination endured by the Irish Catholic community was blamed on the occupation, seen as
typical of an oppressive colonialist.
While these “us-versus-them” and “blame frames” implicitly reject British rule and
engagement, this work also identified a more powerful frame that sometimes emerged—the
“hate frame,” which is named for its intensely hostile and complex emotional component. As
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explained in Chapter One, this frame implies an intense wrongdoing perpetrated by an inherently
bad character that will continue or get worse and thus generates an imperative or duty for “us”
(the “good”) to defeat “them” (the bad, British occupying force). The narratives and frames
employ powerful language and emotions that, for some, justified lethal violence.
To the Irish republicans, the conflict was a just war reminiscent of a modern-day David-
versus-Goliath (Sinn Fein Leader #3 2009). In fact, the republican narrative fits into a broader,
global “struggle” for justice and self-determination, which connected the “republican movement”
to other oppressed people and gave parties like Sinn Fain a “more internationalist” bent. For
example, republicans expressed affinity toward black South Africans, Palestinians, and the
Basque people. This connection was reflected in a wide array of communications, including
posters, films, publications, panel discussions and murals (SF 2009; Sinn Fein Leader #1 2009).
(See Figures 5, 6, and 7 for republican murals).

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Figure 5: Murals on the Falls Road in West Belfast

Figure 6: Murals on the Falls Road in West Belfast

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Figure 7: Mural on the Museum of Free Derry

Communicating the Irish Republican Frame:
Because turning public opinion against Great Britain had historically been critical to
winning the Irish War of Independence (Sinn Fein Leaders #s 2, 3 & 4 2009; English 2003),
republicans recognized the importance of framing and disseminating those frames, during both
the conflict and the peace process. In fact, republicans considered the terrain of mass media as
yet another battleground in which the war was being fought (Sinn Fein Leader #3 2009).
In what republicans called “the propaganda war,” they and their foes disseminated
competing frames and narratives as a means of persuasion and attaining support, sympathy,
relevance and credibility for their organization, its members, and cause (Sinn Fein leaders #1, 3,
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and 4 2009). Thus, while the forces fought on the ground, Sinn Fein competed to also win in the
frame war—to persuade people of the righteousness of their physical war, justify or explain the
IRA’s actions, win sympathy, support, and acceptance for their ideological positions and to
convince their audiences of the immorality of “the other’s” actions. “Language is always a
battleground, and the vehicle for the battleground is the media,” explained a Sinn Fein leader (#4
2009). “Media really is an ideological battleground in which narrative takes dominance and
whose narrative is more convincing . . . We tried to frame the issues with words that people
could easily understand so they could easily understand the issues. And the British were doing
that too. And they did it through their embassies, their networks. At its core, it’s a battleground
of language” (Sinn Fein Leader #4 2009).

The Trouble with Traditional Media: Structural and ideological barriers and discrepancies in
resources created a decisive disadvantage for Sinn Fein and the republican movement, according
to interviews. Historically, the structural and ideological barriers in the North had locked out
much of the perspectives, culture and news for the Irish Catholic community. In the early days
before the “Troubles,” daily papers had reportedly posted notices such as, “no Catholics need
apply,” according to republicans. Gradually, however, the discrimination became more subtle—
through gate-keeping and omission of issues, culture and perspectives important to their
community, relegating them and other nationalists to second class or irrelevance, according to
interviews (Sinn Fein leader #1 2009). For example, many news outlets failed to report physical
and mental abuse perpetrated on republicans, particularly those in custody, said Sinn Fein
members. And cultural matters, such as Irish sports, failed to receive fair coverage (Sein Fein
leader #1 2009; Journalist #8 2009).
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The media institution’s structure by its nature also skewed reporting, said senior Sinn
Fein members. For example, a Sinn Fein leader noted that reporters’ careers depended upon
cooperating with the British government. “If they didn’t play the game, they would get cut out of
briefings. They wouldn’t get the stories if they didn’t carry the briefings,” he explained. “So if
you’re a journalist and your source is special branch or army or MI5 or intelligence—and there
are countless, any number of different organizations with acronyms in the security system—if
you still want to be a player in the media world, you have to listen to what you’re being told and
quite often you have to report it as it’s given to you” (Sinn Fein leader #3 2009). Thus,
journalists rarely “stuck their necks out” to include their perspective, said republicans, either
because they were comfortable with the status quo, or because they reported according to
expectation for career protection, said interviewees (Sinn Fein Leader #3 2009). Rather, most
journalists reported the “information given by the system,” said the Sinn Fein leader. “If it turns
out to be inaccurate down the road, they shrug their shoulders and move on to the next story”
(ibid).
Ideological barriers compounded the structural complications for republicans, particularly
with reporters working for state-affiliated media, according to interviews. Together, these
elements generated what they believed was either neglect or sometimes hostility toward the
republicans’ perspective. Neglect became evident when republicans released regular
communiqué, which they believed were routinely ignored by “the British media.” That category
included unionist publications such as the Ulster News Letter, according to interviews. “They
weren’t going to cover us,” said a senior staff member of Sinn Fein (Sinn Fein Leader #3 2009).
As a result, “the vast majority of media” reports failed to shed a critical eye onto the
events of the day, and in the view of republicans, “defended the British army at all costs,
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defend[ed] ‘our boys,’ right or wrong, even though they were killing people, even though they
were torturing people, even though they massacred fourteen civil rights marchers in Derry on
Bloody Sunday,” argued a Sinn Fein leader (Sinn Fein leader #1 2009).
Another Sinn Fein leader concurred, suggesting that mass media reports omitted
important contexts and factors that would help people understand the republicans’ activities. For
example, the republicans noted that the media failed to report the British Army’s provocations
but did report the republican responses, according to interviews. “When a British soldier kills
someone, if you listen to the media . . . you never hear of the people being killed; you never hear
of the conditions in the way it’s framed,” explained one Sinn Fein representative (Sinn Fein
Leader #4). Pressed for examples, he described an incident that he witnessed in which “roughly
a thousand Catholics amassed on the Falls Road, a Catholic neighborhood,” after a bomb had
detonated. “Tensions were high. When the British patrol arrived, some people threw stones. The
patrol fired shots above the heads of the crowd escalating the tension into mayhem.” The news
ostensibly framed the incident as “British soldiers attacked by stone throwers” without offering
the context and broadcast information that witnesses called “make believe” (Sinn Fein leader #4
2009).
Together, these structural and ideological factors along with the disproportionate
resources allowed the traditional mass media to become part of the structure that injured
republicans, according to interviews. The next subsection describes how members of Sinn Fein
experienced media as another weapon of war.

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Media as a Weapon: The disproportionate resources of the British government disadvantaged
republicans’ efforts by allowing the state to disseminate particular portrayals seem real and use
them to justify coercive action, according to interviews. “The British put a lot of resources into
giving their point of view. They invested a lot, and from my perspective, in distorting what was
taking place here, as a way of trying to isolate Sinn Fein,” said a senior Sinn Fein leader (Sinn
Fein Leader #4 2009).
To republicans, the use of media to “isolate” them was one way that mass media were
being used as a weapon of war, which, in turn, made mass media themselves part of the
republican narrative. “The state (Britain) had learned . . . that the media was (sic) an instrument
to be used in whatever way it could, to demonize, criminalize and isolate its political opponents,
while arguing that what it (the British government) was doing was right and proper,” explained
one high-ranking republican (Sinn Fein leader #3 2009). “The British army, through its press
operations, the RUC . . . manipulate(d) events. If an event happened, the first people to say
anything were always the state forces, and the media came to simply republish those accounts as
if they were fact” (ibid).
As an example, the interviewee recalled, “We had thirty odd years of collusion between
state forces and loyalist counter-gangs, who were involved in killing Catholics as part of a terror
strategy, but also to kill republicans as part of a strategy, trying to make it difficult for
republicans to wage war,” said a senior republican (Sinn Fein leader #1 & 3 2009).
In one incident, after a loyalist gunman shot dead human rights lawyer Pat Finucane in
his home while he dined with his family, republicans told journalists that state forces had
colluded with the gunman to target Finucane. But the accusation was reportedly ignored until
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years later, after the official Stevens Inquiries affirmed collusion, according to interviews
(Journalist # MP; Sinn Fein leader #3). “It has taken a number of years for this [collusion
between the British special forces and the loyalist gunmen] to become public” (Sinn Fein Leader
#3 2009).
When media failed to report the state’s activities but did report the republicans’ response,
republicans were reportedly portrayed as “criminals” and “godfathers” that needed to be
punished and defeated. It was a means of justifying and legitimating state-sanctioned force as
“necessary,” according to interviews. This “manipulation of the media was one element in
reshaping government structures, security structures, all with the aim of protecting the state and
defeating the republicans, and whatever was needed [was used]” (Sinn Fein Leaders #1 & #3
2009).
Media had been one element of a four-part strategy that also included force, institutions,
and economic sanctions, said one senior republican, who cited British military strategist Frank
Kitson as the source of the strategy.
10
“It was about using all of those aspects of society to defeat
an insurgency, manipulate them, and change them to meet the circumstance,” said a Sinn Fein
representative (Sinn Fein leader #3 2009).
With this background, the media themselves became part of the republicans’ narrative
about the unjust situation in Northern Ireland. From this view, the media institutions were part of
the structure that held the unjust status quo system in place and helped to defeat and oppress the
republicans and nationalists.

10
Kitson’s book on this subject is titled Low Intensity Operations: Subversion, Insurgency, Peace-Keeping.
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Some journalists, however, fought against the dominant ideology and structures to
uncover these more hidden dynamics, said other Sinn Fein leaders. They “did a good job in
really difficult circumstances . . . Some people were braver than others, but there were enough
people in there who wanted to get it right. [And] one of the reasons they wanted to get it right
was that Sinn Fein had substantial support,” he said (Sinn Fein leader #3 2009).
In addition to what the republicans called the “British” media—based upon its
constituency and framing (including the BBC and newspapers such as the Belfast Telegraph and
the Ulster News Letter)—was another smaller media. The nationalist, Catholic press is briefly
discussed in the next subsection.

The Catholic Nationalist Media: Even with the emergence of a nationalist or Catholic press—
the Irish News and the Derry Journal, for example—republicans believed their frame was not
adequately disseminated. These media outlets were smaller in comparison to the British and
unionist media and tended to respond to the greater nationalist community’s experiences,
perspectives, and frames, not necessarily the republican frame, according to Sinn Fein leaders
(Sinn Fein Leader #1 2009). Thus, these newspapers reported on many of the issues that affected
the Irish Catholic communities but not specifically within Sinn Fein’s preferred framing. Thus,
like in the parallel physical war, when the republicans faced asymmetrical power, they waged a
kind of guerilla warfare. And while the IRA waged guerilla warfare on the ground in Northern
Ireland and Great Britain, Sinn Fein waged their version of guerilla frame-warfare through
demonstrations and meetings, and in the pages of their own publications, posters, leaflets, films,
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and on the walls of Northern Ireland. The next subsection describes the republicans’ “guerilla”
frame wars in Northern Ireland.

Sinn Fein’s Guerilla Frame Warfare: Frustrations with communicating their frames through
existing media prompted republicans to seek an alternative. “We ended up trying to provide our
own alternative media in the ‘70s because of the way in which the media didn’t report what
republicans were saying,” said a Sinn Fein leader (Sinn Fein leaders #1, 2, 3 2009). This was the
point at which “the ‘propaganda war proper’ began,” said interviewees (ibid).
One important early communication strategy was through small-scale publications, what
one Sinn Fein member called “bulletins,” “local news sheets,” and “mosquito press,” referring to
a tiny creature with a powerful bite. These bulletins or news sheets served “each area” but were
produced “very haphazardly,” explained a senior republican. “You have to remember the
technology—a typewriter . . . a big machine with a drum. You would type your piece . . . like on
carbon paper, and often literally sheets of paper. It could be four sheets, five sheets, six sheets
depending on what the news was. . . . Each area had their own bulletin until the early ‘80s” (Sinn
Fein leader #3 2009).
The mosquito press was a central piece of the republican communication campaign that
also included marches, demonstrations, public meetings, leaflets, posters, occasional pirate radio
stations, and murals, which covered walls with images highlighting issues of justice, injustice
within their own and others’ struggles (see Figures 8 and 9). Films also told the republican
narrative in audiovisual format. “Numerous, cheap film would act as consciousness raisers or
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publicity,” said a republican leader. These alternatives were “the only way of getting out your
message,” said a Sinn Fein leader (Sinn Fein leader #1 2009).

Figure 8: Murals in Derry Depicting Internment and Bloody Sunday

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Figure 9: Murals in Derry depicting the republicans’ blanket protests

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Figure 10: Murals on the Falls Road framing the Situation and the British government.

The content in the early efforts were more recently called “primitive . . . very few
republicans ever had any training as journalists or writers, so looking back at them now are a bit
embarrassing,” said a Sinn Fein leader (Sinn Fein Leader #3 2009). But the content evolved into
more sophisticated publications, such as the then monthly publications, An Phoblacht and
Republican News (which eventually merged into the weekly APRN) (Sinn Fein Leaders #1 & 3
2009).
Another bulletin, which emerged as a protest against “internment without trial,” evolved
into a full-fledged newspaper called the Andersonstown News (Sinn Fein leader #2 2009). “It
was started by local people . . . They wanted a way to resist repression without using violence,
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and they hit upon the idea of publishing a bulletin . . . It was a mosquito press” that then
developed into a newspaper (ibid). Initially funded by a protest song called “The Men behind the
Wire,” which rose to the top of the Irish charts only to be banned, the twice-weekly newspaper-
style Andersonstown News became a very popular newspaper in West Belfast (ibid). Two
monthly publications, Republican News and An Phoblacht, later merged into APRN as a weekly
publication (Sinn Fein leaders #1, 2 & 3 2009).
With these publications, Irish republicans could bypass traditional gatekeepers and freely
disseminate their own narratives, frames and information to their communities. “Whereas they
[the traditional media] would not publish [the republican experiences], we had statements from
the prisoners about being beaten up, about their noses being broken, about their teeth being
knocked out, black eyes, anal searches, forcible scrubbings,” said a Sinn Fein leader. “We had
the names of the prisoners, the names of the prison officers who were doing the torture, whereas
the British media ignored all of this” (Sinn Fein leader #1 2009).
Real life dramas during the conflict helped the republican publications flourish. “In our
favor was the fact that the IRA was a sexy subject in media terms,” said a senior republican.
“Bobby Sands’ writings would have been printed there . . . And Gerry Adams’ prison writings
would have been there . . . Republicans escaped from prison, tunneled their way out, blew holes
in the wall, and over the wire. They sometimes were assassinated by the state, sometimes died in
an act of service. Then the hunger strikers, where two [imprisoned] hunger strikers were elected
to parliament—Bobby Sands and Ciaran Dougherty—which are phenomena that completely
undermined the thesis of [Margaret] Thatcher that these people were criminals” (Sinn Fein
Leader #1 2009).
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Simultaneously, however, Sinn Fein’s framing was at times challenged by what one
senior republican called “a PR (public relations) disaster . . . There was also IRA activity that
wasn’t [easy] to explain, inexplicable,” he said. “If the IRA planted bombs that killed civilians,
or if the IRA were firing [and] wounded civilians, we have to deal with it. We have to take the
flack . . . there were times that the IRA lost support over the things that it did. And we had to
take responsibility for the weakest link in the chain saw. If somebody was inefficient or careless,
we were paying a political price for it. Having said that, people were very forgiving because
people understood why the struggle was being waged; and you may lose sympathy for a while,
but it will come back to you because of the general picture, because of the big picture” (Sinn
Fein leader #1).
The republicans’ alternative efforts also provoked a backlash from the government, at
which times the rhetorical, legal and physical frame wars collided. In addition to the
broadcasting ban that prohibited broadcasting the voices of “terrorists,” British officials also
disrupted their publishing operations, according to senior republicans. “We were subjected to
regular raids where the British Army would sledge-hammer their way into our office,” said a
Sinn Fein leader. “They put fire in our office. We’ve had hand grenades thrown into our office. I
remember one incident, for example when the British government tried to close down the
Republican News in 1978. Back then, to put out our statements, we relied on Telex machines.
The British army couldn’t get our telex machine down the stairs, so they just opened a window
and threw it out the window onto the back of a flatbed lorry, never realizing that we didn’t own it
. . . Then they put us in all jail, and they charged us with conspiracy to pervert the course public
justice. It was an attempt to close down the paper” (Sinn Fein leader #1 2009).
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Both the legal and physical aspects of the frame wars then affected the rhetorical frame
wars, said republicans. The legal restrictions and raids sent “a subliminal message that this
person must be evil or doing something wrong,” added a senior republican. “You can’t talk to
him. You can’t hear him” (Sinn Fein leader #1 2009).

To some extent, the republican narrative and frames fit within the broader “nationalist”
narrative that highlighted discrimination, inequality and the civil and human rights violations that
the Northern Ireland Catholic people endured. But the republican frames parted ways from their
nationalist counterparts, the SDLP party, in their approach to the roots of the problem and the
solution. The next subsection explores the SDLP frames and the party’s efforts to communicate
those frames to their audiences.

The SDLP’s Nationalist Frame

The SDLP narrative shared many of the same components of the republican narrative.
They shared an understanding of “us” and “them” and “blame” for the systemic problems in
Northern Ireland, the latter which fell onto the British and unionist governments. Nationalists
essentially agreed on the general frames, related assumptions and goals. For example,
nationalists share the view that the island’s partition and the governance system were not
legitimate and share the goal of uniting the North with the Republic of Ireland. However, the
SDLP section of the nationalist community parted ways with republicans on the fundamental
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focus and on the problem’s solution. For example, with the republican focus on “the occupation”
as the root problem, the solution required eradication of the occupation, for which they were
willing to resort to physical and lethal violence (clergy leader 2009). Thus, while republicans
were willing to strategically and violently try to force the removal of “the other,” the SDLP
chose a different focus and solution.
The other nationalist party rejected violence in favor of nonviolent action, persuasion and
dialogue with the British government and the unionist community. They sought to directly
address issues of inequality and human and civil rights without bloodshed and were, generally
speaking, willing to approach these matters more incrementally. Thus, in the SDLP framework,
the “right” and proper means of achieving political ends such as equality and civil and human
rights was through talks, persuasion, and peaceful engagement, which, at times, included
peaceful demonstrations (SDLP Leader 2009).
Throughout the conflict, the nationalist community’s support for either the more hardline
republican narrative or the softer SDLP narrative appeared to vacillate depending, in part, on the
events of the day, said interviewees (ibid). When, for example, efforts to persuade the British and
unionists for greater equality and respect were frustrated, or when the British government exerted
force and implemented draconian measures onto the nationalist community, the community
supported the republican version of the narrative more readily than the SDLP’s version (ibid).
“There were issues here that weren’t dealt with . . . They were swept under carpet, and
gradually frustration built up,” said an SDLP leader. “We tried with the civil rights movement in
the late 60s, but it didn’t work, was frustrated and undermined. And the reality was, there was
resolve in people’s minds that these issues would be dealt with, come hell or high water. So what
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happened was [that] the more the authorities refused to confront issues like human rights and
equality and whatever, the more people who had been previously passive and neutral more
became [angry]. And gradually, any movement—if there’s a bit of reality behind it—will build
its own momentum. So the government—both the local government in Stormont and
subsequently the direct rule ministers—the agenda was constantly trying to split the difference
and referee between the fire brigade and the fire. [But] when there’s a fire on, you don’t try to
divide the difference; you [must] put out the fire. But a lot of the stuff here was about small
incremental improvements, which in many cases, only caused frustration. The other thing was
that the British army was on the loose—like any other army—and they’re not an appropriate
peace keeping force. We have a lot of people abused and treated very badly by the British army.
All of this fed into a movement that kept moving” (SDLP leader).
Sinn Fein leaders agreed with this analysis. “The British did a good job of recruiting for
us [Sinn Fein] because of all their hypocrisy and policy,” said a leader of Sinn Fein. “We were
very vocal and at that stage . . . because they put us outside, because they put us beyond the pale,
for that we would attack everything. So we built a reputation as being the alternative” (Sinn Fein
leader).
Despite their common aims of a united Ireland, equality, civil and human rights, and their
common foes, this division between the republican and SDLP narratives generated periodic
animosities between the two groups. Thus, each party became part of the other party’s frame—
“they” were making the problem “worse” by “their” approach. “They”—even with good
intentions—were “wrong.” And each side lobbed a fair amount of blame onto the “others” within
their own community. The differences between the two narratives were most pronounced in the
means to attain their shared goals and the speed with which to attain them. For example, the
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SDLP’s narrative rejected force and chose to work within existing institutions, which in a way,
legitimized them. In contrast, Sinn Fein chose strategic force and abstentionism as a form of
rejecting legitimacy for any British involvement in Northern Ireland’s governance.
11
Thus, the
SDLP frame offered to work with “the others” for a common arrangement benefiting nationalists
and unionists on their way to attaining the goal of a united Ireland. In contrast, to Sinn Fein, the
“others,” the British government and the unionists, had shown themselves to be unrelenting
obstacles that must be outmaneuvered (Interviews 2009, 2010).
Further, Sinn Fein’s narrative rejected the SDLP’s incremental results as forsaking the
true goal and thus cast the more moderate SDLP as betrayers of the true nationalist cause,
according to leaders from both parties (SDLP leader 2009). Sinn Fein leaders framed it more
harshly, claiming that the SDLP had too readily accepted the “status quo . . . We said, ‘We’re not
sitting at the back of the bus,’ but the SDLP people at the back of the bus, they said, ‘No, but it’s
okay because occasionally they let us go to a conference in America.’ But we’d say, ‘They can
go and fuck themselves’” (Sinn Fein leader #2 2009)!
In contrast, in the SDLP’s narrative, the IRA’s use of violence had failed to achieve a
modicum of desired outcomes, was costing human life, and was immoral and counterproductive
toward their goals, according to interviews. “Sinn Fein constantly accused the SDLP of letting
(the nationalist) side down, of settling for half a loaf of whatever,” explained an SDLP leader.
“The reality was [that] they were settling for nothing, achieving nothing. They were killing a lot
of people, and there was no benefit, no product. They were conducting what they called the long
war . . . They may have achieved military things, [but] the difficulty it brings for [Sinn Fein] is

11
Although Sinn Fein won seats in the Parliament, because it rejected the legitimacy of the British body’s
participation in Northern Ireland, the party refused to take their seats.
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that they’ve spent thirty years murdering people---a lot were Protestants, unionists or British
oriented. It’s going to be two lifetimes before the victims or their relatives and friends can trust
Sinn Fein. They’re still, from a lot of perspectives, they’re still the IRA that tried to kill their
father or grandfather. It will take two generations before the scars will be [healed]” (SDLP
leader 2009).
Thus, in the SDLP frame, negotiating for fairer conditions for the Irish Catholic
community could and should be done through peaceful activities. The peaceful approach was the
proper approach. “The SDLP did always and will continue to negotiate because we feel that we
can’t (unclear),” said an SDLP leader. “There’s not much point of [making] peace w/friends.
You’ve got to [make peace] with the enemy. We constantly try to persuade unionism to agree
and improve social justice and improve human rights and other issues . . . they refused that”
(SDLP leader 2009).
For their willingness to negotiate peacefully, the SDLP leaders believed that they paid a
hefty “price . . . It was seen as betrayal,” said the SDLP leader. “We were misconstrued . . . seen
as ineffective. [But] it was more effective than anything we’ve seen [from violence]” (ibid).
The dynamics in the community related to the two nationalist parties shifted “when Sinn
Fein decided to give up violence,” according to SDLP leaders. “That brought them another [ray]
of hope [because] a lot sympathized with Sinn Fein but didn’t like their tactics” (SDLP leader
2009).

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Communicating the “nationalist” Frame
Like the other parties, the SDLP communicated with and through the traditional media by
identifying key issues and issuing statements on them. Although this was a means to
communicate with the public, primarily their own constituency, it was also a way to
communicate indirectly with other parties. But they faced challenges, according to interviews:
“We had very little resource at the time, so it was all ad hoc,” said one SDLP leader (SDLP
leader 2009).
Despite the underfunded efforts, interviews suggested that the SDLP’s frames achieved
greater dominance in the traditional mass media than the republicans’ framing, particularly in the
more nationalist newspapers, such as the Irish News. The nationalist party’s nonviolent approach
was more readily accepted as legitimate, according to interviews (2009; 2010). In fact, some
media appeared to adopt the SDLP frame. They “put pressure . . . constant pressure . . .
sometimes subtle, sometimes not so subtle, for the IRA to stop [its violent activities],” said a
leader of the SDLP. And one unionist newspaper, the Ulster News Letter, he said, “would have
been calling for them to be hung, drawn, [quartered]. They (sic) would have been much more
revenge types of demands” in their content (SDLP leader 2009).
While media professionals tried to “walk the middle of the road” and while most
perceived [themselves] as neutral, most mass media contained “an establishment, or British or
unionist bias, but it’s subtle,” according to the SDLP leader. That bias was more evident in some
media more than others. For example, the newspapers had “more discretion” for publishing
articles containing their ideological leanings, he explained. The Irish News tended to approach
politics from “an Irish, nationalist context” while the Belfast Telegraph “tends to be somewhere
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in between, coming from the unionist stable but reaching out in the commercial sense;” and “the
Ulster News Letter would have covered things from a unionist perspective,” he explained. But all
of them, he believed, were fair, “if you knew where they were coming from” (SDLP leader
2009).
From the SDLP’s experience, even the mass media that disagreed with the party’s frame
had been “analytical” and had “broadly played an honorable role,” according to a party leader.
They “declared anti-sectarianism and various expressions of that in public.” But in the SDLP
narrative, the IRA—and other violent groups—were jeopardizing the good will that mass media
institutions were allegedly building. “Their efforts were often thwarted by the next bomb,” said
the SDLP leader (2009).
Mass media also assisted the peace process with its coverage, according to interviews. By
maintaining regular focus on the talks, peace remained on the public’s agenda, remained salient,
which built potential for acceptance of peace. The media “created momentum around peace and
the peace talks,” he said. “They created a focus, and they created momentum and excitement for
the peace process. I would expect them to do no less” (SDLP leader 2009).
With the SDLP frame taking precedence as the more legitimate frame in the mainstream
news, the party’s leaders criticized the republicans’ alternative communication efforts. “People,
when they wanted to influence media, invented their own,” said an SDLP leader. “The
Andersonstown News [for example] would present itself as a community paper, but in fact, it is
actually driven by Sinn Fein and responds to the Sinn Fein agenda and in many ways acts as a
Sinn Fein propaganda sheet . . . An Phoblacht are clearly effectively military papers (sic). They
would take their line . . . on a military level” (SDLP leader 2009).
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Figure 11: Mural in Derry depicting Bloody Sunday

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Framing Loyalism

Similar to the overarching narrative of nationalists and republicans, the loyalist narrative
is also a story of rightness and wrongness, of victims and perpetrators, of identity, belonging, and
legitimacy. But in this narrative, the roles and positions are reversed from the republican frame.
In the loyalist narrative, Northern Ireland rightfully belongs to Great Britain, and that British
belonging remains a core aspect of the loyalists’ identity. Thus, the British government, acting to
protect the status quo, is what loyalists consider legitimate, and the alternatives—especially a
united Ireland—are illegitimate. Thus, the nationalist and republican efforts to reunite Ireland
threaten the very integrity of the loyalists’ legitimate government—Britain—and identity. And
while some loyalists identify as Protestant, for many loyalists, particularly in the PUP,
Protestantism is more of a tradition than a religious belief (Spencer 2008).
The Loyalist frame emerged in direct response to the republican frame and efforts to
realize their goal, according to interviews. “Loyalism” was usually understood, in essence, as
“anti-republicanism,” or as a counterforce to the republican movement, according to both loyalist
leaders and rank-and-file members of former loyalist paramilitary organizations (2009, 2010).
“Loyalism is about people who are prepared to take up arms to defend against republicanism and
prevent them from bullying us into a united Ireland,” explained a loyalist leader within the PUP
(PUP leader 2009). This narrative, like its republican counterpart, uses both the “us-versus-them”
and the “blame” frames. But here, the blame falls onto the republicans, and presents the loyalists
as the “good guys,” who are defending their country, identity and culture while protecting the
integrity of their government. The “bad guys” (republicans) sought to destroy them. From this
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narrative and its component frames, loyalists viewed themselves as doing the community a
service, and either directly or indirectly, maintaining the status quo. Many considered themselves
“anti-terrorist vigilantes,” stepping in to assist in a task that the British government “couldn’t
handle,” explained former paramilitary members (loyalist interviews 2010). They believed it was
their duty to stop “what they [the republicans] were doing to our country.” This belief and the
contextual narrative was supported and bolstered directly by communication with members of
the British government—specifically the intelligence unit MI5—which encouraged loyalists to
continue pursuing their violent “solutions,”, according to interviews (ibid).

Communicating the Loyalist Frame
Like other political parties in Northern Ireland, the loyalist PUP engaged in the frame
wars, attempting to communicate their narratives and frames by releasing statements and
offering “off-the-record briefings” to journalists “in the hopes that it would have been useful,”
said a senior loyalist. In the battlefield of traditional journalism, “It was [useful] on occasion. But
in terms of the overall politics of loyalism, it didn’t really help,” he said (PUP leader 2009).
The loyalists admitted that their narrative had not proven compelling to the traditional
news media professionals. And they acknowledged that they failed to persuade most of the
public of the righteousness of their frame and approach, according to interviews. “Loyalists had a
political focus, a political agenda, but the difficulty was they didn’t have the media on [their]
side. The media was not friendly overall to the loyalists,” said a PUP leader. “There seemed to be
a focus on what the republicans wanted to do and didn’t want to do. If I organized a press
conference at the same time as [Sinn Fein’s] Gerry Adams, everybody is going to go talk to
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Gerry Adams before they come to me . . . because they think Gerry Adams has something to say.
They also probably thought that Gerry Adams had an army behind him that was going to do
something which was going to be—how would you describe it—well, something was going to be
sensational” (Loyalist leader 2009).
This occurred, for example, “through the late 1980s and early 1990s when the loyalists
tried to call ceasefires,” said the PUP leader. “They were ignored by the media. They were put
down as things that wouldn’t work, and that loyalists couldn’t deliver ceasefires and all this”
(ibid).
Even newspapers that maintained a unionist ideology and unionist readership seemed
“anti-loyalist” to loyalist leaders, who argued this was due to ownership structure. . . . . The
newspapers “were owned by people who came from particular persuasions” and thus “always
took sides,” which loyalist leaders believed promoted the unionist or nationalist narratives. So
the Irish News, for example, was considered a “nationalist newspaper . . . a middle of the road
paper . . . It certainly wouldn’t have been an IRA paper. If it was a political paper, it was more
SDLP.” The Ulster News Letter was “unionist” and had “switched between the Ulster Unionists
(UUP) to the DUP. I always thought the News Letter was very anti-loyalist,” he said (PUP
leader 2009).
Thus, loyalists simultaneously sought to use alternative means of disseminating their
frames, such as by organizing “small scale” events, political rallies, commemorations, speeches,
and occasional workshops, which were met with some success. Like republicans, loyalists also
used murals, which also featured dramatic images. But the loyalist murals symbolized themes of
defense, security, and fear rather than themes of injustice (see figure 12-15). While loyalists also
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created alternative publications, they readily concede that their organizations did not “have the
money or the outlet” to generate a comparable, sophisticated media like those created by
republicans (ibid).
Figure 12: UVF loyalist mural in Belfast

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Figure 13: Loyalist Murals in Belfast

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Figure 14: Loyalist Murals in East Belfast Framing the Conflict

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Figure 15: Loyalist Murals in Belfast

The complications of communicating the loyalist frame were further compounded during
the peace process, given the British government’s practical considerations, said the PUP leader.
“British ministers [were] saying, ‘you’re not going to get mainstream unionism to go with this,”
suggesting that the larger unionist parties and their constituents would reject the loyalists’ terms
for the peace agreement, according to the loyalist leader. Thus many private discussions that
loyalists believe might have advanced their frame strategy were withheld and never reached the
public. “Politics that was being talked about behind closed doors was not getting in the media,”
said a loyalist leader. “And the media didn’t seem to have any interest in it” (PUP leader 2009).
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The loyalists’ persuasion efforts were further hampered by their own organizational
structure and resources, according to interviews. We don’t “blame the media,” he said. And they
admit that they were less sophisticated than their republican foes. “Looking back at it, I don’t
think we handled it right,” said a leading PUP member. “I don’t think we were professional
enough. We needed press officers who were trained properly and getting stories out every day.
But we weren’t doing that because we were focusing on what was in hand in terms of trying to
deal with the needs that we had at that particular time (PUP leader 2009).
As a result of these factors both within and outside of their control, loyalists believe they
were losing the frame war in mainstream media: Their version of the Northern Ireland narrative
and their portrayals, they believed, were largely misrepresented, particularly after the ceasefires
and during the peace process. For example, while senior loyalists had “in many ways put their
own lives in danger to support the peace process, the media were writing the opposite about
them,” said a loyalist leader. “They were writing stories that weren’t true” about loyalists who
were supporting the peace agreement, which he believes were an effort to “undermine them” and
the loyalist cause (PUP leader 2009).
Secondly, the PUP believed the media’s focus on particularly negative persons and
portrayals further distorted the more important loyalist narratives, frames and cause. “It was how
media described people within loyalism,” said a PUP leader. “After the ceasefire, we had a very
articulate voice in loyalism (David Ervine and Gary McMichael) . . . [But] by 1998, the UDP
disappeared, and who they were replaced by was this criminal with tattoos and . . . a T-shirt on,
who became the [public] voice of loyalism. And the media was (sic) very happy to promote the
stories of Johnny Adair. It went from this very articulate loyalism to promoting negativity around
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negativity . . . It seemed to me [that] media wanted to have this [image of a] Neanderthal with
knuckles on the ground” (PUP leader 2009).
It didn’t help the loyalist framing battles, however, that some people within the loyalist
movement had engaged in illegal or other ethically-questionable activities, according to
interviews. “In many ways, people within loyalism—not necessarily loyalists—but people within
loyalism fueled the fire by giving them negative stories, in the sense that these people were being
run by the state or by security services,” said a loyalist leader, “And there was a focus on
everyone who was a senior loyalist who was involved in drugs or whatever” (loyalist leader
2009).
Loyalists believe this focus by journalists on individual transgressions, emphasizing and
priming personal, trivial and at times irrelevant matters over more substantive political issues did
a disservice to the region by their particular focus. “They weren’t focusing on real stories,” said a
loyalist leader. “They were missing all the things that were . . . relevant [to] what was going on
in politics . . . All for this story about sex and how many women he [Adair] had sex with” (PUP
leader 2009).
In addition to the misrepresentation and the poor choice of story subjects, loyalist leaders
complained that media portrayals converted the very word, “loyalist,” into a “derogatory term.”
They offered the following example: “When loyalists called ceasefires and were gaining
momentum in terms of politics, [and] people were voting for them . . . a DUP counselor (a
unionist party) assaulted a police [officer], and [the media] called [him] ‘a loyalist politician.’
The headline should have been, “DUP counselor assaults police officer’. But they said ‘loyalist
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counselor’ [assaults police officer] . . . They didn’t want to describe him as a DUP politician”
(ibid).
Some of the reported distortions—particularly of the peace process—related to
journalists’ choice of sources, according to loyalists. In the loyalist view, journalists relied on
politicians who “spun” information to serve their own purposes—and on the “catfights” and
“arguments against each other,” which was a contravention to the actual peace negotiations,
according to interviews. “The media were describing something different and writing stories that
were totally untrue. The difficulty is, [as] we all know, don’t let the truth stand in the way of a
good story” (loyalist leader 2009).
Finally, in addition to the source problems, and the focus on the personal and dramatic
elements rather than on the substantive political negotiations, loyalists believed that the peace
process itself created a journalistic void. “Whenever ‘the Troubles’ ended, and we had the
ceasefires, a lot of journalists were used to being called to the scenes of bodies and bones,” said a
loyalist leader. “What they wanted was for someone to give them a story, so they started moving
toward stories where people phoned them up and said, ‘such and such is doing this.’ . . . the
media became like ‘Dallas’”
12
(PUP leader 2009).

12
“Dallas” was a US based television drama series that aired during the late 1970s and 1980s.
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Framing Unionism
The DUP and the UUP

The unionists’ narrative shared many of the loyalists’ frames and components,
particularly related to legitimacy, belonging, “us-versus-them” and the “good” and “bad” actors.
Like the loyalists, for unionists, legitimacy for Northern Ireland’s governance resided with the
British government, and the republicans’ efforts to change that were illegitimate and a threat to
their identity. Also, like the loyalists, unionists blamed republicans for the problems in Northern
Ireland. To unionists, republicans were simply terrorists and not legitimately part of the political
system. For many years, unionists acted on their frame by their refusal to speak with republicans.
And while both the UUP and the DUP held these beliefs, the DUP maintained that opinion
throughout the negotiations period and refused to participate or speak with the “terrorists.” A
DUP leader explained: “It’s not like [in the US], like a republican and democrat not talking
because you disagreed with them. [In that case] one side does not want to kill the other,” said the
DUP leader. “The violence gave everything an edge . . . Sinn Fein weren’t a political party but a
political party/terrorist organization. You don’t negotiate with terrorists” (DUP leader 2009).
The DUP justified and bolstered its argument against engaging with “terrorists” by
asserting that this tack was a widely accepted norm in the unionist community, according to
interviews. “It wasn’t [only] ourselves,” said the DUP leader. “The other party [the UUP]
wouldn’t talk with them either” (DUP leader 2009). And while the UUP did refuse to talk with
Sinn Fein during the conflict, the UUP changed during the peace process (UUP leader 2010). But
the UUP’s changed negotiations policy did not change the party’s frame: Both they—and the
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DUP—maintained the “us-versus-them” frame in which the IRA and Sinn Fein were the “bad
guys” and purely terrorist organizations. In fact, one senior UUP member likened the IRA to Al
Qaida, suggesting that asking the party to enter peace talks with republicans was “like asking the
U.S. to talk with [Osama] Bin Laden . . . the IRA is like Bin Laden,” to unionists, said the UUP
representative (UUP leader 2010).
During the conflict, Sinn Fein was of a few parties that were publicly shunned by the
unionists. These unionist parties also overtly scorned the loyalist paramilitary groups and their
political parties, according to a senior DUP member. This public attitude, they suggested, gave
unionists moral superiority over the “others,” the nationalists. “In contrast [to the nationalists],
we never supported those parties linked to terrorist organizations, whereas back in 1981, people
of one constituency were prepared to vote for or elect somebody who was in jail . . . Bobby
Sands. That would have been unthinkable on the unionist side,” he said (DUP leader 2009).
While the unionist parties shared narratives and frames, they parted ways in the late
1990s about the conflict’s solution, according to interviews. That division became the primary
line of demarcation between the DUP—which avidly campaigned against and refused to sign the
Good Friday Agreement—and the UUP, which reluctantly engaged in negotiations at the urging
of the US government (US President Bill Clinton and Senator George Mitchell) and British
Prime Minister Tony Blair. “Our party was the first to actually put a representative into the
studio with Sinn Fein—Ken McGinnis,” said a leader of the UUP. “We took the view that at the
end, that [disengaging with the republicans] wasn’t working, that the ban itself actually produced
more publicity [for Sinn Fein]. So we took the decision that it was better to confront people face-
to-face in the studio and put our case, and that’s where we ended up” (UUP leader 2010).
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During the peace process, while the UUP chose to shed the “terrorist” depiction for the
sake of negotiations, the DUP maintained a scornful “terrorist” frame, which troubled the UUP.
“The irony at that time was that the DUP would only operate in a separate studio,” said a UUP
leader. ”So you had a DUP representative in one studio and a Sinn Fein representative in another
studio, or at that stage, indeed a DUP in one studio, and the rest [were] in another. Then we said,
‘this was crazy stuff,’ that we didn’t believe that it was right to be set up. ‘We’re either all in this
or we’re all out of it’” (UUP leader 2010). Ultimately, the decision to engage Sinn Fein “cost us
dear,” but “at the end of the day, there’s a lot of people above the ground today who otherwise
would have been in it,” said a UUP leader (2010).

Communicating the Unionist Frame:
The two large unionist parties’ narrative and communication strategies differed both from
each other and somewhat from the other parties in Northern Ireland. For decades, the DUP, for
example, described its historic relationship with the traditional news media as “fairly hostile.”
Because the DUP considered itself a “protest party,” its leadership “didn’t do anything to court
the media,” said an elected member. Instead, the “party’s strategy at that time was very much to
go around the media and go directly to the people and host rallies, which got a reasonable
crowd” (DUP leader 2009).
This was partly in response to “a feeling that because we were a party of protest that the
media didn’t like [us] at all.” But it was also due to “a feeling that we didn’t need the media,”
according to a DUP leader. The party believed that “media was [sic] against them” and not
“supportive of our positions,” prompting them to avoid mass media, which then may have fueled
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“a vicious cycle” (DUP leader 2009). However, the DUP found that its outsider strategy “wasn’t
really making the penetration that would have been needed to win or be a successful,” said the
DUP leader. For that, the party realized it needed “to become more credible,” which would
require engaging and persuading mass media professionals (DUP leader 2009). This
communication strategy—to disseminate their frames directly to constituents and circumvent
media professionals—generated the appearance that party members were consummate outsiders,
which may have damaged their credibility and thus ultimately cost them in the frame wars,
according to DUP leaders. “We were seen as being on the outside and being extreme,” he said
(DUP leader 2009). That framing, suggested the DUP representative, may have counteracted the
party’s efforts to persuade through their own frames and narratives. Further, he argued, the
“extremist” portrayal was inaccurate, as evidenced by its ability to garner large blocs of votes,
both during the campaign against the Belfast Peace Agreement’s ratification and the post-
agreement elections. “You can’t be extreme if you represent thirty percent of the people” (DUP
leader 2009).
For the DUP, the most difficult period of the frame wars was during the peace process.
Because the party had vociferously opposed the peace talks and the resulting Good Friday
Agreement, its leadership felt especially at odds with the traditional news media, which it
believed “were collectively very supportive of the agreement [and] the talks process” (ibid).
Again, as with the other parties, the media themselves became part of their narrative, another
difficulty with which the DUP had to contend.
This experience contrasted with that of the other large unionist party, the UUP, which had
begun to develop trusting relationships with journalists after a sour period, which encompassed
the time of the Bloody Sunday event and the ‘Troubles.’ During that period, “Unionism
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generally would see itself as having perhaps over a period of twenty, thirty, forty years, probably
would feel a bit sore at the way the media treated them,” said one UUP leader (2010).
While the UUP was dissatisfied with the media’s portrayal of the party, they explained it
with structural and resource arguments rather than as the journalists’ rejection of their framing,
according to interviews. The UUP hadn’t been “sufficiently professional enough” or “outgoing
enough,” said one UUP leader (2010). Their resources could not compete with those of either the
two contending governments, which had dedicated staffs, or with Sinn Fein’s “great machine . . .
you’ve got to understand that we’re not talking with equals here,” said the UUP leader. “We
wouldn’t have had the financial resources or the backup or the access to money that Sinn Fein
had or governments would have had, so what we were fighting on was maybe two or three press
officers and ourselves, and we were having to do all of that in parallel with the talks and the
firefighting internally and everything else. And because most of the people who were doing this
were volunteers and maybe they had their own businesses or maybe they had other things, it
made it extremely difficult. All this was done by a very small number of people with very few
resources. In other words, we were bottle-washers and everything. We’re a voluntary
organization” (UUP leader 2010).
In their narrative, thus, the relationship with mass media improved, not because they
changed frames and behavior but because the US had “leveled the pitch” and eliminated the
unfair advantage that the UUP believed had been held by the republicans. “They had other
sources of funds . . . and everything else. You see they had huge resources and then of course,
they had endless amounts of people who were in their team, but they didn’t necessarily have to
worry about going to work at 7 AM the next morning or whatever. So they had a large amount of
people supporting them in that sense, which we wouldn’t have had” (UUP Leader 2010).
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The US diplomacy also helped boost the UUP’s image in the traditional media, simply by
treating the party evenhandedly, according to interviews. “In President Clinton’s administration,
we felt for the first time we could go into the White House as equals; we felt we weren’t being
regarded with hostility; we were given access, which had never been given to us before,” said a
UUP leader. “It makes a difference, whereas if you’re sort of out in the street or not there at all,
then it doesn’t [help]” (UUP leader 2010).
At times, when negotiations broke down, the UUP turned to the mass media as a means
to communicate with the other political parties, as well as with their own constituency, according
to interviews. “In 1996, the nationalists walked out [of peace negotiations], so it became hard to
talk,” said a UUP leader. “We [communicated] through the media . . . we talked with the media
to talk with the other side” (2010).
However, as the peace process progressed, three other interconnected factors then
damaged the party’s persuasiveness, according to a UUP leader: First, during negotiations, the
party split into opposing factions and could not agree on some fundamental decisions. Second,
the mass media focused more on the trivial “spats” rather than substantive matters related to the
negotiations. And third, the peace agreement itself was too complex to explain in easy sound-
bites, according to interviews (UUP leader 2010). In the first instance, journalists continued
using “conflict frames,” which drew attention to the “divisions” and gave “the dissenters in our
party a tremendous platform,” said an Ulster Unionist leader. “Dissenters are popular in the
media. [I] understand the reasons for it, but perhaps they wouldn’t have appreciated just how
destructive it was. If you’re actually involved in very complicated negotiations, and you’re trying
then to firefight this internal thing at the same time, it’s very difficult.” That particular focus,
then, “created this impression of chaos and so on, which is not the sort of thing that we need in
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politics. We were trying to get a positive message across that we had a deal that we believed was
in the long term interests [of the region]. Yes, there were parts of it we didn’t like, but it dealt
with the internal relationships—north, south and east, west. And above all, it allowed us to see
the end of the territorial claim of the Irish government over our territory, and that of course was a
huge thing from our point of view . . . These are hard concepts to get across, whereas if so-and-
so is kicking the lights out of somebody else, it’s easy. In sound-bite journalism, [these] were
easy stories to sell, [rather than] talking about the constitutional messages of the Articles Two
and Three of the Irish constitution, clause six, subsection 4A. These are not simple messages. It
was a . . . a very substantial document” (UUP leader 2010).

Conclusion

In depth interviews with political leaders revealed some of the dynamics of Northern
Ireland’s “frame wars,” the ongoing conceptual and linguistic set of battles that helped motivate
and construct the real, physical conflict on the ground and its trajectory. While the competing
frames were essentially identical—with the roles reversed—they and the larger narratives that
incorporated them conveyed opposing meanings and understandings about the parties to the
conflict and the conflict itself pertaining to important constructs such as legitimacy, belonging,
morality, fairness and justice. For example, each community used an “us-versus-them” frame
and “blame frames” within which “they,” or the “bad guys,” were causing the political problems,
and “we” or the “good guys” were working to rescue “our” object of value (country, culture,
integrity, rights, people) from “the other.” These narratives and frames defined the “problems,”
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their “causes,” the “perpetrators,” “heroes,” “victims,” and the “proper” solutions to the conflict.
And they served to justify political violence or other penalties (e.g. raids, jailing, censure) against
“the other,” either officially or unofficially sanctioned. These embedded meanings elicited
emotions—such as anger, fear, rage, and outrage—that triggered their behavioral counterparts,
which then reinforced the existing frames.
The frame wars occurred on two planes: One battle was waged in the pages and airwaves
of traditional mass media. But the media’s structures and ideologies favored some parties over
others, making mass media into another part of the parties’ narratives that explained the conflict.
The disadvantaged parties then fought to persuade or blame in additional realms—mostly in the
streets, halls and walls of the region—in effort to circumvent traditional mass media. And some
engaged in what might be thought of as guerilla frame warfare—creating their own mass media.
But that too became entangled with the real, physical war—as some media operations themselves
became targets. The next chapter explores how, through a combination of professional standards,
norms, and necessities and their own personal histories, judgments and emotions, professional
journalists changed the frames in the pages and airwaves of the region.

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Chapter Five
Frame Changers:
The Journalists, the Troubles, and the Peace Process

Introduction

This chapter explores journalists’ struggles in gathering and framing the news in
Northern Ireland. It logically follows “the Frame Wars” in Chapter Four, which detailed the
parties’ opposing narratives, frames and efforts to communicate through mass media to their
respective audiences. Those frame wars were among many complicating factors with which
journalists grappled in their goal to offer meaningful news that fit within their professional norms
and standards. The processes that these journalists revealed offers a window into three levels of
social construction: First, on the level of the individual, people construct their meanings and
interpretations from a barrage of competing information, frames, narratives and other
information (Neuman et al 1992). Secondly, it reveals how the traditional media’s norms,
structures, and ideologies shape newsgathering and framing of the news; third, it explores some
of the group dynamics that influence the construction of meaning. Because these media
professionals’ constructed outcomes—media frames—tend to reach a broad audience, they, in
turn, contribute to a community level construction of political meanings and understandings.
The Frame Changers chapter considers the following hypotheses about the factors that
influence the framing of news. It is expected that the news frame will be shaped by 1)
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journalistic norms, routines and structures; including the norm of “impartiality,” the definition of
news, the goals of the media outlet, and the routines and standards of professional journalism; 2)
journalists’ own histories, opinions and emotions; 3) events themselves, leadership changes, and
the sources journalists use for the stories.
This chapter first explores, from the journalists’ perspectives, the variables that shaped
their reporting and framing of the conflict. It incorporates journalism’s professional norms,
routines and goals with the fundamental struggles of reporting in a divided society when
language, narratives and frames are oppositional. It follows with an exploration of journalists’
own appraisals and emotions, then examines the impact of changing events, leadership, and
parties’ frames on the journalists’ cognitions and frames. In this section, interviewed journalists
discuss the struggle arising from their simultaneous roles—citizens of the region and members of
the media corps—and how their opinions, emotions and desires for their state and fellow citizens
affected their reporting and framing. Simultaneously, two other important phenomena become
apparent—how the nature of newsgathering and social psychological effects —such as group
pressures—impacted the media’s content.
There were at least two distinct periods for journalists—the conflict or “the troubles” and
the peace process—during which time newsgathering and story framing changed. During these
two eras, five dominant factors drove newsgathering and story-framing decisions: First and
foremost was the attempt to attain what these media professionals believed was their professional
duty of “getting the story” (Journalist #7 2010). This meant attaining what they believed was the
most important “news.” Secondly, journalists sought to achieve a high standard of what they
believed was fair and neutral to all the parties who were either involved in the conflict or
affected by the conflict. Third, changing circumstances, events, and leadership in the region
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profoundly impacted journalists’ reporting and framing. Fourth, their own personal histories,
experiences, judgments, and emotions about the conflict in Northern Ireland affected the ways
that they understood the dynamics in the region. And finally, journalists reacted to pressures
from the government, the media institutions, and their peers. This included pressures first during
the broadcasting ban, which prohibited airing “the voice of terrorists,” and during the peace
process era, when certain framing was discouraged. The combination of factors often created an
internal “struggle” for media professionals (ibid) and caused a shift in media frames as the
conflict shifted into the peace process.
Journalists who covered the Northern Ireland conflict and peace process suggested that
the parties’ frame wars interacted with their own judgments and emotions, affecting them in
multiple stages of producing their work—in their reporting, in their struggles to “walk the line,”
which was necessary to succeed in their profession, and in their final shaping of the story frame.
They were ostensibly most affected by the seemingly intractable conflicts between the narratives
and the ongoing violence in the region (Journalist #7 2010). This conflict and the language used
to articulate each party’s frame created a war of words, complicating journalists’ pursuit of their
professional craft, according to interviews (2009-2010).

Reporting in a Divided Society

Among the key variables driving journalists’ newsgathering and framing were their
perceived professional duties and responsibilities to “get the story” and to do so in a way that
they believed was as fair and neutral as possible. But given the political parties’ opposing
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narratives and frames, these tasks were particularly difficult. For one, dichotomous
understandings about the source of the conflict complicated framing. A local reporter explained,
“There’s no agreement about what caused the ‘troubles.’ Unionists would say, ‘It was a great
place until the IRA came along.’ The nationalists would say, ‘It’s not the IRA’s fault. It was the
history of discrimination.’ So if people couldn’t agree on the causes of the conflict, how [could
we contextualize anything within it]” (Journalist #7 2010)?
Because the parties used diametrically opposed narratives, journalists struggled to
balance between using frames and language that they believed were fair and that would maintain
key relationships with sources, which were vital to obtaining information. A broadcast reporter
explained, “When you live in a divided society, and you’re reporting to a divided society, it is
very easy to be labeled, depending on what you say,” he said. “So one day you can be the
greatest thing since sliced bread, and the next day you can be the biggest bastard that ever
walked on two feet. . . . while you’re trying to do the best and most professional job you think
you could do. It is very easy, very easy to be judged by others” (Journalist #2 2009).
From these experiences, some journalists concluded that the “people here didn’t want
objectivity; they wanted sympathy, and so they wanted to figure out if you are on their side or
not. So if you came from the Catholic side, you were perceived to be nationalist, and if you came
from the Protestant side, you were perceived to be unionist” (Journalist #7 2010). These
assessments colored the relationships and the range of stories that journalists could pursue,
according to interviews. Limiting the range of stories, in turn, also affected the framing.
Some journalists secured the necessary trust with most or all of the parties, including the
paramilitary groups and the British government, to obtain important information from each of
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them. “That’s not to say that it was all hunky-dory and comfortable and cozy. It was not, Maria,”
explained a reporter. “There were times when the relationships broke down when you did your
job” (Journalist #2 2009).
Breakdowns occurred, for example, when accounts for events conflicted. In one instance,
a journalist attributed robberies and weapons development to the IRA, based upon information
revealed to him from a trusted source. The IRA, which denied the activities, then “closed its lines
down” with the journalist, and refused to communicate for a significant period of time, thus
restricting his access to other information (ibid).
These dynamics of reporting in a divided community hindered the very fundamental
duties of investigative journalism, according to journalists. One such instance pertained to human
rights lawyer Pat Finucane, who was shot dead in his home while dining with his family. “There
had been allegations that [he] was shot dead by loyalists who were assisted by British agents,
[and] who at least let it happen,” said a local reporter. “That has now been established [by the
Stevens Report] that there was collusion [between the British agents and the loyalists] in that
case, but if you lived here and you asked very legitimate questions about collusion, and you were
from a Catholic/nationalist family, then automatically, it was ‘oh you’ve got an agenda here,’
But it was a very reasonable question, given what was being said. It was easier to come here
from, say England as a British person with no ‘axe to grind’ necessarily against your government
and ask hard questions about your government because they couldn’t accuse you of being a
nationalist sympathizer; you were [just] doing your job . . . you can ask those questions much
more freely because you had nothing to lose; you were not worried about alienating sources or
building name for yourself” (Journalist #7 2010).
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Journalists also had to sort through a considerable amount of “code” to understand the
meanings of the parties’ communications. “There were lots of statements coming out and
everyone was trying to read between the lines,” said a journalist. “What’s the message? What
does it mean? Every line would be exhaustively discussed . . . They were [often] actually
sending out signals to each other because they weren’t talking with each other [at that time]”
(Journalist # 6 2009, 2010). The “code” was both overt and covert and served multiple purposes,
including identifying the “sides” and shaping reality. Language itself became another warzone.

The Battlefield of Language

During the Northern Ireland conflict, language itself was a vital battleground for the
parties. These parties carefully chose words and crafted messages in efforts to shape the realities
that they desired. As discussed in Chapter Four, the chosen words signified many of the very
issues—such as legitimacy, ownership, belonging, and governance—about which they were
fighting on the ground. This war of words complicated journalists’ efforts toward fulfilling their
duties while remaining as neutral as possible. At times, it even disrupted their very ability to
obtain information, should they utter the “wrong” word and offend a source. “Language was a
barrier,” explained a reporter. “It was hard to choose language when interviewing people. They
can’t even get agreement about what to call the second largest city. Was it Derry, or was it
Londonderry? So if you interview a unionist politician and [call it] ‘Derry,’ you’re automatically
[suspect]. You have to alter your language so you don’t offend” (Journalist #7 2010).
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Although on the surface, the dispute over a city name may seem trivial or innocuous, it
was laden with meaning. City names, such as Derry-versus-Londonderry, were among many
disputes that reflected issues of legitimacy, ownership, governance and belonging. Single words
became a heuristic for an entire frame. For example, “Derry” connoted that the region belonged
to the Republic of Ireland and was free of British rule while “Londonderry” maintained a tie with
Great Britain (Journalist interviews 2009 2010).
The word feud was just one example of “living in subliminal messages,” said one
journalist (Journalist #8 2009), leaving reporters in rhetorical minefield on which they had to
exercise great caution. “They were trying to convey . . . subliminally all the time. I think we’ve
lived far too long on subliminal messages” (ibid). Another journalist noted, “Everything was
codified,” suggesting that journalists had to consistently decipher codes behind the words to
untangle their true meanings, both with their sources and for their audiences (Journalist #6 2009,
2010).
Perhaps the most sensitive terminology pertained to the words used to label the groups
engaged in political violence. It was, in fact, one of the chief battlegrounds in the legitimacy
wars. Thus, while “the unionist politicians and the government called the IRA ‘terrorists,’ if you
were a reporter, and you typed up the word ‘terrorist,’ there goes your Sinn Fein contact,” said
one reporter (Journalist #7 2010). And while these groups were eventually referred to as
“paramilitaries,” reporters argue that “paramilitary” was “not even the right term for these
people, but that’s what they ended up being called as a ‘neutral’ term” (ibid).
As the language wars spilled into a divided media’s policies and guidelines, journalists
who might work for more than one publication over time faced further complications. For
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example, at the Irish News, which was ideologically nationalist, “you didn’t call them ‘terrorists’
. . . you’d use a more neutral term” (ibid). But neither did the paper call them “soldiers” or
“volunteers,” as the paramilitary groups desired (Journalist #8 2009). At the Ulster News Letter,
however, “terrorist” was used relatively frequently.
The region’s very moniker was replete with meaning and embattled in both the disparate
communities and in their respective media. In the republican or nationalist communities and
publications, for example, “You didn’t call Northern Ireland ‘Northern Ireland.’ That was a dirty
word . . . [you’d say] ‘the six counties’ or ‘the north’” (Journalist #7 2010). But in contrast, when
speaking with unionists or reporting for unionist newspapers, such as the Belfast Telegraph or
the Ulster News Letter, the acceptable terminology was reversed. There, reporters couldn’t call
the region “’the north.’ It had to be ‘Northern Ireland’ or ‘Ulster,’” explained a journalist. “So
we had to learn different languages for different publications. It was very difficult to work down
the middle” (ibid). Like the other language battles, calling the region either “the north” or the
“six counties” connoted continuity with the Republic of Ireland and the illegitimacy of partition,
whereas calling the region either “Ulster” or “Northern Ireland” separated the region from the
Republic, legitimized partition, and connected it with Great Britain.
Naming the conflict was also embattled, creating another struggle for journalists. To
republicans, for example, they were engaged in a “war” for their freedom and independence from
British colonialism and their rightful reuniting with the other twenty-six counties, acknowledged
a broadcast reporter. But for the British government, the conflict “had been described for years
as a law-and-order problem,” he said. But as the conflict concluded, the British government
ostensibly changed its language to the republican version for strategic reasons. “Then people
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started to call it a war [because] they wanted the IRA to declare the war over” (Journalist #2
2009).
For journalists trying to take the middle ground, this term-war complicated the job of
reporting on the most fundamental aspect of the conflict. “When I first became involved in
reporting the conflict, I used the language that other journalists used,” said one reporter,
suggesting he initially refrained from calling the situation a “war.” But as time passed, he
realized that “it certainly walked and talked like a war. I would [now] describe it as a war,” he
said (ibid).
Even after determining the appropriate word, such as “war,” for some journalists, the
situation was still too complex to be described as “two warring sides with a referee in the middle
is much too simplistic (ibid). “I don’t think we have the information to properly describe it,”
said a reporter. “Certainly I think there were many other actors on the stage than we have
considered up to this point. I think the huge piece of missing information in terms of the last
thirty years is the role of the British state in this conflict. How many informers… or agents did
they run? What were their rules? Were there any rules” (ibid)?
Another controversial term related to “murder,” an emotive word with legal connotations.
At least one newspaper chose to avoid the word unless there had been an “inquest on that
individual” until which “it could not be classified as murder,” explained a former editor
(Journalist #8 2009). “[The IRA] would say, ‘murder by the forces of the occupation, the forces
of the crown’ . . . but we can’t classify it as murder until due process [was completed],” he said.
“That caused eruptions because we wouldn’t say ‘murder,’ and we wouldn’t refer to them as
‘IRA soldiers’” (ibid).
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Throughout the conflict and peace process, journalists faced these competing drivers—
opposing frames, narratives and the language that shaped them from the parties, what they
believed were their professional duties, and their own judgments and desires. Each decision
about a word—and the arrangement of the words—had potential ramifications, particularly for
validating or invalidating one of the competing frames with its embedded meanings. That
validation could then have professional consequences, such as gaining or losing access to sources
and readership, and consequences for their audiences and the conflict itself.

Framing the Parties

While journalists aimed for fairness and neutrality, they were nonetheless affected by
several factors, including their own assessments of the parties and the situation and their
emotions about the Northern Ireland conflict and its potential resolution, which were rooted in
their experiences. Their personal and professional assessments and emotions also guided their
pursuit of stories, and ultimately affected the portrayal of the parties and their leaders in relation
to legitimacy and righteousness. Based upon those judgments and emotions, some narratives and
frames resonated more than others. But the political parties’ communication skills, organization,
and approach toward the media establishment also interacted with journalists’ judgments and
frames. This section dissects these factors in shaping media framing about the parties within the
conflict.

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Journalists and the SDLP
Among journalists interviewed, one suggested that he and his colleagues “tended to take
a nationalist view” but not a “pro-republican view,” although there was an “occasional pro-
republican reporter” (Journalist #1 2009). In fact, most of the interviewed journalists expressed
great admiration and pride for one particular person, John Hume, leader of the nationalist party,
SDLP, and acknowledged him as the engineer for peace in Northern Ireland, which was held
universally as good and positive. Hume displayed “big leadership” and “courage,” said one
journalist (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Another referred to Hume as the “prime mover” and “de
facto lynch pin” of the peace process (Journalist #6 2009, 2010). And another called him “the
man who started the peace process” (Journalist #8 2009).
One reporter expressed great pride in his relationship with Hume, admitting that he was
“very, very close” to the Nobel laureate. To this reporter, Hume was exceptionally wise,
visionary, heroic, and even, perhaps, godlike, according to interviews. For example, the reporter
recalled an occasion when Hume had asked him for advice, which he thought was as if “God was
asking me what to do,” he said (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Each recollection was like a lesson on
morality or leadership. In one instance, for example, he recalled a time that Hume faced scorn
from members of his own party, one who had called him “’a laughing stock’” for talking with
Sinn Fein’s Gerry Adams. Hume reportedly replied, “You say I’m killing the party? There are
people every day being killed’” (ibid). As further evidence of Hume’s leadership, this reporter
acknowledged the crux of the leader’s philosophy and persuasive skills. “Hume convinced [the
governments and the parties], intellectually that there was merit to resolving the problem in an
integrated way, on a broad canvas through the ‘totality of relationships’” (ibid).
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Other journalists also relayed Hume’s quotations and statements as important moral and
political lessons for the region and possibly for all of humanity. In one case, a reporter quoted
Hume as saying, “You cannot eat a flag.” And, “It’s not land that you unite; you’ve got to unite
people” (ibid). Another recalled Hume saying that the people should be “spilling our sweat, not
our blood” (Journalist #6 2009, 2010).
Journalists acknowledged Hume’s talent for “bridge-building” and his “ability to
articulate a case that was all-encompassing.” These bridge-building and articulation skills, they
said, helped the party, Sinn Fein, to obtain “the leverage to escape from the straightjacket of
republicanism that they were locked into. It was like a chastity belt that he [Hume] was able to
unlock,” said one media professional (Journalist #8 2009). Similarly, another reporter suggested
that “Hume escorted Sinn Fein from the sidewalks to the corridors of power” and suggested that
other countries heed Hume’s example as template solutions to their own conflicts (Journalist #4
2009, 2010).
Another example of Hume’s bridging activities pertained to relationships that Hume had
developed outside of the region, particularly in the United States with the White House and
Senator Edward Kennedy, according to journalists. “He was somebody that they respected over
there and in Europe and Westminster,” said a journalist. “He was shuttling all over the place . . .
and close to things happening here too. He had fingers in a lot of pies [and] was a total advocate
for peace” (Journalist #6 2009, 2010).
Other journalists concurred. “Hume connected with the more stratospheric parts of Irish
America, such as President Clinton and the White House, State Department, and all that,” said a
local reporter. “I remember one of Clinton’s visits, and we were waiting for him, and there was a
special seat in the front, and there was John Hume in it. You can see the importance that the
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White House place on Hume. And you know about Hume’s role in getting an entrée for Adams”
(Journalist #1 2009).
While Hume was seen as a giant to many media professionals, journalists also held other
members of the SDLP in high esteem, suggesting that the media portrayed the party favorably
(Journalist #8 2009). “The SDLP would be a party that at one stage was the aggressive civil
rights generation—Hume, [Seamus] Mallon and Austin [Currie].” And of one Member of
Parliament (Alistair McDonnell), “He’s a very popular figure. He has the ability to interact with
people . . . a lovely and very kind person, and he has a lot of respect from both sides of the
community” (ibid).

Journalists and Unionists:
Most journalists expressed less admiration for unionist leaders and less sympathy for the
unionist narrative, arising from an assessment that the existing political system in the region was
unfair and needed change. One journalist described the Unionists as “stuck, like the pre-Mandela
South Africa,” according to a journalist. “They were saying, ‘we have something, and we’re
holding on to it; but we’re not holding onto it in a very fair way . . . [The unionist politicians]
didn’t like or want the peace process. They wanted it to stop. Looking back, it looks like they
were wrong to do that” (Journalist #3 2009).
“[Unionists] were wrapped up in Calvinism, absolutism, the right to rule and [their]
righteousness,” said another journalist. “Violence gave them reason to exist. They had
something to be against” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Thus, instead of seeking a compromise with
the nationalists and republicans, the unionists, “wanted security, and they defined security as
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military defeat of the IRA,” explained one journalist. “The Unionist party [UUP] back then was
saying each year, ‘oh, it’s getting a little bit better; it will be ok. And this is as good as it gets.’
And [they] lost the intellectual argument because that’s a very pessimistic thing to say. This is
[all]? [The UUP leader] kept saying, ‘don’t do dangerous things. Just keep a steady ship’. But
everybody looked around and said, ‘well, this isn’t much of a ship; it’s just a recipe for violence.
The violence is going down a little in statistical terms, but not the capacity for violence; and it’s
broken; it’s not working. We need to do something’” (Journalist #3 2009).
Journalists maintained the view that the unionist response exacerbated the conflict.
“Unionists said . . . ‘we’re not taking part in it.’ [But] they didn’t have any ideas,” said one
journalist. “They argued to just ‘keep going on, and who knows? Maybe in twenty years, it will
stop’ . . . [but] the violence was not going down tremendously, [and] the Sinn Fein vote was
going up, and that was an extra dimension, a very dangerous dimension because in those days,
they [Sinn Fein members] were entering [the governmental process] to smash it, to poison it, to
corrupt it, to bring it down” (Journalist #3 2009).
Another journalist directed criticism toward the UUP’s leadership during the peace
process. “[He was] not courageous enough with leadership in terms of facilitating the political
process,” he said. “He allowed his antipathy for [Sinn Fein’s Gerry] Adams” to dissuade his
“display of courage. That allowed the party to fall victim to the “endless carping, highlighting
the inadequacies and problems” from other unionist party, the DUP, which established itself as
the protest party, representing those who continued to oppose the peace process and the Good
Friday Agreement (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
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The DUP, the other large unionist party, was considered “fundamentalist and anti-
Catholic,” according to one reporter (Journalist #8 2009). “They would have roots in religious
and working class fundamentalism . . . it had anti-Catholicism in its genesis. They have evolved
over the decades into a very slick political machine and became a very dominant force”
(Journalist #8 2009).
From early in the conflict, the DUP, led by the Reverend Ian Paisley, generated “decades
of rabble-rousing,” said a journalist, referring to the years of protests against negotiating—or
even talking—with republicans. The protests “wrecked” an earlier attempt in 1974 to create a
power-sharing compromise that would create peace between the communities, he said (Journalist
#4 2009, 2010). That agreement, called the Sunningdale Agreement, would have established a
set of councils between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland to jointly decide on matters
that affected both sides of the island’s partition and a power-sharing agreement between the
unionist and nationalist communities to jointly govern the six counties (BBC “On this Day).
Although some journalists disagreed with the unionist parties’ goals, positions, and
desires, they continued to work with them in order to achieve professional goals and duties of
reporting on the region. “I didn’t agree with [the DUP],” said one journalist. But he recalled
numerous instances when unionist leaders helped him break vital news, including a time when a
“senior figure in the community with whom I had very little rapport” worked with him to break
an important story. “I didn’t like him; he didn’t like me. He was positively hostile to me in my
presence,” said the reporter. “But I heard him being interviewed on the radio, and I phoned him
up and I said, ‘Sir, you know and I know where our relationship rests, an appalling relationship.
But what I have to say is what I am hearing falling from your lips is making a lot of sense.’ He
said, ‘Why don’t you come and talk with me?’ I went to see him. I spent four hours with him,
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and before leaving me, he said, ‘there is something very big going on in the background’”
(Journalist #4 2009, 2010). That tip led the reporter to “start my investigation,” which resulted in
a breaking news story (ibid).
Further, despite the DUP’s strong opposition to the Belfast Agreement, some journalists
praise the party’s leadership for ultimately changing course and signing on to the process of
building the government with republicans and nationalists. “The extraordinary thing about him
[Ian Paisley], Maria, is that he spent his entire life opposing everything, and [then], he did the big
thing: He did the big deal with the Provos. It took him thirty-five years, but what a conversion. I
call that a political miracle. And do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘I want to sort
Northern Ireland out before I expire. I want everyone working together—Catholics and
Protestants.’ And he went into government with Sinn Fein. Remarkable, he did a U-turn, after
thirty-five years of vehemently opposing republicanism . . . It was unbelievable” (Journalist #4
2009, 2010).
This conversion won the respect of some journalists who had earlier disapproved of the
party’s activities. One reporter explained, “Despite all the evil that went before, and he may well
be responsible for inciting a lot of young Protestants for joining illegal organizations, Protestants
who died in prison, who went to jail and lay in jail . . . young Protestants who went out and took
up a gun and who were shot dead by the IRA or shot dead by the army or whatever. Whew!
What must go on in his head? But at the end of the day, he did the ultimate. He did the deed.
And to me, that is a political miracle. And that’s why today we have stability here, despite the
shortcomings of the system” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).

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Journalists and Republicans

Journalists admit that their frames were largely developed in reaction to the IRA’s
activities rather than those of other groups. This drew primarily from journalistic norms and their
understanding of “news.” “Everybody focused on the IRA,” admitted one journalist. “They were
the people who were organized, and they were they people trying to overthrow the state. They
were by far the most dangerous in terms of the state itself. And they took more life than anybody
else” (Journalist #3 2009).
While influenced by the IRA’s activities, this emphasis on the IRA also emerged from
outside influence—their international media counterparts. “The world focused on the IRA,” said
one reporter. “Radio stations from [for example] Australia would ring up and ask, ‘what’s the
latest IRA atrocity’” (Journalist #3 2009)? When local reporters alerted the international media
corps of other events, such as loyalist violence, most expressed disinterest, according to
interviewees (Journalist #3 2009).
Thus, while media attention centered on the IRA, most interviewed journalists expressed
deep ambivalence about the republicans—contempt for their taking human life but respect for
their language and communication skills. One called the group “a killing machine with no off
switch” (2009). Another called the group “perpetrators of violence” and criticized “that
campaign of violence that the IRA carried on . . . ceaselessly and endlessly,” adding “I won’t
deny [my desires to help end the violence]. I hated that violence . . . I vehemently opposed the
campaign of violence [by the IRA] and the loyalist campaign of violence” (Journalist #4 2009,
2010).
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However, alongside anger and contempt, journalists also expressed respect for
republicans. For example, one reporter, who had had interviewed a republican hunger-striker
held in solitary confinement, described the inmate as simultaneously “a beautiful Gaelic speaker”
and “callous and quite grotesque.” After praising the striker, he expressed outrage at his
justifications for killing “an 80-year-old man [Lord Mountbatten] on a boat with his family . . . I
was furious with him” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010)!
Before the peace process had begun in earnest, journalists also viewed Sinn Fein, the
political party representing most republicans, as “dangerous . . . [Sinn Fein] said, ‘the ArmaLite
13

and the ballot box.’ The ballot box was to help the ArmaLite along,” said one journalist
(Journalist #3 2009). (This refers to a quote by Sinn Fein former publicity director Danny
Morrison: “Who here really believes we can win the war through the ballot box? But will anyone
object if, with a ballot paper in one hand and the ArmaLite in the other, we take power in
Ireland.”)
Thus, while critical of the IRA’s activities, many journalists simultaneously expressed
respect toward the Sinn Fein leaders. For example, one reporter recalled that Sinn Fein’s former
publicity director Danny Morrison “who fed us an awful lot of information. He’s an amazing
guy. He has a photographic memory . . . very interesting guy. I would respect him . . . I would
say, he’s the greatest propagandist in the history of the revolution” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Journalists suggest that during the conflict, some media, such as the BBC, maintained an
“anti-IRA bias . . . They were ‘terrorists’ and all of that. And the questions were very aggressive
toward the republican side,” said a reporter who had worked at the BBC and at newspapers. “The
official line always took priority . . . And their [the IRA] version of incidents was taken less

1313
ArmaLite was a company that specialized in small arms such as pistols and rifles.
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seriously.” A reporter explained, “The police account generally took. It was accepted more
readily than a republican source,” said one journalist. “So if there was a riot, the police view of
the riot would be given first. The local Sin Fein account could have been more accurate, but the
police was taken more seriously . . . [later], generally speaking, I think [the BBC] performed
pretty well” (Journalist #6 2009, 2010).
Similar to their assessments of unionists, media professionals also recognized the
republicans’ complexity and their evolution, recalling times when they revealed their humanity.
“When Canary Wharf happened, [Gerry Adams] seemed shattered,” said one reporter (Journalist
#4 2009, 2010). “I think as those guys grew older, I think increasingly that sense of religion and
being a Catholic . . . about not killing and all of that and the repentance and the penance . . . had
an influence on them . . . I remember talking with [Martin] McGuinness eleven or twelve days
before the ceasefire. I had a very open discussion with him. I said, ‘I want to say something to
you; I cannot personally justify or tolerate the taking of life and being a Catholic. They’re
incompatible in my world.’ Do you know what he said to me? [He said], ‘How do you think I
feel? And he had been . . . one of the big marksmen” (ibid).

Journalists and Loyalists

In contrast to their opinions about nationalists and republicans, most journalists
interviewed for this research admitted that they were less sympathetic toward loyalists and the
loyalist cause than for the other groups. “Few sympathized with the loyalist cause,” said one
interviewee (Journalist #3 2009). In part, they believed they were merely reflecting a more
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global perception that transcended the Northern Ireland borders, into the international
community. “There were few who thought that the loyalist cause was a good cause. It just didn’t
connect, and they knew that,” said one reporter. “You’ll notice the theme of the [loyalist and
unionist] frustration about being able to communicate in the outside world. It didn’t go over very
well. [It was] just hopeless. Even in Britain, even in London, there are very few who identified
with the loyalist cause” (Journalist #3 2009).
The loyalist agenda, as understood by journalists, was simply “anti-republicanism,”
which was not particularly persuasive, given the political context in Northern Ireland (Journalist
#7 2010). The loyalist “political theme” was primarily “muscle—if you can express muscle,”
said a newspaper reporter (Journalist #3 2009). He compared it to the pro-White, pre-Mandela
regime in South Africa, which wished to retain power over their Black constituents (Journalist #3
2009). “They would say that they don’t identify with the world and don’t like America . . . [and
say] ‘We like Israel and South Africa’” (Journalist #3 2009).
Most of the interviewed media professionals also perceived the loyalists themselves as
“less sophisticated generally” than their republican “counterparts” (Journalist #7 2010). To
describe loyalism, they used negative adjectives such as “primitive,” “scrappy,” “uneducated”
and “stupid” and suggested that they were often dishonest. “Everyone knew what they said was
untrue,” said one reporter (2009, 2010).
Interviewees illustrated the “gulf” between the sophistication of loyalists and that of the
IRA with two examples. In one comparison, a reporter said, “Loyalists were so stupid. They
were riddled with informers. They were shooting themselves in the foot,” whereas the IRA had
little or “no penetration,” explained one reporter (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Their respective
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time spent in prison offered a second comparison. While both the loyalist and IRA paramilitary
members tended to lack early university educations, “The Provos [IRA] got their degrees in
prison. They were getting their sociology degrees,” he said. “On the loyalist side, there was
much less of that. They were in the gymnasium pumping iron” (Journalist #3 2009).
Loyalists also damaged their image among media professionals by their organizational
and communicative clumsiness, according to interviews. “Loyalists couldn’t express themselves
in the same way,” said one reporter. “They didn’t have the aims; they didn’t have votes the way
the IRA and Sinn Fein did” (Journalist #3 2009). Neither did they have the “very disciplined,
very organized” communication strategy, said a broadcast reporter (Journalist #2 2009). “The
IRA issued statements under the name P. O’Neill, which was the official spokesman for the IRA.
[But] from the mid-80s through to 2006 when the IRA last issued a statement, I would’ve dealt
with five different people who were P. O’Neill in different phases of this process” (Journalist #2
2009). In contrast, loyalists were “much more fragmented, disjointed and disparate, so you
would’ve been speaking to many different people, different organizations—though there was one
period [late 1990s] when they operated under the Combined Loyalist Military Command, which
was the most stable period within loyalism,” said the reporter (Journalist #2 2009).
Loyalists further weakened their standing among media professionals by what was
considered hostility directed toward the media establishment. They “were ugly to the media.
They told them to ‘F- off.’ They didn’t know how to handle [journalists] and saw the media as
the enemy,” said one journalist (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). The poor treatment created a negative
association with loyalists for journalists, who believed that they had been neutral in the conflict.
The contrast with republicans was again stark. “The Provos went to such extremes to facilitate
the media. They were masterful and so far ahead of the game,” said a journalist. “They briefed
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us, gave us good access.” For example, he said, the funerals of the hunger strikers were “so
beautifully choreographed, from the IRA’s point of view. [Journalists got] maximum shots of the
[deceased strikers’] family, of Joe McDonnell’s wife touching the coffin, the girls carrying the
red roses, the sisters of the deceased, et cetera, the platforms that they had provided, the
scaffolding platforms so that the camera men from all over the world could get the best shots
(Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Ostensibly, the reporters’ religion had little impact on loyalists’ responses toward them,
according to a Protestant reporter. Rather, media and their professionals were perceived
automatically as “anti-Protestant,” even when the reporters themselves identified religiously as
Protestant. “Loyalist paramilitary members didn’t take kindly to the media. They were not
friendly to [journalists],” said the reporter. “They were suspicious, and they said [to media
professionals], ‘You guys never tell the truth or give our point of view. You’re against us, and
you are pro-republican.’ They thought the media took an anti-Protestant view” (Journalist #3
2009). The attitude and hostilities generated a cyclical negativity between the media
establishment and the loyalists.
However, journalists also simultaneously recognized and acknowledged that particular
loyalist leaders had played a vital role in securing the peace in Northern Ireland, a goal they
shared. In fact, some reporters argued that the agreement could not have come to fruition without
the work of loyalist leaders who began parallel, unofficial talks to end the violence, secured
loyalist ceasefires, participated in cross-community dialogue, and publicly supported the final
agreement (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Thus, as with republicans and unionists, reporters
simultaneously expressed some ambivalence and openness for loyalists to change direction.
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Talking to Terrorists

During the conflict, the established truth espoused that neither political leaders nor
journalists should be “talking to terrorists,” on the grounds that, “You’re encouraging them.
You’re promoting the war,” according to journalists (Journalist #3 2009). Reporters
acknowledged the pressure they faced from the British government to refrain from interviewing
either members of paramilitary groups or their political representatives, in order to “choke off the
oxygen of publicity to terrorists” (quote attributed to Margaret Thatcher, by Journalist #4 2009,
2010). But despite the official 1988-1994 broadcasting ban, many journalists continued to
interview banned persons. To circumvent the prohibition on airing the “voices of terrorists,”
journalists either paraphrased the banned leaders’ statements or hired actors to lip-sync their
precise articulations. “At the time there was a lot of controversy about this solution that the BBC
came up with, which is kind of bizarre . . . to give some voice to Sinn Fein . . . so we lip synced,”
said a former BBC reporter (Journalist #6 2009, 2010). In some cases, the actors were said to
have perfected statements, accents and vocal nuances of the banned persons (Journalists # 4 & 6
2009, 2010).
Drawing on their understandings of professional norms of journalism, many in the media
corps believed they needed to “talk to all sides” to provide the information that the audiences
wanted and to fulfill their professional standards, such as completeness and accuracy. Asked one
reporter, “Without speaking to those organizations, how could you report what was going on in
these conflicts” (Journalist #2 2009)?
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“I don’t close the doors on anyone. I talk to people—anyone,” said another reporter. “I
had incredible contacts in both communities” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). But during the years of
the broadcasting ban, rather than airing interviews with Sinn Fein, or hiring actors to lip-sync
their words, as the BBC journalists had done, he chose to instead paraphrase the party leaders’
responses (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Print journalists, however, did not face the same restrictions and admittedly “talked to as
many terrorists as you could find, really,” according to one newspaper reporter. “You know,
Thatcher frowned on that . . . [but] . . . We’d be in touch with republicans or IRA messengers all
the time. It was part of what the media did. It wasn’t their job, or nobody said ‘you must do
this,’ but it was kind of obvious that if a bomb went off, you’d try to get an IRA spokesperson.
We had to go to the IRA and say, ‘Why did you do that? You killed civilians.’ So all the
journalists knew IRA people, [and] all the journalists knew how to get in touch with the IRA . . .
Sometimes, you’d get an interview or a briefing or whatever, but usually, you didn’t get much of
an answer back from them” (Journalist #3 2009).
However, while some journalists clamored for statements when “big stuff” occurred
(Journalist #3 2009), during the height of the conflict, others reportedly “wouldn’t cover the
annual Sinn Fein conference on the grounds that ‘I will not dignify them by going along and
pretending that they were a normal party’,” said another journalist (Journalist #5 2009). This
suggested that personal judgment at times interfered with the professional journalism norms of
neutrality.

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Personal Meets Professional

In addition to the professional pressures and assessments, journalists’ own histories,
experiences and emotions interacted with their newsgathering pursuits and framing of stories.
Some of those experiences were rooted in their early life experiences. For example, one
journalist (Journalist #4 2009, 2010) specifically noted his upbringing as a poor Catholic boy in a
land that had been overtly anti-Catholic. “I was terrified of loyalism and the Orange Order,” he
confessed. “It was a menacing time. Even to this day, I have nightmares. I wake up in a sweat.
Even last week, when I woke up, I was begging someone not to hang me. It was the Orange
marches. Where we lived, we got corralled on the Twelfth of July. They come right around and
thump these big drums and put the fear of God into you. I would have been afraid of these
people” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Another journalist had a similar experience as a Catholic minority. “Our house was petrol
bombed because we were Catholic,” he said, adding “I knew who did it” (Journalist #1 2009).
Such experiences, in some cases, catalyzed the pursuit of knowledge, particular stories, and even
the pursuit of journalism itself as a means of confronting the society’s ills, according to
interviews. For example, one producer remarked that journalism was both his way of “keeping
an eye on” things in Northern Ireland and a means of helping to achieve “closure” on difficult
issues or injustices for aggrieved persons (Journalist #1 2009).
Most interviewees admitted to having been shaped by their own histories and
experiences, which influenced the stories they pursued and what they believed was the proper
framing of those stories. “Poverty would have definitely shaped me,” said one journalist. “I
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identified with civil rights and am anti-internment. I saw imprisonment without trial as anti-civil
rights.” He also admitted to being “anti-establishment” although he also said he recognized the
“need for some order.” He recalled that “in those days if you were a Catholic nationalist, it
wasn’t one man, one vote here. That’s not the way it was. You had to be propertied. You had to
have property to have voting rights. You take a city like Derry, which was predominantly
nationalist . . . [yet] they were poor,” which restricted the nationalist vote. “That’s the way the
system worked, you know.” Then he expressed admiration for a fellow media colleague for
being the “first journalist to shine the light into the dark corner of gerrymandering and
discrimination” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Other journalists also revealed their own experiences with discrimination, which caused
economic suffering. “I have been discriminated against,” said a former editor. “I suffered in my
business. I nearly went bankrupt.” But in the context of maintaining professional standards, this
journalist argued that the experience did not hamper his ability to be “more objective,” he said,
adding, “Nobody can deny that there has been discrimination. Nobody can undo the fact of
discrimination, [but] you can’t undo the past; you can only make a better future” (Journalist #8
2009).
In one interview, a journalist admitted to simultaneously engaging with campaigns for
civil rights, human rights, trade unionism and socialism while also writing about them. After
realizing that “I decided that I shouldn’t hide the fact that I have strong opinions,” he became
what he called a “campaigning reporter . . . I continue to do that, for social justice and for legal
rights. I don’t pretend to be an objective reporter,” he said, “And what’s more, I don’t believe
that any of the others are either” (Journalist #5 2009).
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In other cases, the experiences and emotions drove reporters’ high-risk pursuits to better
understand the drivers of the conflict. One reporter said his “hate” of the violence motivated his
pursuit of understanding. “I’ll tell you what that did for me. It decided for me to take risks,” he
said. “It spurred me on to be more inquisitive and to try to understand why the IRA were doing
what it was doing, why the UVF was doing what it was doing, why the UDA was doing what it
was doing. I kept pushing the envelope and frontiers. A manifestation of that was when I sought
permission in various channels within republicanism and loyalism . . . to gain access to the Maze
prison to try to speak with the IRA and UVF to get explanations of why the IRA were involved
in what was then the H-Block and why the UVF were wrecking the cells. So even though I
vehemently opposed the IRA campaign of violence and the loyalist campaign of violence, there
was deep curiosity in me. I had no empathy or sympathy with [the paramilitaries], but I wanted
to understand why did A equal B equal C” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Journalists’ judgments about the situation, their morality, and their emotions also led
them in the framing of their questions, which were reflected in their reports. For example, in the
1980s, one reporter recalled “a terrible bombing in Ballygally” and “the poor soldiers who were
killed in a bus going to Enniskillen. When the bomb went off, some of them actually crawled
across the road, down into an old farm yard, and one or two of them died behind bales of straw.”
Shortly after that incident, at a Sinn Fein conference, the reporter “challenged Gerry Adams
about the morality of violence, which resulted in human beings dying behind bales of hay and
straw” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
In another incident, a journalist interviewed Bobby Sands, the republican who
successfully won a parliamentary election while in jail on a hunger strike. But while the world
sympathized with Sands’ plight, this journalist expressed disdain for Sands’ justification for IRA
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violence (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). “I had gone to the scene of Earl Mountbatton’s killing . . . I
had also covered the Narrow water bombing in outside Newry, when eighteen soldiers were
killed . . . I had covered both. And I was furious with him. I’ll tell you why I was furious with
him. He justified the killing of an 80-year-old man on a boat with his family. I couldn’t subscribe
to that, you know” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
Simultaneously, however, even journalists who expressed disdain about the violence
acknowledged the context that brought it about. One journalist quoted Ireland’s President Mary
McAleese, who reportedly said, “There is a sediment of sectarianism in all of us,” adding, “The
challenge is to neutralize both overt and subliminal prejudices” (Journalist Email exchange
2009).
Fear
Some journalists suggested that their community integration spared them and their
families from physical harm, while they reported on the conflict. “If you’re a war correspondent,
you’re in some danger. But we have been low risk,” said one reporter. “Only one journalist has
been killed out of (3,700) deaths” (Journalist #3 2009). But although very few journalists were
killed during the conflict, some reporters feared for their own and their family’s safety. “It was
dangerous for some journalists. By God, it was dangerous,” said one journalist (Journalist #4
2009, 2010). “My whole family was living in fear” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). But because these
media professionals believed that their profession was honorable and entailed revealing a truth,
the risk was worthwhile.
Others concurred. “I lived a life for many years where you were almost afraid to talk to
yourself because of who [else] you were talking to,” said one reporter. “It impacted not just on
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me but on my entire family. There were moments when I feared for my life, feared for my
family, feared for everything… but I got out the other end of this” (Journalist #2 2009). The fear,
was ostensibly neutralized by more positive emotions—pride in their work, hope and enthusiasm
for “getting the story” and for revealing a new truth to their greater community. Simultaneously,
journalists resisted revealing these emotional factors in their work, concealing death threats=
while they continued reporting and ensuring security for themselves and their families. “This is
not like a correspondent being sent to another zone to report a war and then to leave there after
several months and to come home. I lived here,” one reporter emphasized (Journalists #1 and 8
2009).
At times, however, these experiences and emotions may have colored the reporters’
judgments and consequently affected their frames. In one interview, for example, a reporter
acknowledged that he was fearful of “loyalists,” calling them “much more dangerous” than
republicans. This, the reporter suggested, was because “the Seinners [sic] and the IRA are more
under control,” he said, referring to the degree of discipline and organization in the organization
within the IRA’s council. Further, he said, the IRA “weren’t really going after journalists, but
loyalists did,” said the journalist. Rather, the republicans “were trying to court journalists and the
media, although in the 1970s, the IRA beat some journalist(s) up,” the journalist recalled
(Journalist #1 2009).
In one situation, the IRA forced two reporters, who sought information about the killing
of three men, to cover their eyes with blackened glasses and tape before being driven to an
undisclosed location. When they were permitted to remove the tape from their eyes, two IRA
representatives wearing balaclavas offered the reporters a statement on a long sheet of toilet
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paper, which explained the deaths. The toilet paper allowed reporters to flush the statements
down the toilets if raided (Journalists 2009, 2010).
In another incident, a journalist accompanied a former member of the disbanded Official
IRA, which had opposed the position of Sinn Fein and the Provisional IRA, to a panel of
republicans, where the man “negotiated for his survival, basically,” explained the journalist. “He
was told that he can leave, but he can never come back, not even for a funeral for his father or
mother . . . This man was looked upon as a pariah because he had ‘betrayed,’ as they perceived,
the community, betrayed the movement, as they saw it” (Journalist #8 2009).

The Unraveling:
Changing Leaders, Changing Frames

As the conflict in Northern Ireland evolved into the peace process, the media’s frames
changed accordingly, according to observers, in part because the events and rhetoric changed but
also because of personal factors. Journalists readily acknowledge that during this evolution, they
changed their framing of the political situation and the parties (2009, 2010). The changes, in their
view, were due to five primary factors, including an unraveling of the accepted truth. New events
didn’t fit their old frames; new political leaders emerged, and long-standing leaders adopted
different language and frames. But simultaneously, the journalists’ experiences, judgments and
emotions again interacted with their professional pursuits (interviews with journalists 2009 and
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2010). Finally, as the peace process took root, social and political peer pressure also affected
what frames became acceptable within the media institutions.
Perhaps, the most important factors accounting for the change in media frames resulted
from two real political shifts. First, journalists discovered that their accepted “social and political
reality” was actually untrue. New revelations challenged political givens and shocked the
journalistic institution (2009 & 2010). Second, a new set of leaders emerged, which changed the
dynamics of the conflict. And third, real changes occurred in the form of new events, and in
leaders’ activities, language and framing, and journalists reflected those changes (2009 & 2010).
The shifts, however, came with some discomfort, according to interviews. For example, during
the era of the conflict (before the peace talks had become public), the government’s frames were,
in essence, “the government versus the terrorists” in which the status quo governing apparatus
was rightful and legitimate while the “terrorists”—those affiliated with what became called
“paramilitaries” were illegitimate and wrong (Journalist #3 2009).
In this frame, the “men of violence” were to be subdued, banned, shunned, and conquered
and not treated as persons with legitimate grievances, nor engaged in a meaningful way. “Since
the 1970s . . . the big theme, journalistically, overall and politically was, ‘You don’t talk with the
men of terror, the men of violence,” said a newspaper reporter who covered the conflict. During
this period, journalists acknowledge that “we were just reporting on the aggression. There was a
lot of aggression in the political system and people were used to . . . call it . . . ‘megaphone
diplomacy’ . . . shouting at each other and so on. We were reporting on that” (Journalist #3
2009).
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But hidden beneath the public view, and unbeknownst to media professionals, several
secret talks were occurring: For one, the SDLP’s John Hume had been secretly meeting with
Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams, one political leader that British officials had labeled as a
“terrorist.” And more surprisingly, British government officials were secretly talking with the
IRA. These revelations, uncovered by two local journalists, Eamonn McCann and Eamon Mallie,
respectively, shocked the media establishment (Journalist #3 2009), particularly those who had
covered the conflict and had viewed and labeled the IRA as “a killing machine with no off
switch.” Because journalists tend to “index” the range of frames and perspectives to those of
political leaders (Bennett 2007), these revelations affected the frames from both professional and
personal factors, which are discussed further below.
With the first revelation—that Hume was talking peace with Sinn Fein’s Gerry Adams—
“it was totally baffling,” admitted a newspaper reporter. “There was no precedent for this . . .
You kept thinking, is this for real? . . . But you had a guide, and it was Hume . . . it was very
difficult . . . [but] you had [Hume], who was clearly for peace and for consensus and agreement
and dialogue, and the Provos [Sinn Fein] weren’t for any of these things. But he [Hume] said it
is worth talking to them. And everybody said, ‘well, is it?’ They had made it clear over the years
that they didn’t want to talk. Then suddenly, they say, ‘Well, maybe we can talk.’ So [this was]
very baffling for everybody” (Journalist #3 2009).
Once discovered, media professionals thought it was “a red, hot development . . . a great
revelation,” said a reporter. “We didn’t know how much . . . we didn’t realize that it was the tip
of an iceberg” (Journalist #3 2009).
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The second revelation—that the government had been lying about “talking with
terrorists”—further confused the longstanding narrative, said journalists (Journalist #3 2009).
“They had lied before, but this was the big one. This was [officials who were] standing up in
parliament saying, ‘We’ll never do it.’ . . . And it turned out that they were doing it. And it
turned out that even [British Prime Minister Margaret] Thatcher had been doing it,” explained a
reporter. “So . . . another of the big tenets of society and politics here was all starting to quiver
and shake,” he said. “By that stage, the more elderly journalists like myself had spent twenty
years saying ‘these are the rules.’ And the rules [had now] all changed, and people had been
lying to you” (Journalist #3 2009).
Simultaneous with these revelations came changes in leadership. Other political leaders,
particularly those affiliated with so-called paramilitary groups, also changed their language and
framing. For example, “[Sinn Fein’s Gerry] Adams started talking [about] peace,” said one
journalist (Journalist #3 2009). Initially, some journalists reacted to this shift in the framing of
Sinn Fein’s leadership with mistrust and suspicion. “I remember it sounded ludicrous [that
Adams was talking about peace], and there were a lot of scornful editorials,” said a newspaper
reporter. “We kept wondering if it was real . . . I had said that ‘the IRA was a killing machine
with no off-switch.’ [Now] ‘terrorists’ were talking peace’,” he said (Journalist interview 2009).
And for a while, it wasn’t clear “whether this was a peace process or not; and even if it was a
genuine peace process, [if] there were still going to be killings along the way” (ibid).
The change in Sinn Fein’s language and framing came accompanied by the 1994
ceasefire, but many still questioned its authenticity. “A lot of people didn’t believe it,” explained
one journalist. “They said it was a trick; this is a strategy. People didn’t celebrate, and they didn’t
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congratulate the IRA or anything. They said, ‘This is a move. This will take a lot of verifying”
(Journalist #3 2009).
In fact, one reporter noted an important contradiction. He explained, “Back in 1994,
when we had the two ceasefires, first of all, we had the republican ceasefire . . . they announced
it and said . . . ‘It was great victory.’ And they said, ‘Sinn Fein and the IRA [are] having a
ceasefire because the way was clear to a united Ireland. There was no need for armed struggle
anymore. There was no need for violence . . . they were delivering a united Ireland.’ Six weeks
later, the loyalist paramilitaries, the UDA & UDF announced they would have a ceasefire . . . but
what the loyalist activists said was ‘they could now have a ceasefire because now, a united
Ireland had been ruled out, that there was going to be no united Ireland.’ It was totally
contradictory. These two things couldn’t be true [simultaneously]” (Journalist #5 2009).
Other journalists, however, believed when the paramilitary groups declared ceasefires in
1994, it signified a potential end to the conflict. But as the violence ebbed, then resumed,
reporters realized, it was far from “over.” Rather, the ceasefire, “was just the beginning,” one
journalist acknowledged, which would be followed by negotiations, resumptions of violence, and
more ceasefires. But simultaneously, journalists recognized a powerful shift in the leaders’
rhetoric. “Until then, all statements were killing statements. Suddenly, [there was a] massive
contribution to peace” (Journalist #2 2009).
In time, however, more journalists came to believe that the efforts toward peace by the
paramilitary groups were authentic. “Journalists covered this process; they saw these people up
close, and they saw the change in them,” said one reporter. “They [we] saw that these people
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genuinely wanted to make peace . . . I think that sparked changes [in reporting]” (Journalist #7
2010).
Through the process, many journalists speculated about the impetus for the changes. For
example, with Sinn Fein and the IRA, one journalist suggested that religion played a role. “I
think as those guys grew older, McGuinness and Adams, I think increasingly that sense of
religion and the sense of being a Catholic had an influence on them,” said one journalist. “I
remember talking with McGuinness eleven or twelve days before the ceasefire. I had a very open
discussion with him. I said to Martin, ‘I cannot personally justify or tolerate the taking of life and
being a Catholic. They’re incompatible in my world.’ Do you know what he said to me? ‘How
do you think I feel?’ And he had been one of the big marksmen. So that’s what he said to me,
‘How do you think I felt?’ So I wouldn’t underestimate the influence that being a Catholic
ultimately had on those guys as they groped their way through the years moving toward middle
age” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). Further, he suggested, “They concluded that [violence] wasn’t
going to deliver” (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
As the government became more open about its negotiations with some paramilitary
groups, those groups ostensibly changed into more acceptable actors, which affected journalists
framing. Once more, the media frames shifted to reflect a changing political reality. This change
may have been a mere reflection—or indexing—of the government’s new framing and not,
taking the lead, according to interviewees. A local reporter explained. “The government attitude
changed, and all of a sudden, there were good paramilitaries and bad paramilitaries,” said one
reporter. “That’s how the government started to see the [situation], and the media reflected the
changed attitudes, and their images then began to change” (Journalist # 7 2010)
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The shift in government framing also freed journalists from the confines of previously-
established public expectations, explained a reporter. “The government started bringing [the
paramilitary leaders] in from the cold, so within a period of time, it went from ‘you can’t speak
with these people’ to ‘they’re now acceptable, and ‘you can have a cup of tea [with them]’,” said
the reporter. “If the Prime Minister can sit down with Gerry Adams, there’s no reason why the
media should not [be able to]. [We can] hold him to account when he’s inconsistent, but you
don’t have to browbeat him at every turn” (Journalist #7 2010).
Prior to this change, some journalists felt impelled to pummel particular leaders with
specific hardline questions, a practice that they personally believed was futile and pointless. “We
had this game where you would ask [Gerry Adams] about his IRA membership, and then he
would deny it,” said a journalist. “And you could spend the entire interview going around in
circles . . . But if he didn’t crack at Castlereagh under interrogation, he sure as hell isn’t going to
crack under my spotlight. So I think it actually became reductive to sit there all the time asking
him because you weren’t getting any information” (Journalist #7 2010).
As the government changed, reporters felt free to say, “let’s set that aside,” which
allowed them to pursue other substantive matters. “He [Adams] clearly had things he wanted to
say about changes in the IRA’s attitude, changes in the republican leadership’s attitude”
(Journalist #7 2010).
The events during this time could be quite confusing for journalists who tried to make
sense of rapidly changing and contradictory events. “Even if it was a genuine peace process,
there were still . . . killings along the way,” explained a reporter. “So one day I’d be writing a
story saying there were three dead. The next day I’d be writing a story saying talks are to take
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place next week. The next day, I’d be writing a story saying another three dead” (Journalist #3
2009). This ostensibly led to a mix of media frames.
The other important shift occurred as a result of a legal change—the elimination of the
broadcasting ban, which enabled journalists to use more of their own discretion about their
broadcast interviews and program content. “Once the government lifted the broadcast
restrictions, the BBC no longer had to employ an actor to impersonate Gerry Adams. You could
just go and interview him. So that in itself made a huge difference in terms of public
perceptions” (Journalist #7 2010).

The Personal Meets the Professional II
The Transition Phase and New Hope for a New Era

Because of the all-encompassing narrative and the portrayals of the parties during the
conflict, the transition to the era of the peace process included a series of contradictions. Initially,
for example, when journalists discovered and reported John Hume’s secret talks with Gerry
Adams, some in the mass media scorned Hume. “The attacks on Hume . . . the Sunday
Independent had eleven columns attacking him for talking with Adams,” said one reporter.
“There was [also] a cartoon of him standing there with red hands” (Journalist #3 2009). The
Independent was one of the media that reportedly criticized Hume for talking with “men of
violence,” according to journalists (Journalist #4 2009, 2010). As another example, the Belfast
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Telegraph publicly opposed the Hume/Adams dialogue, said a reporter. “It thought it was a
threat to unionism,” he explained (Journalist #4 2009, 2010).
After the initial reactions and as Hume publicly made his case, the vociferous opposition
gradually subsided. And a new paradigm began to emerge, one that seemed to latently support
more dialogue, rather than the status quo communications lockout, in the hopes for a successful
peace process, according to journalists. “Maybe by about 1993, media were for it. People here
are really slow,” said one reporter. “Because we go this slow pace, eventually most people come
on board. If anything is new here, people say they don’t like that. But a year or two pass, they
ruminate, and they gradually come on to things” (Journalist #3 2009).
The emergence of new leaders fueled this shift, according to one journalist. “It was very
different with conservatives like [John] Major and [Patrick] Mayhew. [And] it wouldn’t have
happened if it were [President] Bush,” said one reporter. “You needed the right personality. Also,
it took an outsider to come in—the American government as a broker. [President] Clinton was
trusted by republicans. [And Tony] Blair was a pragmatist and also more personable” (Journalist
#1 2009).
With new leaders, the peace process became increasingly public, by which time
journalists had experienced what one called “trouble fatigue”—a mix of sympathy for victims
and victims’ families, disgust for what they called “senseless” violence, moral anguish, and
exhaustion (Journalist #6 2009, 2010). Nearly every interviewee expressed some version of these
emotions resulting from experiencing, often first hand, the very real humanitarian effects of the
violence. Many had lost family or friends (2009; 2010). “Reporters are from the community, so
we were all affected,” explained one editor. “Every Monday, I had to go out and talk with
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someone who lost her husband.” In one of the most difficult assignments, this journalist spoke
with “five bereaved families in one morning. You don’t want to see that going on. We had
trouble fatigue . . . and we were traumatized” (Journalist #6 2009, 2010).
Other journalists expressed similar emotions. They were traumatized, saddened and
frustrated. “Journalists who live in this society covered this process,” said one reporter. “We
covered the conflict, and we had it up to the back teeth with attending funerals and [hearing] the
vicious cycle of ‘he said, she said’” (Journalist #7 2010). Expressing similar emotions, another
said, “We were sick of reporting murder, destruction and death. We were sick of it, the senseless
killing of people, children” (Journalist #1 2009).
“I used to hate Friday mornings because the IRA would invariably choose a target around
midmorning on a Friday,” explained one journalist, “because they knew it would get on the one
o’clock news, the lunchtime news. The papers would then do the story full up for Saturday
morning. Then that story would be taken on by the Sunday papers, and then the funeral would
happen on a Monday. I remember one Friday morning when I passed a butcher shop, and I
remember a man called John Smith being shot dead. He was a part time UDR soldier. His full-
time occupation was a laborer. He was the only son of a widow. For some reason, that has
always struck me, that we have . . . an ordinary name doing a mundane job, being shot, a
calculated shot at a certain time in the morning . . . not every killing happened like that, but
invariably, it happened at the end of the week to maximize publicity” (Journalist #8 2009).
At times, the angst and intense emotions drove some of the journalists’ questions, story
pursuits and framing. One Catholic journalist said he was “preoccupied with the preservation of
life” and worried about having a “Nazi complex . . . because of what the IRA were doing . . . I
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genuinely feared that I would end up with a complex like what the Nazis had done to the Jews,”
he said.” These things drove him to try to understand why the respective paramilitaries had
turned to violence instead of more peaceful approaches to the problem (Journalist # 4 2009,
2010).
Nearly every interviewee also emphasized his or her personal connection with people in
the region. These journalists belonged to the community, had families there, and were thus
personally invested and connected. So when the peace process began to root, the past emotional
anguish, the connection, and the emergence of new more positive events fueled yet another
important emotion—hope—hope for the region and for their fellow citizens. “Could this be the
killing machine’s off switch?” asked a journalist (2009).
At times, however, these personal cognitions and emotions conflicted with journalists’
desire to maintain neutrality in their reporting, thereby creating a “struggle” between their hope
for peaceful resolution and their professional duty to question and challenge more critically.
“With “deep roots in the community, some [journalists] lost close relatives . . . Can you really,
one wonders, be an impartial fly on wall when the society in which you live is being torn apart
from within?” wrote a BBC reporter. This dynamic of “struggle” surfaced between journalists’
own beliefs and emotions and “the need for impartial reporting” (2009, 2010).
“On a personal level, we all wanted an end to the troubles,” admitted a journalist, a
sentiment echoed by all interviewees (Journalist #6 2009, 2010) “You can take it as a given that
we wanted the violence to stop],” said another. “There might be the odd, crazy journalist who
liked reporting on those things, but certainly, everybody was for peace,” he said. “We’re war
correspondents but we’re also citizens . . . People were dying. This is coffins, this is funerals.
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These are human beings” (Journalist #3 2009). In essence, said another reporter, “I would say
that journalists were being rational . . . we wanted a better society” (Journalist #7 2010).
While admitting to their personal emotions about the peace process, some journalists,
however, believe they successfully resisted the overt pressure to adjust their reporting to fulfill
either personal or societal goals. “How could you not have feelings of the peace process? We all
wanted it,” said one broadcaster. “If you’re asking me, at times, did I feel the tug of that tug-of-
war between the implication of me saying ‘this is A, B, C or D,’ the consequence of me saying
this is that it will cause damage, I think I asked myself that question many times, Maria. But I
don’t think it stopped me reporting the information. But, you again would not be human living in
a process like this, being involved in what you’re involved in, in terms of your career, and say,
well I’ve a family here, I’ve a stake in this place. Yes I want it to work, but no I’m not prepared
to turn a blind eye to make it work” (Journalist #2 2009).
On one occasion, a reporter recalled that a Secretary of State suggested that reporting a
particular event was “not good for the peace process.” In another instance, someone asked him
whether journalists were a “help or a hindrance” to building peace, to which this reporter replied,
“Journalism is not about being good for the peace process . . . you’re a help when you’re saying
the right things that suit certain people at certain times, and you’re a hindrance, Maria, when
you’re saying things that are putting people in corners and asking difficult questions. It is not our
job to be part of the peace process. It is our job to report it” (Journalist #2 2009).
Others agreed that journalistic integrity required maintaining professional standards of
impartiality, despite personal or societal goals, again revealing the power of journalistic norms.
But simultaneously, these reporters believed that their work did, in fact, support peace. “I didn’t
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see that [supporting the peace process] as my role,” said a reporter. “But what I did was I
publicly aired, where I established the facts . . . I didn’t shy away from putting those facts in the
public domain. Now there are those who would argue that by reporting what I had reported was
being deleterious to the potential for a peaceful resolution. My wife was among those. She
opposed my making those facts public [but] by establishing facts and publicly airing those facts .
. . In fact, I think my putting that in the public domain served [the situation] very well because it
conditioned the masses to accepting that it was ok for the governments to engage with the IRA.
So ultimately, I think it served a purpose” (Broadcast Journalist 2009, 2010).
The combination of the already evolving events, appraisals, and the emotions—
sympathy, disgust, and hope—then contributed to more positive framing about the political
situation and the parties who were engaged. However, in the process, some argue that important
criticism was stifled, in part, because it did not fit well into the new frames. But reporters also, at
times, “self-censored” either because of their own hopes for the region or from community and
professional pressures (2009).

Peer Pressure Social Psychological Influences.

Trouble-fatigue and hope may have compromised journalists’ willingness to scrutinize
and report contradictions and contexts, said two interviewees. This, then, may have hampered the
region’s potential, they said. Both interviewees reflected on times when journalists were either
censored, or they self-censored due to professional and peer pressure (Journalist #5, Journalist #8
2009).
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One journalist disclosed his own struggle to express concerns about the flaws in the
Belfast Peace Agreement as well as his belief that it was “predicated on a false premise . . . You
couldn’t say that because you have to remember how grim and dismal things were at this time. If
you were seen to be destroying what hope [there was] . . . the worst thing to take from a person is
hope,” he said. This fear of “destroying hope” ostensibly led him to self-censor. “I did at times
implement more than a smidgen of self-censorship . . . It was very difficult, Maria, very
difficult” (Journalist #8 2009).
In retrospect, this journalist believed that during the peace process, media professionals
collectively refrained from their duty to ask questions, in part because of pressures. “If we are to
discharge our responsibilities correctly, we have to question,” he said. But “I think we [as
journalists] overstepped the line . . . I think [like lemmings], too many have gone over the cliff
with enthusiasm. And once you’ve gone over, it’s impossible to get back over again. How can
you be a cheerleader, and then complain” (Journalist #8 2009)?
Another interviewee also felt constrained from criticizing what he believed were glaring
contradictions in the peace process and agreement. In this case, the constraints ostensibly came
from within the journalistic establishment in the form of peer professional pressure. As a result,
he believes the mass media failed to report the “problems . . . that I think were obvious to
everybody,” he said. “The majority of people in the media, the mainstream media, didn’t want to
focus on [the problems] because they passionately wanted the process to work, and they thought,
this is the best thing and let’s . . . consolidate” (Journalist #5 2009).
He recalled a discussion among several editors of prestigious publications during which
he noted a contradiction in the peace process. One of the editors suggesting he “’shut up about it
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and the peace process,” and, “’If you don’t agree with it, say nothing,’” he recalled. “They didn’t
say this in so many words, but they were absolutely adamant that it was their duty, that it was
wrong to be drawing attention to these [contradictions]. It was almost like a hint that I didn’t
want there to be peace. That bias, [the] de facto [desire for peace] was there throughout . . . and
overruled everything . . . anything you could do to get peace, even in the short term” (Journalist
#5 2009).
This dynamic was particularly evident when journalists covered the political parties, he
said. “I remember a political correspondent at the Irish Times who . . . around 1980 wouldn’t
cover the Sinn Fein conference on the grounds that ‘I will not dignify them by . . . pretending
that they are a normal party.’ They wouldn’t do it. A little later, only fourteen years, and you
aren’t allowed to criticize them [Sinn Fein]” (Journalist #5 2009).
This, he suggested, was equivalent to “everyone agreeing to ignore an American
candidate who had a background in the KKK or something [comparably] reprehensible, and
everybody knew this, and his colleagues in the reprehensible organization talked about it quite
freely, and have pictures of him in uniform,” said the journalist (Journalist #5 2009).
Similarly, a Progressive Unionist Party representative was “chief of staff for the UVF,
leading one of the most bloody and violent paramilitary forces and convicted of two murders,”
said the journalist. “You don’t see that mentioned much . . . [and] you’re sort of regarded as a
trouble-maker if you mention it. These are facts, which are public, [but you’re] not allowed to
mention it . . . there’s a lot of toxic material left around in the political landscape that isn’t being
dealt with and isn’t’ being cleaned up” (Journalist #5 2009).
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Another journalist made a similar observation. “I remember looking at the TV screen and
seeing five members of the government of Northern Ireland, and four of them had killed people,”
he said (Journalist #8 2009).
Others reporters, however, denied that they had failed in their duty or had “stopped
asking hard questions.” Rather, in their experience, it was that “when we asked the hard
questions, we didn’t get the answers we [had] traditionally got,” said the reporter. “[For
example], during multiparty talks there were a number of drug dealers, alleged drug dealers
being killed. But the IRA didn’t claim responsibility. [A group called] Direct Action Against
Drugs claimed responsibility. But everyone knew that was a cover for the IRA. The dogs in the
street knew it. So we were waiting for the authorities to say it. Is the chief constable saying it?
Well, sometimes the chief constable said ‘yes, it was the IRA.’ But sometimes, I think the chief
constable was coming under pressure. So if the police aren’t saying it—journalists, we have to
deal in facts; we can’t just stand up and say, ’The dogs in the street are saying it.’ So if the chief
constable wasn’t saying it . . . we could say—and journalists would say [to the Prime minister],
‘our police sources have said . . . categorically that this is the IRA. Now are you prepared to lead
Sinn Fein in these talks?’ But the government’s will was not to expel Sinn Fein over drug dealer
getting killed, which became known as ‘housekeeping.’ In this new language of the peace
process, it wasn’t a breach of the ceasefire. The Secretary of State Mo Mowlam herself described
it as ‘housekeeping’. The murder of a citizen was housekeeping within the context of the
ceasefire, so how can you blame the media when [this is] the attitude of politicians” (Journalist
#7 2010)?

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Conclusion

Interviews with journalists covering the Northern Ireland conflict and peace process
revealed the factors that influenced the media’s content and framing of the situation and the
parties to the conflict. Key among those influences was professional duty—those considerations
and necessities that drive “success” in the journalism profession. Drawing from journalistic
norms, standards, and structures, including impartiality, the definition of “news,” and the beat
system, reporters pursued particular kinds of stories using the institution’s established routines.
But in order to succeed, “get the story,” and remain “neutral,” media professionals had to
contend with a rhetorical battlefield in which language, frames, and even particular subjects were
codified with particular meanings that suggested allegiance to one side or another and thus could
challenge their perceived impartiality. Here, the media’s ownership structure also mattered, as
certain media outlets aligned themselves with particular identities and ideological viewpoints.
Although impartiality was a goal in itself, it was also a means to achieve “success.” Because the
means of succeeding in their professions required maintaining relations with opposing parties in
the conflict, these media professionals navigated a difficult balance, carefully choosing story
subjects, questions, frames and words. A wrong word could mean severed relations and thus
limited access to information.
A second important influence on the media’s content and framing was the changing
environment—new events and leaders, and new language used by existing leaders. Although the
changes in themselves affected the frames, they also had a more latent influence: For one, some
events profoundly challenged journalists’ long-held understanding of the situation and the
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parties, leading these media professionals to question established “truths,” or at least what they
had believed and reported to be true. This occurred when, for example, it became public that the
government had been lying about talking with “terrorists,” which it had long denied. This
revelation challenged the basic understanding about both the parties and the conflict itself.
Thirdly, to some degree, journalists tended to index their framing to those parameters
established by government officials and other political leaders, according to interviews. Thus,
changes in leadership—or leaders’ behavioral, political, and rhetorical change—had an
automatic effect on media’s frames, as they often altered the political discourse, framing, the
rules of the game, and generated new goals, events, and language from which journalists drew
statements and information. For example, the realization that John Hume, who had been widely
lauded and trusted by journalists, was secretly talking with Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams led
journalists to question their earlier judgments about the republican party and its leaders. Later,
leadership changes, such as the hands-on engagement of US President Bill Clinton and the
election of British Prime Minister Tony Blair generated new events and policies and shifted the
overall public narrative about what was acceptable in the pursuit of peace. These new policies,
events and narratives endorsed and pursued greater dialogue with the paramilitary-associated
parties, began to shed the “state-versus-terrorist” framing, and relieved pressure on journalists to
exclusively lambaste those parties during interviews.
Together these new developments and discoveries had another, more latent effect: Before
the discoveries and changes, many media professionals’ believed that the conflict was intractable
and expressed a host of negative emotions, such as sadness, despair, frustration, disgust, along
with sympathy for victims’ families. But the shift in the political environment created hope for
peace in the region, which then became another guide for the story pursuit and framing. As the
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possible shifted, the definition of “news” did too. Breakthroughs in dialogue became leading
news stories. Further, through this process, the framing of the more marginalized parties
softened, and those who had been labeled “terrorists” and framed negatively increasingly became
portrayed as acceptable and a regular part of the news frames, while bringing their own, more
positive frames.
In essence, as the conflict shifted into a peace process, the very real changes mixed with
journalists’ professional and personal desires, appraisals, and emotions to construct an altered
breed of news frames. Although journalists still sought to “get the story,” a hallmark of success
by their institution, and relay that story in an impartial way, another important norm, they also
lived in the region, experienced the consequences of the conflict, and wanted “an end to the
Troubles.” Many also expressed desires to pursue stories that exposed injustice or dishonesty and
pride for their ability to cultivate relationships with all parties in the region. However, while
maintaining rapport with the various parties and leaders, journalists trusted and admired some,
such as the SDLP’s John Hume, over others, and responded more affirmatively to them.
Similarly, many journalists expressed negative opinions of loyalists and mixed opinions about
republicans. These opinions and emotions also had some bearing on the framing.

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Chapter Six
The Frame Wars Realized

In light of the findings of Chapter Four and Five, this chapter explores the overall
construction of mass media’s framing of the situation and four of the key political parties over a
key period of the peace process in Northern Ireland (January 1994—May 1998). Using the mean
frame values calculated for this research over this important time period, it reveals interaction of
several factors that together construct the media’s frames—the structures and norms of
journalism plus group identity (party and ethnicity), ideology, and related psychological forces,
such as emotions. The chapter also illustrates how the overall Frame Wars and the Frame
Changers distinguished in Chapters Four and Five materialized in the five key publications
reviewed for this work.
Chapter Six begins with an overview of how its findings fit within the exiting scholarship
and with Chapters Four and Five, “Frame Wars” and “Frame Changers.” It follows with the
hypotheses and expectations in light of the literature and discoveries made from Chapters Four
and Five. Then it briefly reviews the background of the five publications and methodology for
this study. Finally, it tests the hypotheses by exploring the findings in the data, and comparing
them across publications.

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The Frame Wars Meet the Frame Changers

As discussed in Chapter One, the political communication literature suggests that mass
media have traditionally played a role in agenda-setting, priming, and framing of issues for their
audiences. They help identify subjects for audiences (agenda-setting), establish salience of those
subjects (priming), and suggest ways to understand them (framing). Further, mass media’s focus
on particular issues, people, and parties suggests newsworthiness, as defined by the journalistic
institution. Traditionally, this newsworthiness has meant focusing on novelty, drama, conflict,
and particular kinds of events. Another body of work revealed how institutional structures,
norms and routines shape the news. Some of those factors include the definition of “good”
reporting, indexing frames to public officials, the use of beats, regular reliance on particular
sources, and populating media with journalists of moderate ideology (Bennett 2007; Cook 1998;
Gans 1980; Gitlin 1980).
This chapter provides a quantifiable basis to understand the combined effects of these
factors as well as the factors revealed in Chapter Four, “Frame Wars,” and Chapter Five, “Frame
Changers.” In the rhetorical battles or “frame wars,” political parties fought to win in the
persuasion contest, part of which was played out in the pages and airwaves of mass media. Thus,
part of the battle entailed persuading mass media professionals and communicating through the
media to their respective audiences. An important part in the battle of the frames was winning
the “good guy” role and placing the blame onto “the bad guy” within an “us-versus-them” and
“blame” frame. The parallel rhetorical frame war helped motivate the real war by building
support among the related constituencies or the positions that each side held about “the other,”
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the problem at hand, its causes and solutions, and generating negative emotions toward “the
other.”
However, Chapter Five revealed journalists as “frame changers,” or filters for the public
sphere, putting the events of the day and the frames of the conflicting parties into a new
framework, often into competing “he-said-she-said” frames. It explored how the frame wars
mixed with other factors to shape journalists’ professional newsgathering and framing of the
parties, the conflict, and the peace process, as revealed by interviews with journalists. It found
additional influences —such as journalists’ personal experiences, judgments, emotions and
desires—on newsgathering and framing.
In light of the past scholarship and the revelations in Chapters Four and Five, this chapter
examines how four of the five key political parties fared within the frames of three key Northern
Ireland newspapers and two paramilitary-related publications and the comparative degree of
combined hostility, fear and blame in each of five publications’ situation frames. In this
exploration, the following seven hypotheses are tested: 1) The definitions of “news” and the
express interest and emotions of journalists revealed in Chapter Five suggest that the party Sinn
Fein will be the most “newsworthy” of the parties. This will appear as a greater number of
articles including the party. 2) However, the mixed emotions expressed toward Sinn Fein will
appear as greater variation (expressed as larger standard deviations) for the party’s frames. 3)
The admiration and pride expressed by journalists toward the SDLP leader John Hume will enter
the media’s framing of Hume and his party in the form of more positive values for the party’s
frame and component variables. 4) Because each publication is rooted in a particular community,
group identity—and its related ideology—will influence the publications’ respective frame
scores and component variables and will be evidenced by the variables’ differences between the
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publications. 5) The norms, routines and professional structures in the institution of journalism
will also impact the scores of the frames and their component variables and will be reflected in
tempered measures of the publications’ respective communities’ frames, compared to the
paramilitary-related publications. The latter’s frame and component scores will be more extreme
and display greater variation. In particular, the measures for emotions and hostility toward “the
others” in the paramilitary publications will appear as very negative values.

The Data in Brief

As detailed in Chapter three, this chapter drew its data from three newspapers and two
paramilitary-related publications. Like other divisions in the community, readership in Northern
Ireland was divided for the newspapers. The Irish News served a largely nationalist constituency
that identified primarily as Catholic (87 percent). The Ulster News Letter served a mostly
unionist readership that identified as largely Protestant (80 percent). The third newspaper, the
Belfast Telegraph, sought to serve both nationalist and unionist communities and maintained the
largest daily readership in Northern Ireland (Darby 1997). Although as the only evening paper it
attracted readers from both communities, many still considered the Telegraph to be ideologically
unionist (Darby 1997; Interviews 2009, 2010). Two paramilitary-related publications included
the republican An Phoblacht, which means “the republic,” and the loyalist Combat, suggesting
that the community was combating republicans. The frame values in these publications are
expected to vary from those of the newspapers and mostly, from each other, as both were directly
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connected to their organizations without the constraints of professional journalism norms and
routines.
Of the more than 3,000 articles analyzed for this study, a total of 814 articles came from
the nationalist Irish News, 711 articles from the unionist Ulster News Letter, and 802 articles
from the unionist Telegraph. Among the paramilitary-related publications, analysis included a
total of 420 articles from the republican publication An Phoblacht and 139 from the loyalist
publication, Combat. Articles underwent partial analysis if they included any group in Northern
Ireland, including paramilitary organizations, women’s organizations, or other community
groups. However, articles that mentioned one of the four political parties being compared
underwent the extensive frame measurement analysis. To assess the situation and parties’ frame
values, researchers coded several frame components within each of the publications over a 4.5
year period of the peace process preceding the citizens’ vote for the Good Friday Agreement
(January 1994 through May 1998). These measurements—individually and in combination—
created a quantifiable means of comparing framing of the parties and the political situation
within each publication and across publications. For example, through this process, researchers
could quantifiably compare the frame components, such as the presence of group identification,
and the degree of blame, hostility, respect, fear, or hope within the frames. Then, in combination,
these variables detected the presence of “blame frames,” “hate frames,” or “genocidal frames,”
signified by very negative scores or the presence of “acceptance frames,” identified by positive
scores. Finally, this process allowed for a quantifiable means of studying the frame changes over
time, which is examined in Chapter Seven.
This ability to assign measures within types of frames helped calibrate the frames for
comparative and predictive purposes. For example, as explained in Chapter Three, in an “us-
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versus-them” frame, the “other” or “they” can take on a number of roles, which vary in degrees
of negativity. If “the other” is a competitive team in sports, the level of animosity or hostility
tends to be low to moderate, and the goal in this contest is to win within the rules of the game. If
“the other” is another political party within an established democratic setting, the goal might be
to defeat them in elections or polls. But in violent conflict, such as war, hostility toward “them”
tends to be higher; the “other” is often framed as a categorically evil force to be conquered by
physical injury or death. In the highest level of negativity, the frames and narratives may justify
extreme behavior, such as torture and annihilation, as was the case in Rwanda. Thus measuring
the degrees of negativity within the frames allows researchers to attain a better level of precision
for analysis or prediction.
14
This next section tests the hypotheses and compares these
measurements across media and against the perceptions of the parties and journalists.

Newsworthiness among the Parties

During the Northern Ireland conflict and peace process, several journalists admittedly
focused on the republican activities—the IRA and its affiliated party, Sinn Fein. Although they
also expressed a deep interest and enthusiasm about the activities of John Hume and his party,
the SDLP, the focus on republicans was unrivaled, they said. Unionists and loyalists captured
journalists’ imaginations the least (2009 & 2010). This may reflect the standards of
newsworthiness—after all, it was the republicans and the SDLP who were seeking change, while

14
Chapter Three details this methodology in greater depth.
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the goal of unionists and loyalists was continuing the status quo. But it may also reflect the
journalists’ own desires and their assessments and emotions about parties and their causes.
In general, the article sample corroborated this news focus (see Figure 16). Of the four
political parties under study, Sinn Fein, the change-pursuing, drama and conflict-creating party,
appeared in the articles most frequently across all publications. Among the three daily
newspapers, the nationalist Irish News sample included Sinn Fein in 45 percent of the articles,
while the two unionist newspapers, the Ulster News Letter, and the Belfast Telegraph both
included Sinn Fein in 41 percent of the sample’s articles. In the republican publication, An
Phoblacht, Sinn Fein dominated coverage, appearing in nearly 72 percent of the sampled articles.
The loyalist publication, Combat, included Sinn Fein the least of the publications—a total of 37
percent of the articles sampled.

Figure 16: Percentage of Articles Including the Parties

N=2937
0
10
20
30
40
50
60
70
80
An
Phoblacht
Combat Irish News Belfast
Telegraph
Ulster News
Letter
Sinn Fein
DUP
SDLP
PUP
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Also reflective of interviews and the literature, the nationalist SDLP, another change-
seeking party, followed as a somewhat distant second to Sinn Fein. It appeared in the Irish News
in nearly a third of the articles sampled (30 percent) and the two unionist daily newspapers a
quarter of the time (26 percent in the Belfast Telegraph and 25 percent in the Ulster News
Letter). The paramilitary-associated publications, however, were far less inclined to include the
SDLP. The republican An Phoblacht, which was affiliated with the republican movement,
included the party in thirteen percent of sampled articles, while the loyalist Combat included it in
nine percent of the sample. The variation across publications conformed to expectations,
particularly with the republican An Phoblacht and the loyalist Combat, which both operated
outside of the traditional journalism institution. With An Phoblacht, republicans—while
sympathetic to their nationalist counterpart, the SDLP—opposed the SDLP’s strategy and
considered the party a rival to Sinn Fein and thus focused strategically on their own favored
party, Sinn Fein. With Combat, because loyalists were primarily concerned and organized
against republicans, the pages contained less focus on the nationalist party.
As expected, in the two unionist newspapers, the DUP’s coverage matched that of the
SDLP, with appearances in 25 percent of Ulster News Letter sampled articles and 26 percent of
Belfast Telegraph sampled articles. But the nationalist party, which had fought to maintain the
status quo unionist-dominated power structure and protested the peace process, appeared
considerably less in the nationalist Irish News, mentioned in only 19 percent of the sampled
articles (as compared to the SDLP’s 30 percent). Both paramilitary-affiliated publications largely
ignored the DUP. An Phoblacht mentioned the party in only 7 percent of the sampled articles,
and Combat covered the group even less—in four percent of articles sampled. With An
Phoblacht, republicans had framed the conflict as “republicans-versus-the British Government,”
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and the unionists were generally considered de facto representatives of the British. Thus, the
party’s general absence in An Phoblacht is not surprising. Similarly, Combat was affiliated with
loyalist paramilitaries and rival parties to the DUP. The loyalist parties had eventually decided to
support the peace process and agreement that included republicans—an end that the DUP
opposed.
Also reflective of interviews, the loyalist PUP appeared in only six percent of the Irish
News’ sampled articles and nearly seven percent of the two unionist newspapers’ sampled
articles (the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph). Although the loyalist party had been
engaged in Northern Irish politics for decades, it had only held one elected seat (mayor of
Belfast) through most of the time period under study and was often called a “fringe” party in the
media. An Phoblacht was less inclined than the traditional newspapers to include the loyalist
party (three percent of sampled articles). The loyalist publication, Combat, was the exception,
including the PUP in 28 percent of sampled articles.
Table 1: Newsworthiness of the Parties
Sinn Fein DUP SDLP PUP
An Phoblacht 296 (72%) 30 (7%) 55 (13%) 12 (3%)
Combat 51 (37%) 6 (4%) 13 (9%) 39 (28%)
Irish News 361 (45%) 152 (19%) 239 (30%) 51 (6%)
Belfast Telegraph 329 (41%) 204 (26%) 211 (26%) 53 (7%)
Ulster News Letter 317 (41%) 195 (25%) 188 (25%) 50 (7%)
Sig. Difference
Between Papers
χ² = 128.0
p < .001
χ² = 93.1
p < .001
χ² = 59.9
p < .001
χ² = 107.0
p < .001
N= 2937
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The Parties’ Portrayals

In the frame wars of Chapter Four, leaders in the unionist and loyalist parties expressed
negative judgments and emotions toward the IRA and Sinn Fein. In their narrative and frames,
they often described republicans—the IRA and Sinn Fein—as one-dimensional, destructive
“terrorists” who had caused the problems in Northern Ireland. In contrast, the republicans’
narrative and frames portrayed Sinn Fein and the IRA as leaders restoring Ireland’s integrity,
eliminating the partition, and ousting the “illegitimate occupiers,” which had historically
included the unionists and loyalists. The SDLP, while also desiring a united Ireland, sought not
to oust the “occupiers” but to negotiate and compromise with the unionists for a more fair and
just system for Irish Catholics.
In contrast, given professional considerations and their personal judgments and emotions,
journalists, then, navigated between these opposing narratives and frames. With these
considerations, during interviews, media professionals expressed the most positive judgments
and emotions toward the political leader, John Hume, and his party, the SDLP. Several
journalists associated the party and its positions as having a sense of moral righteousness,
legitimacy and belonging within the political system and expressed emotions such as admiration
and pride for the party and its leaders. They also expressed conflicting judgments and emotions
toward the IRA and Sinn Fein, for example, disdain for the IRA’s “killing machine” mixed with
admiration for Sinn Fein’s political prowess (2009, 2010).
When discussing unionist parties and politics, interviewed journalists occasionally
separated the community into its respective parties. But mostly, they grouped unionists together.
However, while expressing respect for unionist people and parties, they also indicated
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disapproval of the unionists’ political positions related to governance, the conflict, and some of
their positions on the peace process. This blend of judgments suggests low-intensity emotions,
which contrasted with the emotions expressed for parties such as the SDLP, like pride and
admiration.
While the brunt of journalists’ negative judgments fell onto loyalists, journalists rarely
distinguished them by their political parties (such as the PUP and the now defunct UDP) and
instead mostly grouped them together. Among emotions, some journalists admitted being fearful
of loyalist violence and expressed disdain or contempt for the loyalists’ cause and pursuit of their
goals. Simultaneously, however, at least two interviewed journalists acknowledged and praised
particular loyalists for their leadership in securing ceasefires, generating dialogue between the
communities, and supporting the peace process and agreement. One Catholic journalist
specifically expressed pride about having befriended a loyalist leader (2009, 2010).
This next section explores the parties’ overall frame scores, using two composite
measures that were derived from scales applied to the following questions that together comprise
the variables: 1) What was the dominant tone used toward the party? 2) Was there a counter
tone? 3) Did the party have a voice? 4) How positive or negative was that voice? 5) How
legitimate was the party? 6) What emotions, such as anger or acceptance, were associated with
the party? 7) What emotions, such as fear or hope, were associated with the party? 8) Was the
party blamed for a negative development? 9) How should the community relate to and deal with
the party? Both composite frames—the situation and party frames—are expressed on a scale that
ranges from -1 to 1 with higher scores implying a more positive frame, and lower scores
suggesting a more negative frame.
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Frames by the Numbers

Some of the hypotheses met expectations. Both the situation and parties’ frames varied
across publications, reflecting the role of ideology and group identity that is represented by the
readership of each publication. However, the role of journalism—the professional norms,
structure and needs—along with the human factors of journalists—judgment, ideology and
emotion—appeared to temper the harshness of the parties’ frame wars, closing the gaps among
the professional newspapers. Further, as expected, the framing in one paramilitary-related
publication, Combat, was much more extreme than the professional publications, both in its
framing of the situation and “the others.” The framing in the other paramilitary-related
publication, An Phoblacht, however, contained scores that were more moderate, like those of the
professional newspapers, with one exception: its framing of Sinn Fein, which as expected was
quite positive. The difference in the party’s framing—compared within each newspaper and
across the five publications—suggested the confluence of three influences—the institutional
forces of journalism (discussed above), journalists’ ideology, appraisals and emotions, and the
group identity and ideology of the publications. For example, journalists’ expressed admiration
for SDLP’s leader Hume and their preference for nonviolent solutions that were advocated by the
SDLP leadership, which appeared in the form of more positive frames for the nationalist party
and its members across four of five publications. These are illustrated in Figure 17 and Figure 18
and discussed in the next subsections, divided by the parties.

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Figure 17: Mean Party Frame Scores by Publication

N=2937

Figure 18: Standard Deviations of the Situation & Party Frames

-0.8
-0.6
-0.4
-0.2
0
0.2
0.4
0.6
An Phoblacht Combat Irish News Newsletter Telegraph
SF
DUP
SDLP
PUP
Situation
0
0.05
0.1
0.15
0.2
0.25
0.3
0.35
0.4
0.45
0.5
An
Phoblacht
Combat Irish News Belfast
Telegraph
Ulster News
Letter
Situation
Sinn Fein
SDLP
DUP
PUP
217

The SDLP: As predicted, the journalist-favored SDLP won in the framing contest, attaining the
highest and most consistently positive framing scores across the daily newspapers, save for the
loyalist Combat. Also as expected, the party’s highest values appeared in its own community’s
newspaper, the nationalist Irish News, with a mean composite frame .47, a maximum score of
.94, a minimum of .38 and a standard deviation of .23. Although the unionist-leaning Belfast
Telegraph’s SDLP frame was slightly lower, the newspaper still portrayed the party as
consistently positive—with a mean of.40, a maximum of .85, a minimum of -.71, and a standard
deviation of .24. The SDLP’s lowest newspaper scores came from the decidedly unionist Ulster
News Letter, but even this newspaper portrayed the nationalist party positively most of the time
with a mean of .31, a high of .95, a low of -.6, and a standard deviation of .3.

Sinn Fein’s Frames: Again, the combined influence of journalists’ assessments, emotions
alongside institutional factors and group identity and ideology appeared in the framing of Sinn
Fein. While other political parties expressed very negative opinions and emotions toward Sinn
Fein, blaming them and their other republican counterparts for the problems in Northern Ireland,
journalists had expressed mixed emotions and confusion about the party as well as a belief that
the party was evolving with the times. These factors were evident in the composite frame scores,
which polarized across publication and contained the highest standard deviation of the parties.
For example, in the nationalist Irish News, the party’s mean frame score was .19, with a
maximum of .78, a minimum of -.76, and a standard deviation of .35. In the Ulster News Letter
218

the mean was considerably more negative, -.15 with a high of .68, a low of -.76. Here, the
standard deviation, .38, was among the highest in the study, indicating ambivalence, confusion,
or belief that the party had changed. In the Belfast Telegraph, Sinn Fein’s mean frame score was
slightly negative, -.03, a high frame value of .78 and a low of -.76. Again, the standard deviation,
.38, was quite high, reflecting mixed opinions and emotions about Sinn Fein.

The DUP’s Frames: In contrast to the findings with Sinn Fein’s framing, the effects of
ideology and group identity were somewhat less evident but still present in the DUP’s frames.
The unionist party’s frame scores suggest that professional norms that aim for impartiality
superseded journalists’ and others’ negative opinions and emotions toward the unionist positions
and that journalists separated their opinions about the party and its members from their negative
judgments its positions. Thus, although the DUP’s frame measures were generally lower than
those of the journalist-favored SDLP, they were nonetheless decidedly positive and considerably
higher than the mixed scores of Sinn Fein (see Table 4). Still, however, the DUP’s frame scores
varied according to the ideological leaning of newspapers, suggesting that group identity still
helped shape the framing. For example, the party’s mean frame score at the Irish News was .10
with a maximum score of .72, a minimum of -.5, and a standard deviation of .31. In the unionist
Ulster News Letter, however, the mean was considerably higher, .31, with a high of .85, a low
score of -.44 and a standard deviation of .19, suggesting considerably less volatility in the
framing values. In the unionist-leaning Belfast Telegraph, the mean, .28, rested between the
other two newspapers with a high score of .73, a minimum score of -.39 and a standard deviation
of .2.
219

The PUP’s Frames: The most surprising—and seemingly most contrary—frame scores emerged
from the loyalist party, the PUP. Because many journalists had expressed particularly negative
emotions and judgments about loyalists and loyalist politics and activities, the relatively high
frame scores—found relatively consistently in the newspapers—were an unexpected result. In all
three newspapers, the loyalist party’s mean frame scores were decisively positive (see Table 5).
Its mean frame in the nationalist Irish News (.21), for example, while the lowest of the three
newspapers, still surpassed the DUP’s mean frame, which could be explained by the different
tacks of the two parties with regards to the peace process. But with a high of .73, low of -.71 and
standard deviation of .32, the party frames in the nationalist newspaper varied considerably. As
expected, both unionist newspapers, the Ulster News Letter and Belfast Telegraph, used slightly
more positive framing for the loyalist party. The Ulster News Letter’s mean was .26, its
maximum .85, its minimum -.52 and a standard deviation of .23. Similarly, the Belfast
Telegraph’s mean was .23 with a high of .64, a low of -.57 and a standard deviation of .27.
The Paramilitary-Related Publications
Sinn Fein: As expected, patterns were considerably more pronounced in the
paramilitary-related publications’ frames. In some cases, their frames reflected those of the
communities they represented . For example, with a mean of .46, a high of .85, low of -.14 and a
standard deviation of .15, the Sinn Fein frame in the republican publication, An Phoblacht, was
consistently positive, higher than all other parties, and dramatically more positive than in any
other publication. But in the loyalist publication, Combat, the party’s mean frame was the lowest,
-.43, with a high of .31, a low of -.76 and a standard deviation of .29.
220

The SDLP: Similarly, as was expected, the SDLP’s frames were generally positive in the
republican An Phoblacht and negative in the loyalist Combat. In An Phoblacht, for example, the
SDLP’s mean frame score, .25, was second only to those of Sinn Fein. But with a high of .72,
low of -.59 and a standard deviation of .24, the SDLP’s frame varied considerably more than its
fellow nationalist/republican party, Sinn Fein, which viewed the nationalist SDLP as a
competitor. Combat was the sole publication to use negative framing for the SDLP. Because of
its desire to unite the six counties in the north with the Republic of Ireland, the both the SDLP
and Sinn Fein had long been considered a foe of loyalism, which would likely explain the
SDLP’s mean frame of -.13. However, the SDLP’s framing both skewed higher and varied much
more than those of Sinn Fein, illustrated by the maximum of .44, minimum score of -.71, and
standard deviation of .36. This also conformed to expectations, because although both
nationalist parties sought a united Ireland, Sinn Fein was the main threat to loyalists and their
cause because of its representation of the IRA, which resorted to violence as one means to unite
Ireland.
The PUP: Another predicted finding pertained to the paramilitary framing of the loyalist
PUP. In the loyalist Combat, the framing of the PUP was a near reversal of Sinn Fein’s framing
(See Table 8). With consistently positive framing, its mean was .55, with a maximum of .83, a
minimum score of .09 and a standard deviation of .18. This again conformed to expectations, as
Combat served an audience of rank-and-file loyalists and had no professional gatekeepers or
norms of traditional news media to temper its framing. But in An Phoblacht, the loyalist party’s
mean frame was slightly negative, -.06. But with a solidly positive maximum score (.36) and
very negative minimum score (-.76), the standard deviation for the PUP in the republican
publication was quite high (.35).
221

The DUP: The paramilitary framing of the DUP also met some expectations. For
example, in An Phoblacht, the DUP’s mean and maximum frame scores, -.08 and .36,
respectively, were quite similar to those of the PUP. But the DUP’s minimum was considerably
less negative and the standard deviation (.24) reflected less volatility than that of the loyalist
party. This reflects the republicans’ stated frame about the conflict, which stereotyped loyalists
and unionists as much the same—in essence, part of the British oppressive structure. In Combat,
however, the unionist party’s scores were somewhat surprising. Its mean frame for the DUP was
slightly negative, with a mean frame of -.02, with a maximum of .33, minimum of -.3 and a
standard deviation of .25. This is explained by the parting of the ways between the DUP, which
advocated against the peace process and agreement, and the PUP, which advocated for them.
The Individual, Component Variables

Each of the composite frame scores was calculated from several individual component
variables meant to assess an aspect of the frame and parties’ portrayals (e.g. emotions, role
portrayals, stereotyping, future relations/political solutions). At times, these diverged, which may
not be reflected in the composite frames. This next subsection analyzes and itemizes the findings
from these component variables and how they contribute to the composite frame values,
beginning with blame.
The Politics of Blame
A key concept in the Frame Wars is blame, used to explain the development of negative
phenomena. In Northern Ireland, for example, political parties blamed “the other” for causing the
region’s troubles. Blame is often simplistic, narrowing responsibility, and triggers anger-related
emotions, which elicit their negative behavioral counterparts, which can perpetuate the undesired
222

phenomenon.
15
In Chapter Five, the journalists sorted through the parties’ “blame frames” to
present the news to their audiences. This next section examines the presence of blame within the
media frames, followed by an exploration of which parties bore the brunt of the blame in the
region. Figure 19 shows the percentages of blame in the article sample.

Although all of the publications in this study contained blame in more than fifty percent
of the article sample, blame was highest in the loyalist publication, Combat, with 75 percent of
its articles containing blame for a political problem. Two newspapers—the Irish News and the
Ulster News Letter—assigned blame in 66 and 61 percent of the article sample, while the
republican An Phoblacht and the unionist-leaning Belfast Telegraph assigned blame the least—in
57 and 56 percent of sampled articles, respectively. Blame was one of four primary components
in the situation frames and one of eight in the individual party frames. Thus, high percentages of
blame appeared in the form of negative frame scores for the situation.

15
Blame and its relationship to negative emotions are discussed more thoroughly in Chapter Three
0
10
20
30
40
50
60
70
80
Irish News Belfast
Telegraph
Ulster News
Letter
An
Phoblacht
Combat
Figure 19: Percentage of Articles Containing Blame
Percentage of Articles
Containing Blame
223

Who is to Blame?
While all publications contained high levels of blame, they often blamed different parties
(See Table 2), which reflected the influence of group identity and ideology. In fact, “who” is
blamed was a key distinction of the Frame Wars revealed in Chapter Four. In the Frame Wars,
unionists and loyalists blamed republicans while republicans and sometimes nationalists blamed
the British Government and its supporters. This frame structure appeared in the respective
publications. For example, the unionist newspapers, the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast
Telegraph, and the loyalist Combat blamed Sinn Fein in roughly one third of the articles that
contained blame (36, 33 and 34 percent, respectively), while the Irish News blamed Sinn Fein
less than a fifth of the time (19 percent of articles containing blame). The republicans’ own
publication, An Phoblacht, never blamed its favored party for a political problem. Reflecting the
republican narrative, An Phoblacht’s chief blame recipient was the British Government or British
Army, which comprised 42 percent of the blame. Meanwhile, the loyalist Combat blamed a
British entity in only 12 percent of articles, and among the newspapers, the nationalist Irish News
blamed the British the most—in 21 percent of articles, while the unionist Ulster News Letter and
Belfast Telegraph blamed it slightly less often—17 and 18 percent of articles containing blame.
While no other party under study received blame more than ten percent of the time in any
publication, blame still varied according to the publications’ political ideology. For example, the
DUP received the highest frequency of blame in the Irish News (nine percent), followed by An
Phoblacht and the Belfast Telegraph (both five percent), and then the Ulster News Letter and
Combat (two percent). While the SDLP was rarely blamed, the Ulster News Letter blamed the
nationalist party more frequently than the other publications (six percent of articles containing
224

blame). The other two newspapers, the Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph, only blamed the
SDLP for a political problem in three percent of articles that contained blame. The paramilitary
papers, An Phoblacht and Combat, blamed the SDLP even less (in two percent of articles that
contained blame).
The PUP was both the least blamed and the least mentioned party. Only two percent of
articles that contained blame in either the Belfast Telegraph or the Irish News blamed the loyalist
party. The Ulster News Letter and An Phoblacht blamed the party even less (one percent), and
Combat never blamed the PUP. This is likely due to the infrequency of the PUP’s appearance in
the article sample. It may also be that, as noted by the journalists in Chapter Five, because the
party was small, the “loyalist” moniker may have grouped the PUP within it, thus blaming
“loyalists” more generally, rather than the political party that represented them.
Table 2: Who is to Blame?
BLAME Sinn Fein DUP SDLP PUP
British
Gov/British
Army
Irish News 19 % 9 % 3 % 2 % 21 %
Belfast
Telegraph 33 % 5 % 3 % 2 % 17 %
Ulster
News Letter 36 % 2 % 6 % 1 % 18 %
An Phoblacht 0 % 5 % 2 % 1 % 42 %
Combat 34 % 2 % 2 % 0 % 12 %
Sig. Difference
Between Papers
χ² = 96.1
p < .001
χ² = 16.5
p = .003
χ² = 5.3
p = .26
χ² = 1.5
p = .82
χ² = 49.1
p < .001

225

Dominant Tone

The dominant tone variable sought to determine the overall tenor used toward each of the
four parties. As discussed in Chapter Three and in the coding instructions, the essence of the
seven-point scale for dominant tone included the following: extremely negative (-3) included use
of subhuman descriptions, such as cancer, plagues, or insects; very negative (-2) included one-
dimensional depiction of party members as terrorists, criminals or terrorist supporters; somewhat
negative (-1) meant less than acceptable, flawed, problematic; somewhat positive (1) meant
acceptable, functional, normal human; very positive (2) meant showing leadership toward
something constructive for the larger community; extremely positive (3) meant heroic; and can’t
tell was coded as 0 for a neutral value.
Again, as expected, the merging of two forces appeared in the dominant tone category, as
it did in the composite party frames. The dominant tone contained a mild version of each
newspaper’s associated group identity and ideology, apparently softened by the professional
norms of journalism. This standard was also reflected in the republican An Phoblacht, the
publication that some interviewees suggested was the more professional paramilitary-related
publication. The loyalist Combat, however, contrasted with the other publications in its dominant
tone, particularly for Sinn Fein. This next subsection details the dominant tone variable by party
and publication.

The SDLP’s Dominant Tone: The SDLP’s “dominant tone” scores were consistent with
expectations—the merging of journalists’ expressions in Chapter Five and the tempering by the
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norms and structures of journalism (See Table 3). Of the four parties studied, the SDLP’s
dominant tone stood out as consistently positive across all three daily newspapers and in the
republican An Phoblacht and was, on average, higher than the other three parties. While the
group did not attract as much media attention as Sinn Fein, the attention garnered was
cumulatively more positive. In fact, the SDLP’s “dominant tone” was, on average, markedly
more positive than the “dominant tone” of all three of the other parties in the study. Across the
three daily newspapers, at least 85 percent of articles mentioning the nationalist party used a
positive tone. Of the newspapers, the Irish News’ frame scores were the highest, using a positive
tone for the SDLP in 92 percent of the articles containing the party. But the Irish News was not
alone in its preponderance of positivity in its tone toward the SDLP. Both unionist newspapers
also portrayed the SDLP with a positive tone in 86 (Ulster News Letter) and 89 percent (Belfast
Telegraph) of articles that included the nationalist party. The paramilitary-affiliated
publications, however, used opposing dominant tones toward the SDLP. The republican An
Phoblacht used a positive dominant tone with the SDLP in 78 percent of articles that included
the party. Combat, however, only used a positive tone for the SDLP in only 31 percent of articles
containing the party. Again, because the loyalist Combat felt threatened by the nationalist party’s
goals and hadn’t the same journalistic norms and structures, this comports with expectations.

227

Table 3: Dominant Tone of the SDLP

Extremely
Negative
Very
Negative
Somewhat
Negative
Can’t
Tell
Somewhat
Positive
Very
Positive
Extremely
Positive
Irish News 0 % 0 % 6 % 2 % 58 % 32 % 2 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % .5 % 9 % 0 % 74 % 16 % .5 %
Ulster
News Letter 0 % .6 % 18 % 2 % 66 % 13 % .6 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 0 % 22 % 0 % 70 % 7 % 0 %

Combat
0 % 8 % 62 % 0 % 31 % 0 %

0 %
χ² = 107.0; p <.001

Within the positive portrayal, the daily newspapers also used a very positive
(“constructive leadership”) dominant tone more frequently than they did for other parties and
second only to Sinn Fein in the republican publication, An Phoblacht. The exception to this tone,
again, was found in the loyalist publication, Combat, which never portrayed the SDLP as very
positive. Of the publications, the nationalist newspaper, the Irish News used this portrayal most
frequently (in 32 percent of articles that included the party), followed the Belfast Telegraph and
the Ulster News Letter (16 and 13 percent of articles that included the party, respectively). These,
too, met expectations.
The SDLP was also the only party that was ever portrayed as extremely positive
(“heroic”) by any of the publications under study. While this occurred very rarely, it was most
frequent in the Irish News (two percent of articles that included the SDLP). The two unionist
228

newspapers only used an extremely positive “dominant tone” in .6 percent (the Ulster News
Letter) and .5 percent (the Belfast Telegraph) of articles that included the SDLP.
Neither the Irish News nor An Phoblacht ever used either an extremely or very negative
dominant tone toward SDLP (either “subhuman” or “terrorist/criminal” depictions). And they
infrequently (six and 22 percent of articles containing the group, respectively) portrayed the
party with a somewhat negative dominant tone (“less than acceptable”). The two unionist
newspapers, the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph, each portrayed the SDLP as very
negative (“terrorist/criminal/terrorist supporter”) in one article each, but neither newspaper ever
used an extremely negative dominant tone (“subhuman”) for the SDLP. While they used a
somewhat negative dominant tone (“less than acceptable”) more frequently than the Irish News,
this portrayal was still infrequent (18 and nine percent of articles that contained the party,
respectively). Combat stood alone in its frequent use of a negative dominant tone for the SDLP.
Nearly seventy percent of articles in the sample that included the SDLP used a negative
dominant tone for the party. Most of these articles contained a somewhat negative dominant tone
(62 percent) rather than a very negative dominant tone (eight percent of articles including the
party).

The DUP’s Dominant Tone: The articles’ dominant tone toward the DUP reflected a general
acceptance of unionist parties as status quo parties that had been articulated by journalists
without the general disdain that they had expressed for unionists’ policies (See Table 4).
However, the newspapers diverged on aspects of the DUP’s dominant tone, suggesting the
influence of group identity, ideology and psychology. Thus, unlike the SDLP, which received a
229

consistently positive tone across all newspapers, the unionist party’s tone was overwhelmingly
positive in only the unionist newspapers—the Ulster News Letter (86 percent positive) and the
Belfast Telegraph (82 percent positive)—but split in the nationalist Irish News (52 percent
positive), and mostly negative in both paramilitary-related publications. In the republican An
Phoblacht, only thirty percent of the articles containing the DUP used a positive tone, and in the
loyalist Combat, 33 percent of articles including the DUP were positive in tone.
Also in contrast to the portrayal of the SDLP, the DUP’s dominant tone was never
extremely positive (e.g. heroic) and rarely treated as “very positive” (constructive leadership). In
the newspapers, the DUP’s dominant tone rose to “very positive” in only five and three percent
of articles in the Irish News and Belfast Telegraph that included the party and eleven percent of
Ulster News Letter articles that included the party. Neither of the paramilitary-related
publications ever used a very positive or extremely positive dominant tone for the DUP.
No publication ever portrayed the DUP with an extremely negative dominant tone (e.g.
subhuman) and the party was rarely given a very negative dominant tone (e.g.
terrorist/criminal/terrorist sympathizer). Among the newspapers, only one Belfast Telegraph
article (.5 percent), and five Irish News articles (three percent) depicted the party with a very
negative dominant tone. And among the paramilitary-related publications, only one An
Phoblacht article (four percent) used a very negative dominant tone. However, the somewhat
negative “dominant tone” (less than acceptable) was much more prevalent in three
publications—the Irish News (41 percent), An Phoblacht (70 percent) and Combat (67 percent).
The unionist newspapers, the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph, used the somewhat
negative portrayal of the DUP much less frequently (13 and 17 percent, respectively).
230

Table 4: Dominant Tone of the DUP

Extremely
Negative
Very
Negative
Somewhat
Negative
Can’t
Tell
Somewhat
Positive
Very
Positive
Extremely
Positive
Irish News 0 % 3 % 41 % 3 % 48 % 5 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % .5 % 16 % 1 % 79 % 3 % 0 %
Ulster
News Letter 0 % 0 % 13 % 1 % 75 % 11 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 4 % 67 % 0 % 30 % 0 % 0 %

Combat 0 % 0 % 67 % 0 % 33 % 0 % 0 %
χ² = 104.71; p<.001

Sinn Fein’s Dominant Tone: The mixed opinions and emotions expressed by both journalists
and political leaders about Sinn Fein were evident in the newspapers’ dominant tone toward the
party (See Table 5). In fact, Sinn Fein’s dominant tone scores featured the greatest variation of
the four parties across publications. To some degree, the publications’ tone treated the party in
near oppositional ways, with the republican and nationalist community publications using a
mostly positive dominant tone toward the party, while the loyalist and unionist publications used
mostly a negative dominant tone. For example, in the nationalist Irish News, the party’s
dominant tone was positive in 67 percent of articles that included the party, of which 55 percent
of articles used a somewhat positive tone (“acceptable”), and 12 percent used a very positive
tone (“constructive leadership”). But the unionist newspaper, the Ulster News Letter’s dominant
tone toward Sinn Fein was positive in only 30 percent of articles including the group, of which
231

only one attained a very positive dominant tone (“constructive leadership”), and no articles used
an extremely positive tone (“heroic”). The Belfast Telegraph’s dominant tone toward Sinn Fein,
wedged between the values of the Irish News and the Ulster News Letter, portrayed Sinn Fein
positively in 44 percent of articles including the group. Most (43 percent) used a somewhat
positive (“acceptable”) dominant tone, and one percent used a very positive tone (“constructive
leadership”).
Similarly, while the Irish News used a negative dominant tone for Sinn Fein in 32 percent
of articles containing the party, the Ulster News Letter portrayed the party negatively in 69
percent of articles containing the party. The Belfast Telegraph, meanwhile, used a negative
dominant tone in 56 percent of articles. In all three newspapers, most of these negative portrayals
were somewhat negative (“less than acceptable”), rather than very negative
(“terrorists/criminals”) or extremely negative (“subhuman”). In the Irish News, for example, 27
percent of articles portrayed the group as somewhat negative (“less than acceptable), five percent
as very negative (terrorists/criminals), and one article used an extremely negative (“subhuman”)
dominant tone. In the Belfast Telegraph, 40 percent of articles were somewhat negative (“less
than acceptable”), and 16 percent were very negative (“terrorists/criminals”). In the Ulster News
Letter, 46 of the 69 percent of negative portrayals used a somewhat negative dominant tone
while 23 percent used a very negative dominant tone. Neither of the two unionist newspapers
used an extremely negative (subhuman) dominant tone toward Sinn Fein. These depictions again
suggest that the norms and structures of journalism softened the framing, particularly from the
unionist parties, which referred to Sinn Fein as “terrorists” and compared the party to Al Qaida.
The two paramilitary-affiliated publications were near opposites with their Sinn Fein
framing. The republican’s own publication, An Phoblacht, used a positive dominant tone toward
232

the party in 99 percent of the articles that mentioned the group, with nearly 25 percent using a
very positive dominant tone (“constructive leadership”), while nearly 75 percent treated the party
with a somewhat positive dominant tone (“acceptable”). Only two articles in the An Phoblacht
sample portrayed the group with a negative dominant tone, both of which were somewhat
negative (“less than acceptable”). In contrast, the loyalist publication, Combat, used a negative
dominant tone toward Sinn Fein in 86 percent of the articles that included the party. It used a
very negative dominant tone (“criminals/terrorists/terrorist supporters”) in 47 percent of the
articles that included the party, a somewhat negative tone (“less than acceptable) in 37 percent of
the articles, and an extremely negative tone (“subhuman”) in one article (two percent of articles
including Sinn Fein). Combat rarely (14 percent of articles containing Sinn Fein) used a positive
dominant tone for Sinn Fein.

233

Table 5: Dominant Tone of Sinn Fein

Extremely
Negative
Very
Negative
Somewhat
Negative
Can’t
Tell
Somewhat
Positive
Very
Positive
Extremely
Positive
Irish News <.5 % 5 % 27 % 1 % 55 % 12 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % 16 % 40 % 1 % 43 % 1 % 0 %
Ulster
News Letter 0 % 23 % 46 % 1 % 30 % <.5 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 0 % 1 % <.5 % 74 % 24 % 0 %
Combat 2 % 47 % 37 % 0 % 14 % 0 % 0 %
χ² = 483.76; p<.001

The PUP’s Dominant Tone: The dominant tone used to portray the PUP again defied
expectations, particularly in light of journalists’ negative expressions about loyalists (See Table
6). The PUP, which represented members of the loyalist paramilitary group, the Ulster Volunteer
Force (UVF), was most frequently portrayed with a positive dominant tone in all three
newspapers and the loyalist publication, Combat. In fact, the PUP, while the least mentioned of
the parties, received a positive dominant tone more frequently than Sinn Fein in the
newspapers—even the nationalist Irish News. The Irish News also used a positive dominant tone
more frequently for the PUP than for the unionist DUP. In the nationalist Irish News, 74 percent
of articles that included the PUP used a positive dominant tone. Both unionist papers also
overwhelmingly treated the party positively with 73 percent of Ulster News Letter’s dominant
tone and 78.5 percent of Belfast Telegraph’s dominant tone were positive toward the PUP.
While some of the depictions can explained by the moderating forces of journalism, other factors
are important to note: For one, the PUP, as an individual party, was rarely included in newspaper
234

articles. Rather, the paramilitary groups and the umbrella term “loyalist” were mentioned more
often.
Most of the PUP’s positive portrayals in the daily newspapers, however, remained at the
baseline “somewhat positive” level (“acceptable”), rarely achieving a very positive dominant
tone (“constructive leadership”), and never achieving an extremely positive dominant tone
(“heroic”). Surprisingly, however, among the newspapers, the nationalist Irish News used a very
positive dominant tone (17 percent of articles that included the party) for the PUP more
frequently than did the unionist newspapers, which used a very positive tone in only ten percent
(Ulster News Letter) and two percent (Belfast Telegraph) of articles that included the group.
The more dramatic scores and contrasts appeared in the paramilitary-related publications.
While the republican newspaper portrayed the PUP with a positive dominant tone the least (45
percent of articles including the PUP), the loyalist publication, Combat, consistently portrayed
the party positively (100 percent of articles including the PUP).
When portrayed negatively, the PUP’s dominant tone was most often categorized as
somewhat negative (“less than acceptable”). In fact, no publication ever used an extremely
negative dominant tone (“subhuman”) for the PUP; and neither the unionist newspapers nor the
loyalist publication ever portrayed the PUP with a very negative dominant tone (“terrorists,
criminals or terrorist supporters”). The nationalist Irish News used this portrayal in four percent
of articles that included the PUP, and the republican publication, An Phoblacht, used this
portrayal twice, which, given the infrequent inclusion of the PUP in An Phoblacht (11 articles),
amounted to eighteen percent of articles that contained the PUP.

235

Table 6: Dominant Tone of the PUP

Extremely
Negative
Very
Negative
Somewhat
Negative
Can’t
Tell
Somewhat
Positive
Very
Positive
Extremely
Positive
Irish News 0 % 4 % 23 % 0 % 56 % 17 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % 0 % 22 % 0 % 76 % 2 % 0 %
Ulster
News Letter 0 % 0 % 27 % 0 % 63 % 10 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 18 % 36 % 0 % 45 % 0 % 0 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 0 % 0 % 46 % 54 % 0 %
χ² = 71.17; p < .001

A Fight for Legitimacy

Among the other key conceptual battles in the Frame Wars was the struggle for
legitimacy, fought by the parties, largely via framing. Embedded in each party’s frame was an
argument for its own legitimacy—its preferred form of government, positions and actions--while
delegitimizing “the others.” But legitimacy was not always a “black-or-white” concept. At times,
while some parties and their positions were framed as clearly legitimate or illegitimate, others
were merely portrayed, instead, as less legitimate. Loyalists and unionists’ frames, for example,
suggested that Northern Ireland legitimately belonged to Great Britain, making the island’s
partition rightful and proper. In this frame, the republicans’ use of violence to overthrow the
“legitimate” government was considered illegitimate, and thus, the republicans themselves, were
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also framed as illegitimate. But the nonviolent nationalists who desired the same united Ireland
goal as republicans were sometimes treated as less legitimate than unionists but not illegitimate.
Another division, the one between unionists and loyalists arose primarily in their approach to the
“illegitimate” republican problem. To loyalists, vigilantism was perfectly legitimate to prevent
what they believed was “bullying” by the IRA, while unionists publicly disavowed loyalist
violence (Loyalist interviews 2009 & 2010).
16

Republican narratives and frames, on the other hand, argued that the union was merely a
continuation of an immoral, imperial, and illegitimate conquest. The republican crusade to force
out the “occupiers,” unite the island, and restore Ireland’s integrity was perfectly legitimate and a
noble cause that required fighting or even dying. In the republican frame, unionists and loyalists
were extensions of the illegitimate British occupation. Nationalist frames, on the other hand
impugned the system, but while they shared the aspirations of uniting Ireland, rejected violence
as a means to attain them. Thus, while nationalists rejected the “illegitimate,” discriminatory
system controlled by the unionists, they believed a fair system could be forged through
negotiation and integration of all people (SDLP leader 2009).
With these opposing frames, journalists faced the task of reporting the politics in ways
that served both their professional needs and their own personal judgments and emotions. In a
region where words were laden with meanings that could either lend or challenge legitimacy for
one or the other group’s positions, journalists struggled to “walk the line” such that they
delivered meaningful stories without compromising either their professional or personal
integrity. For this, most interviewed journalist separated the leaders and parties from their goals

16
There was belief among republicans that while unionists publicly disavowed loyalist violence against Catholics,
they quietly supported it.
237

and activities. For example, while uniformly condemning political violence from both loyalists
and republicans, several journalists praised the groups’ leaders when they changed course and
worked for peaceful solutions. Similarly, while disapproving of unionists’ ostensible efforts to
maintain power over the Catholic population, they praised those unionist leaders and parties
when they supported the idea of a more equitable and peaceful system, treating them as
important for the region’s well-being. Thus legitimacy for the party seemed fluid, based on the
party members’ behaviors, rather than static. The exception was the SDLP, for which
interviewed journalists expressed legitimacy in both goals and actions.
This next subsection evaluates the parties’ legitimacy within the publications’ frames
with a five point scale that ranged as follows: definitely not legitimate (-2); probably not
legitimate/questionable legitimacy (-1); cannot tell (0); probably or cautiously legitimate (1); and
“definitely legitimate” (2). As in some of the earlier categories, the parties’ legitimacy varied
according to the publications.

The SDLP and Legitimacy: As was the case with the parties’ dominant tone, the newspaper
frames reflected the journalists’ attitudes pertaining to the SDLP’s legitimacy (See Table 7).
Overall in this category, the party led all other parties under study in the three newspapers and
nearly equaled Sinn Fein’s legitimacy in the republican An Phoblacht. However, the newspapers
deviated on the SDLP’s degree of legitimacy. The nationalist Irish News, for example, treated
the SDLP as “definitely legitimate” in 89 percent of the articles that contained the party and
“probably legitimate” in ten percent of the articles containing the party, for a total positivity of
99 percent. On the negative side, the Irish News treated the SDLP as less than/probably not
238

legitimate in less than .5 percent of the articles containing the group. Coders could “not tell” the
degree of SDLP’s legitimacy in less than .5 percent of articles.
The two unionist papers, meanwhile, maintained positive legitimacy portrayals for the
SDLP but diverged from each other. In this category, the Belfast Telegraph, for example, more
similarly matched the values of the Irish News than the Ulster News Letter. Here, the frames
portrayed the SDLP as “definitely legitimate” in nearly eighty percent of the articles and
“probably legitimate” in nineteen percent of the articles containing the party for a total positivity
of nearly 99 percent (the same overall positivity score of the Irish News with variation within the
categories). The Ulster News Letter, however, treated the SDLP as “definitely legitimate” in 72
percent and “probably legitimate” in twenty percent of the articles containing the party, for a
total positivity of 92 percent.
The biggest discrepancy pertaining to the SDLP’s legitimacy appeared in the paramilitary
publications. The republican An Phoblacht treated the SDLP with a similar degree of legitimacy
as it treated its favored party, Sinn Fein, finding the SDLP “definitely legitimate” in 91 percent
of articles that included the party. The SDLP appeared “probably legitimate” in an additional
eight percent of the articles mentioning the party for a total positivity of 99 percent. Less than .5
percent of articles that included the SDLP found the group to be less than legitimate and less
than .5 percent were too difficult to detect.
Similar to the “dominant tone” variable, Combat’s treatment of SDLP’s legitimacy was
starkly contrasted with that of An Phoblacht and the newspapers. Combat’s articles depicted the
party as “definitely legitimate” in only eight percent and “probably legitimate” in 31 percent of
articles containing the party, for a total positivity score of 39 percent. The party was treated as
239

“probably not legitimate” in 46 percent and “definitely not legitimate” in fifteen percent of
articles that included the SDLP, for a total negativity score of 61 percent.
Table 7: SDLP’s Legitimacy

SDLP’s
Legitimacy
Definitely Not
Legitimate
Probably not
Legitimate
Can’t
Tell
Probably or
Marginally
Legitimate
Definitely
Legitimate
Irish News 0 % .5 % .5 % 10 % 89 %
Belfast Telegraph <.5 % 1 % 0 % 19 % 80 %
Ulster News Letter 0 % 6 % 1 % 20 % 72 %
An Phoblacht 0 % 0 % .5 % 8 % 91 %
Combat 15 % 46 % 0 % 31 % 8 %
χ² = 186.35; p<.001

The DUP and Legitimacy: Although interviewed journalists had expressed negative judgments
and emotions toward the unionist cause, they separated the positions from the party, thus
maintaining legitimacy for the party despite opinions about its policy positions. This separation
along with the norms and structures of journalism were evident in the frames (See Table 8). And
although the newspaper frames generally resembled this interpretation, the party’s degree of
legitimacy varied, depending on the newspaper, again reflecting the role of group identity and
ideology. For example, while the DUP consistently scored in the positive legitimacy range, it
received its highest marks in the unionist newspaper, the Ulster News Letter. That publication
treated the DUP as “definitely legitimate” in 79 percent and “probably legitimate” in 19 percent
of the articles that included the DUP, for a total positivity score in legitimacy of 98 percent. The
240

Belfast Telegraph also depicted the party as legitimate, with 68 percent of articles suggesting the
party was “definitely legitimate” and thirty percent suggesting it was “probably legitimate,”
again attaining 98 percent positive legitimacy.
While maintaining overall positive legitimacy for the DUP, the Irish News’ portrayed the
party with slightly less assurance than the two unionist publications. In this newspaper, the DUP
scored “definitely legitimate” in 51 percent and “probably legitimate” in forty percent of the
articles that included the party, for a total positive legitimacy score of 90 percent.
The DUP also maintained positive legitimacy scores in both paramilitary-related
publications. The loyalist Combat portrayed the DUP as “definitely legitimate” in half and
“probably legitimate” in the other half of articles that mentioned the party, for 100 percent
positive legitimacy scores. Surprisingly the republican An Phoblacht also portrayed the DUP
with relatively positive legitimacy. It depicted the group as “definitely legitimate” in 48 percent
and “probably legitimate” in 44 percent of articles containing the party for a total positive
legitimacy score of 92 percent.

241

Table 8: DUP’s Legitimacy

DUP’s Legitimacy
Definitely Not
Legitimate
Probably not
Legitimate
Can’t
Tell
Probably or
Marginally
Legitimate
Definitely
Legitimate
Irish News >1 % 8 % >1 % 40 % 51 %
Belfast Telegraph 0 % 1 % .5 % 30 % 68 %
Ulster
News Letter
0 % 2 % 0 % 19 % 79 %
An Phoblacht 0 % 8 % 0 % 44 % 48 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 0 % 50 % 50 %
χ² = 44.44; p < .001

Sinn Fein’s Legitimacy: Like in other categories, Sinn Fein’s legitimacy featured the greatest
variation, particularly when comparing publications—it was higher in the nationalist and
republican media and lower in the unionist and loyalist media (See Table 9). This variation
ostensibly reflected the narratives and frames of the political parties somewhat more than the
opinions and emotions expressed by journalists. For example, in the Irish News, Sinn Fein was
portrayed as “definitely legitimate” in just over 40 percent and “probably legitimate” in slightly
more than 44 percent of articles that included the party for a total positive legitimacy of 85
percent. On the negative side, the nationalist newspaper portrayed Sinn Fein as “definitely not
legitimate” in three percent of the articles and “probably not legitimate” in 11 percent of articles
containing the party for a total negative legitimacy score of 14 percent.
While less affirmative toward Sinn Fein’s legitimacy, the unionist newspapers papers still
maintained significant positive scores for the republican political party in this category. The
242

higher scores appeared in the Belfast Telegraph, which depicted Sinn Fein most often as
“probably legitimate” (47 percent) and sometimes “definitely legitimate” (18 percent), for a total
positive legitimacy score of 65 percent of articles that included the party. On the negative side,
the Belfast Telegraph portrayed Sinn Fein as “probably not legitimate” in 24 percent of articles
containing the party and “definitely not legitimate” in eleven percent of articles that included the
group, for a total negative legitimacy score of 34 percent.
In the Ulster News Letter’s frames, Sinn Fein fared worse in legitimacy. In these frames,
Sinn Fein was “definitely legitimate” in only 13 percent and “probably legitimate” in 34 percent
of articles that included Sinn Fein, for a total positivity of 47 percent. On the negative side, the
newspaper treated the party as “probably not legitimate” (36 percent) and “definitely not
legitimate” (16 percent) for a just more than 51 percent of articles including the party. One
percent of articles were unclear.
Similar to other categories, the paramilitary-related publications offered the greatest
contrast with Sinn Fein’s legitimacy. In An Phoblacht, Sinn Fein scored the highest in
legitimacy, with 91 percent of articles depicting the party as “definitely legitimate” and eight
percent of articles portraying the party as “probably legitimate,” for a total of 99 percent positive
legitimacy, leaving only one percent as either “probably not legitimate” or “can’t tell.”
In Combat, this pattern was reversed. The loyalist publication portrayed Sinn Fein as
“definite not legitimate” in 49 percent and “probably not legitimate” in 31 percent of articles that
included the party, totaling 80 percent of articles in negative legitimacy terrain. On the positive
side, 16 percent of articles including Sinn Fein depicted the party as “probably legitimate,” and
243

four percent as “definitely legitimate,” totaling nineteen percent positive legitimacy scores.

Table 9: Sinn Fein’s Legitimacy

SF’s Legitimacy
Definitely Not
Legitimate
Probably not
Legitimate
Can’t
Tell
Probably or
Marginally
Legitimate
Definitely
Legitimate
Irish News 3 % 11 % 1 % 44 % 40 %
Belfast Telegraph 10 % 24 % 1 % 47 % 18 %
Ulster
News Letter
15 % 36 % 1 % 34 % 13 %
An Phoblacht 0 % <.5 % <.5 % 8 % 91 %
Combat 49 % 31 % 0 % 16 % 4 %
χ² = 680.07; p < .001

The PUP and Legitimacy: Like the dominant tone variable, the PUP”s legitimacy scores were
surprisingly high and somewhat contradicted the opinions and emotions expressed by journalists
and the expectations arising from the newspapers’ ideological leanings (See Table 10). In fact, in
the nationalist newspaper, the Irish News, surprisingly, portrayed the PUP as “definitely
legitimate” in 38 percent and “probably legitimate” in 53 percent of articles including the PUP,
for a total positive legitimacy in 91 percent of—more frequently than did either of the two
unionist newspapers. Only six percent of the Irish News’ articles including the PUP depicted the
party as “probably not legitimate,” and one article (two percent) portrayed it as “definitely not
legitimate.”
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The unionist Ulster News Letter, while portraying the PUP as “definitely legitimate”
more frequently (41 percent of articles) than did the Irish News, its overall legitimacy scores for
the PUP were less frequently positive (87 percent). On the negative side, twelve percent of
articles containing the PUP depicted the party as “probably not legitimate,” and no articles found
the party to be “definitely not legitimate.”
In the Belfast Telegraph, the PUP’s legitimacy, while overall positive, received lower
percentages than either the Irish News or the Ulster News Letter. The party was “definitely
legitimate” in 28 percent and “probably legitimate” in 54 percent of articles that included the
party for a total positivity score of 82 percent. Sixteen percent of articles including the PUP
portrayed the party as “probably not legitimate,” and one article was indiscernible.
Both paramilitary-related publications depicted the PUP as legitimate overall. Combat
maintained the highest numbers for the party, with the group portrayed as “definitely legitimate”
in 89 percent and “probably legitimate” in eleven percent of the articles that included the party.
The republican An Phoblacht also gave the PUP high legitimacy scores but with most articles
(60 percent) falling into the “probably legitimate” category. Twenty percent of articles
containing the PUP portrayed the party as “definitely legitimate.” The remaining articles were
evenly split (one article/10 percent each) in which the PUP was portrayed as either “probably not
legitimate” or “definitely not legitimate.”

245

Table 10: The PUP’s Legitimacy

PUP’s
Legitimacy
Definitely Not
Legitimate
Probably not
Legitimate
Can’t
Tell
Probably or
Marginally
Legitimate
Definitely
Legitimate
Irish News 2 % 6 % 0% 53 % 38 %
Belfast Telegraph 0 % 16 % 2 % 54 % 28 %
Ulster
News Letter
0 % 12 % 0 % 47 % 41 %
An Phoblacht 10 % 10 % 0 % 60 % 20 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 0 % 11 % 89 %
χ² = 54.24; p < .001

The Publications and Legitimacy

An Phoblacht surprisingly treated all four parties with greater legitimacy than did the
other publications. While it treated its own (Sinn Fein) with the highest degree of legitimacy, it
still maintained overall positive legitimacy scores for all four parties in this study. Of the articles,
only one article suggested that a party (the PUP) was “definitely not legitimate.” In fact, the
publication maintained at least 80 percent positive legitimacy scores for all parties in this
study—loyalist, unionist, nationalist and republican.
The Irish News also treated all groups under study as “mostly legitimate” in most of its
articles. The SDLP and the DUP both scored highest in legitimacy, respectively, while Sinn Fein
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and the PUP, respectively, scored lowest. Yet in at least 85 percent of articles that contained one
of the groups under study, the parties scored in the positive range of legitimacy (either “probably
legitimate” or “definitely legitimate”).
The Belfast Telegraph, like the other three publications, treated all four parties as either
“probably legitimate” or “definitely legitimate” in most of the article sample. Sinn Fein,
however, scored considerably lower in legitimacy than the other three parties. The Ulster News
Letter treated three of the four parties under study as either “mostly” or “definitely legitimate” in
most of the articles that contained the parties. Sinn Fein, the exception, was portrayed as either
“probably not legitimate” or “definitely not legitimate” in the majority of articles that contained
the party.
Combat displayed the greatest variation in legitimacy scores. The loyalist publication
depicted both the SDLP and Sinn Fein most frequently as “not legitimate.” The unionist DUP
received 100 percent positivity scores (fifty percent “definitely legitimate” and fifty percent
“probably legitimate”) while the loyalist PUP was treated with the most legitimacy.

The Emotions

As discussed in Chapter Three, emotions are among the important drivers of political
behavior. Emotions such as fear and anxiety can trigger the intense “fight-or-flight” behavior
while emotions like rage and hate can drive people to destroy the object of these negative
emotions. Yet, positive emotions, such as love and adoration can elicit approach behaviors (such
247

as embrace) and can help to neutralize the more negative emotions.
17
This next section explores
emotions associated with the four political parties within the five publications’ articles.
As explained in Chapter Three, this research divided the emotions into four categories. In
the first category, positive emotions included either low-intensity emotions such as acceptance or
liking and high-intensity emotions such as pride or adoration. The second category included low-
intensity negative emotions, such as upset, irritation, mild/moderate anger, contempt or disdain,
and high-intensity emotions, such as rage, outrage, disgust or hate. The third category coded for
the presence of the negative distancing emotions, either fear or anxiety. And the final category
coded for the presence of the positive emotion, hope.
Like in the framing construction, three primary forces appeared to contribute to the
emotions that appeared in the frames. These forces included journalistic norms and structures,
group identity and ideology, and the assessments and emotions of the journalists. But group
identity appeared to also trigger a fourth force—the forces of social psychology, such as
intergroup and intra-group emotions, which connect to the party’s frames and appraisals of “the
other.” Generally speaking, the journalistic norms and structures and journalists’ judgments and
emotions acted to temper the identity and ideology of the daily newspapers. Simultaneously,
however, these same norms and structures also worked to temper journalists’ judgments and
emotions. Thus the emotions in the newspaper frames revealed a seemingly tempered version of
the emotions expressed by the journalists and political parties: While emotions were still present,
they appeared less intense and milder than the emotions expressed in Chapter Four and Chapter
Five. This next subsection discusses these emotions, beginning with anger and acceptance.

17
For a more robust discussion and citations, please see Chapter Three
248

Anger and Acceptance

The SDLP: Of the four parties in the study, the nationalist SDLP was associated with the highest
percentages of positive emotions, such as acceptance, pride or hope, and the lowest percentages
of negative emotions, such as anger, rage, hate, or fear (See Table 11). Given the high praise and
affect expressed by interviewed journalists, this met expectations. However, the professional
considerations of journalism appeared to temper the pride and adoration that some journalists
had expressed, particularly for the SDLP leader, John Hume. The role of group identity and its
related forces also appeared as factors. Most articles including the SDLP (82 percent) in both the
nationalist Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph, for example, contained the low-intensity
positive emotion acceptance (or liking) toward that party. In the unionist Ulster News Letter,
however, that number was slightly lower—72 percent. And although high intensity positive
emotions, such as pride or adoration, were rarely expressed toward any party in the newspapers,
they were more frequently associated with the SDLP than other parties. In the Irish News, for
example, these intense, positive emotions were expressed toward the SDLP in ten percent of
articles that included the party. Articles in the Belfast Telegraph, and the Ulster News Letter,
however, contained these emotions less frequently, in four and two percent (respectively) of
articles containing the party.
Similarly, negative, anger-related emotions were infrequently expressed toward the
SDLP in any of the newspapers. And they appeared less often in the nationalist newspaper than
in the unionist ones: In the Irish News, only six percent of articles containing the SDLP
associated low-intensity negative emotions (such as upset, irritation, disdain, anger, or contempt)
with the party, while in the unionist Ulster News Letter, 18 percent of articles expressed this
249

level of negative emotion toward the party. The negative emotions expressed in the Belfast
Telegraph toward the SDLP fell in between the nationalist and unionist newspapers with10
percent of articles that included the party. In the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph,
very intense, negative emotions such as rage, disgust or hate were even more rarely expressed
toward the SDLP, occurring in only one and .49 percent of articles, respectively. In the Irish
News, these types of negative emotions never arose in association with the SDLP.
Because the paramilitary-related publications do not share the same norms and structures
as the traditional newspapers, their emotional content was expected to more directly reflect their
constituencies. The findings somewhat met expectations, as the emotional content of the frames
in paramilitary-related publications largely mirrored one another. For example, in An Phoblacht,
65 percent of articles including the SDLP expressed acceptance toward the party while in
Combat, only 31 percent of articles that included the SDLP expressed acceptance toward the
party. Also, one article in An Phoblacht (two percent of articles containing the SDLP) expressed
high-intensity positive emotions (pride, adoration) while Combat never contained this kind of
emotion associated with the nationalist party.
On the negative side, a similar mirror arose. In An Phoblacht, 23 percent of articles
containing the SDLP expressed low-intensity negative emotions (upset, anger, irritation, disdain,
contempt), and two percent contained high-intensity negative emotions (rage, outrage, hate,
disgust) toward the SDLP, for a total negative (anger-related) emotion frequency of 24 percent.
But in Combat, 54 percent of articles contained the low-intensity negative emotions, and fifteen
percent contained high intensity negative emotions toward the SDLP, for a total negative
emotion frequency of 79 percent. Both publications infrequently included the SDLP in their
articles.
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Table 11: SDLP & Emotions

Rage, Hate,
Disgust,
Outrage, etc.
Upset,
Irritation,
Contempt,
Disdain, Anger
Can’t tell
Acceptance or
Liking
Adoration or
Intense
Pride
Irish News 0 % 6 % 2 % 82 % 10 %
Belfast
Telegraph
<.5 % 10 % 3 % 82 % 4 %
Ulster
News Letter
1 % 18 % 7 % 72 % 2 %
An
Phoblacht
2 % 23 % 8 % 65 % 2 %
Combat 15 % 54 % 0 % 31 % 0 %
χ² = 104.35; p < .001

Sinn Fein & Emotions: In contrast to the emotions expressed toward the SDLP, the
party with the least amount of positive emotions (acceptance, pride or adoration) and the greatest
amount of negative, anger-related emotions was Sinn Fein (See Table 12). And reflective of the
influence of group identity and its related ideology, judgment and emotions, this was particularly
true of the unionist and loyalist publications. In the unionist Ulster News Letter, for example, 66
percent of articles including Sinn Fein contained negative anger-related emotions. Fifteen
percent were very intense emotions such as rage, disgust, or hate but most (51 percent) were low-
intensity emotions such as upset, irritation, disdain or contempt. The 29 percent positive
emotions associated with Sinn Fein were all low-intensity emotions such as acceptance. In the
Belfast Telegraph, over half of articles (55 percent) that included Sinn Fein expressed a negative,
anger-related emotion toward the party. While 10 percent were high-intensity, 45 percent were
251

low intensity negative emotions. Similar to the Ulster News Letter, the positive emotions
expressed toward Sinn Fein were all low-intensity emotions such as acceptance.
The most dramatic anger-related emotions were in the loyalist publication, Combat. As
loyalists expressed very negative appraisals toward Sinn Fein and as their publication contained
no moderating influences of traditional journalism, this too, met expectations. In this publication,
nearly all of the articles—92 percent—that included Sinn Fein contained anger-related emotions.
The highest percentage (47) was high-intensity while 45 percent were lower-intensity negative
emotions. Only eight percent of articles containing Sinn Fein contained positive emotions. All of
the latter articles were low-intensity acceptance rather than high intensity emotions such as pride
or adoration.
On the nationalist and republican side, a near dichotomy to the unionist and loyalist
publications appears, first between the nationalist (Irish News) and unionist (Ulster News Letter)
papers and secondly between the republican (An Phoblacht) and loyalist (Combat) publications.
In the nationalist Irish News, for example, positive emotions are associated with Sinn Fein for 65
percent of the articles including the party. While very few articles (2 percent) expressed high
intensity positive emotions (pride and adoration), most (61 percent) contained low-intensity
positive emotions. The nationalist newspaper frames expressed negative emotions less frequently
(31 percent of articles containing Sinn Fein) toward the party. While a few (5 percent) contained
high-intensity negative emotions (rage, disgust, hate), most (26 percent) were lower-intensity
anger-related emotions directed at Sinn Fein. Similarly, the emotions in An Phoblacht’s frames
were mirror opposites of the frames in Combat. An Phoblacht’s frames overwhelmingly
contained positive emotions (97 percent) rather than anger-related negative emotions (.35
percent) toward the party. In fact, only one article in An Phoblacht contained anger-related
252

emotions toward Sinn Fein (.35 percent) while 90 percent expressed low-intensity positive
emotions (acceptance or liking), and eight percent expressed high-intensity positive emotions
such as pride or adoration.
Table 12: Sinn Fein & Emotions
Sinn Fein
Emotions
Rage, Hate,
Disgust,
Outrage, etc.
Upset,
Irritation,
Contempt,
Disdain, Anger
Can’t tell
Acceptance or
Liking
Adoration or
Intense
Pride
Irish News 5 % 26 % 5 % 61 % 2 %
Belfast
Telegraph
10 % 45 % 7 % 38 % 0 %
Ulster
News Letter
15 % 51 % 5 % 29 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht
0 % <.5 % 2 % 90 % 8 %
Combat 47 % 45 % 0 % 8 % 0 %
χ² = 481.33; p < .001

The DUP & Emotions: The emotions expressed toward the unionist DUP also varied according
to the publications’ group identity and ideology, showing the evidence of intra-group and
intergroup emotions (See Table 13). In the nationalist newspaper, the Irish News, for example,
the emotions within the frames were split nearly down the middle, with 48 percent negative
(anger-related) emotions and 47 percent positive emotions (acceptance or liking) directed toward
the party. These contrasted with the unionist newspapers, the Belfast Telegraph and the Ulster
News Letter which overwhelmingly contained the positive emotions, such as acceptance (79 and
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80 percent) in the articles that included the party. The negative emotions associated with the
DUP comprised 16 percent and 11 percent of the articles, respectively, that included the party.
Across all newspapers, the emotions—both positive and negative—expressed toward the
DUP were low-intensity. In the Irish News, for example, 44 percent of articles that included the
DUP, expressed acceptance (or liking) while 43 percent expressed low-intensity, anger-related
emotions. Only seven percent of articles including the DUP expressed very intense negative
emotions such as rage, disgust or hate toward the party, and only two percent of articles
expressed high-intensity positive emotions such as adoration and pride toward the party. In the
Ulster News Letter and Belfast Telegraph, for example, 78 and 77 percent of emotions
(respectively) expressed toward the DUP were low-intensity positive emotions such as
acceptance or liking while 11 and 16 percent, respectively, were low-intensity negative emotions
(irritation, upset, disdain, contempt). In the Ulster News Letter, no articles expressed high
intensity negative anger-related emotions, and only two percent expressed high intensity positive
emotions toward the DUP, while in the Belfast Telegraph, only one article expressed high-
intensity, negative emotions (e.g. rage, outrage, disgust or hate) toward the DUP, and one percent
(three articles) expressed high-intensity, positive emotions such as pride or adoration.
The emotions conveyed toward the DUP in the paramilitary-related publications differed
both from the newspapers and also from one another. Both paramilitary-related publications
expressed overwhelmingly negative emotions toward the DUP. But in the republican An
Phoblacht, all of the emotions directed at the DUP—both positive and negative—were low-
intensity emotions. Most articles that included the DUP (75 percent) expressed low-intensity
negative emotions such as upset, irritation, disdain while thirteen percent expressed low intensity
positive emotions such as acceptance. In the loyalist publication, Combat, however, twenty
254

percent of articles including the DUP contained intense negative emotions such as rage, outrage,
disgust or hate directed toward the party, while eighty percent of articles including the DUP
contained low intensity anger-related emotions. Combat’s articles contained no positive
emotions toward the party.
18

Table 13: DUP & Emotions
DUP
Emotions
Rage, Hate,
Disgust,
Outrage, etc.
Upset,
Irritation,
Contempt,
Disdain, Anger
Can’t tell
Acceptance
or Liking
Adoration or
Intense Pride
Irish News 5 % 43 % 6 % 44 % 2 %
Belfast
Telegraph
>.5 % 16 % 5 % 77 % 1 %
Ulster
News Letter
0 % 11 % 8 % 78 % 2 %
An
Phoblacht
0 % 75 % 12.5 % 12.5 % 0 %
Combat 20 % 80 % 0 % 0 % 0 %
χ² = 133.10; p < .001

The PUP and Emotions: Given the journalists’ express negative emotions (ostensibly disdain)
toward loyalists in general, another surprising find in the research related to the emotions in the
articles directed at the PUP, one of two parties that represented loyalists (See Table 14). While
some negative emotions were present in the newspaper frames, they were much less frequent
than positive emotions. The nationalist Irish News, for example, with a readership of mostly
Catholics, was expected to express deep negative emotions toward the loyalist party. But the

18
Combat only included the DUP in five articles.
255

newspaper contained mostly positive emotions (70 percent) toward the PUP in articles that
included the party and only nineteen percent negative emotions directed at the party. Among the
positive emotions, all were low-intensity (such as acceptance or liking). Most negative emotions
(17 of all articles including the PUP) were also low-intensity negative emotions (such as
irritation, upset, contempt or disdain) while one article (two percent) expressed high intensity
negative emotions such as rage, disgust or hate toward the PUP. Eleven percent of articles
contained indiscernible emotions.
The unionist newspapers, the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph, also mostly
contained positive emotions (74 and 75 percent of articles including the party) toward the PUP.
Most were low-intensity emotions (68 and 73 percent, respectively). But three Ulster News
Letter articles (six percent) expressed high-intensity positive emotions (adoration or pride)
toward the PUP, while in the Belfast Telegraph only one article expressed this level of positive
emotion. In both unionist papers, 13 percent and 16 percent of articles that included the PUP
expressed low-intensity negative emotions (such as irritation, upset, contempt or disdain) toward
the party.
In the paramilitary-related publications, the emotions diverged more dramatically. As
expected, the articles in the loyalist publication, Combat, contained only positive emotions
associated with the PUP. Most of Combat’s articles (82 percent) including the PUP expressed
low-intensity positive emotions such as acceptance or liking, while a smaller percentage (18
percent) expressed very intense positive emotions such as adoration and pride. An Phoblacht,
however, was the only publication that contained more negative than positive emotions directed
toward the PUP. In An Phoblacht, 45 percent of articles that included the PUP expressed low-
256

intensity negative emotions toward the party, 45 percent expressed low-intensity positive
emotions, and nine percent expressed high-intensity negative emotions.

Table 14: PUP & Emotions

Rage, Hate,
Disgust,
Outrage, etc.
Upset,
Irritation,
Contempt,
Disdain, Anger
Can’t tell
Acceptance
or Liking
Adoration or
Intense Pride
Irish News 2 % 17 % 11 % 70 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph
0 % 16 % 8 % 73 % 2 %
Ulster News
Letter
0 % 13 % 13 % 68 % 6 %
An
Phoblacht
9 % 45 % 0 % 45 % 0 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 0 % 82 % 8 %
χ² = 45.21; p < .001

Hopes and Fears

Most interviewed journalists expressed hope for their community and invested hope in
particular leaders and parties, primarily John Hume and the SDLP. But at times, they also
expressed hope in Sinn Fein, its leaders, and the PUP and its leaders.
19
Some of the interviewed
journalists also expressed fear toward particular groups, mostly experienced during the height of
the conflict, rather than during the peace process. Journalists who expressed fear specifically
feared loyalists, not republicans, according to interviews. However, the emotions in the

19
Note to author, if time, check if can find quote about PUP’s Hutchinson from EM1
257

newspaper frames did not comport with this expression, which may have resulted from two
factors: the practice of separating the paramilitaries from the parties that represent their members
and from the timeframe during which data was gathered (the peace process). This next
subsection discusses the overall hope and fear found in the publications’ frames, followed by the
hope and fear associated with the political parties.

Hope and Fear in Northern Ireland

Despite expressions of hope from journalists, overall, most of the media frames contained
more fear than hope, which likely resulted from the journalistic practice of focusing on negative,
dramatic or conflict-related events (see Figure 20). More than forty percent of articles in both the
nationalist Irish News (44 percent) and the unionist-leaning Belfast Telegraph (45 percent), for
example, contained fear, while less than twenty percent contained hope (19 and 13 percent,
respectively). In the unionist Ulster News Letter, an even greater percentage—59 percent—
contained fear, while 13 percent contained hope. The republican An Phoblacht, while containing
considerable fear (46 percent), also contained a healthy dose of hope (22 percent), more than the
newspapers. Combat’s article frames were the most fearful, with 69 percent of articles containing
fear. But the publication also contained more hope—23 percent of articles—than the other
publications. The paramilitary-related publications’ higher percentages of emotions, particularly
hope, were likely due to two factors. First, both publications were freer to express these emotions
without the professional pressures to remain flat and neutral. Secondly, the two communities
258

served by these publications—the loyalists and republicans—both advocated for peace and
ultimately signed on to the peace agreement.
Figure 20: Hope and Fear in Northern Ireland

A significant portion of most publications also contained neither hope nor fear. Among
the newspapers, for example, 38 percent of the Irish News’ articles, 42 percent of Belfast
Telegraph articles, and 28 percent of News Letter articles contained neither emotion. Similarly,
33 percent of An Phoblacht’s articles contained neither hope nor fear. Combat contained the
smallest percentage of articles (nine percent) that featured neither emotion.

0
10
20
30
40
50
60
70
80
Irish News Belfast
Telegraph
Ulster
News
Letter
An
Phoblacht
Combat
Hope
Neither Hope Nor Fear
Fear
259

The Parties and Hopes and Fears

The SDLP, Hope & Fear: As with the other emotions, the hope and fear expressed toward some
parties conformed to expectations, based upon the interviews, the identity-divisions in the
publications, and past research. For example, while hope and fear associated with the political
parties varied across newspapers, the most hope and the least fear was expressed in relation to
the journalist-favored SDLP (See Table 15). In the Irish News, for example, 42 percent of
articles containing the SDLP expressed hope related to the group (hope that the party will do
something beneficial for the community) while only two percent of articles including SDLP
contained fear related to the group (fear that the group will do something harmful to the
community), and 56 percent contained neither hope nor fear related to the party.
In contrast, the Ulster News Letter’s frames contained hope associated with the SDLP in
16 percent and fear in nine percent of articles including the party. The vast majority (75 percent)
of Ulster News Letter articles that included the SDLP contained neither hope nor fear associated
with the party. The Belfast Telegraph again situated its scores between the nationalist Irish News
and the strongly unionist Ulster News Letter. Twenty nine percent of its articles including the
SDLP contained hope while only four percent contained fear associated with the party. The
majority (68 percent), again, contained neither hope nor fear.
The articles including the SDLP in the republican An Phoblacht, like the unionist Ulster
News Letter, contained little hope (11 percent) or fear (6 percent) associated with the SDLP, with
the vast majority (83 percent) containing neither emotion. Only the loyalist Combat contained a
high degree of fear associated with the SDLP; 46 percent of articles including the party
260

contained fear associated with it, 46 percent contained neither hope nor fear and 8 percent
contained hope (with only one article in the latter category).

Table 15: SDLP, Hope & Fear
SDLP, Hope and
Fear
Hope Neither Hope Nor Fear Fear
Irish News 42 % 56 % 2 %
Belfast Telegraph 29 % 68 % 4 %
Ulster News Letter 16 % 75 % 9 %
An Phoblacht 11 % 83 % 6 %
Combat 8 % 46 % 46 %
χ² = 91.32; p < .001

Sinn Fein, Hope & Fear: Some findings of hope and fear related to Sinn Fein were somewhat
surprising. For example, most newspaper articles including Sinn Fein contained neither fear nor
hope associated with the party (See Table 16), which may be partly explained by the time
frame—a time of greater peace—and partly explained by the norms and structures of journalism.
However, as expected, the newspapers’ emotions of hope and fear divided along their ideological
and identity-related lines. For example, in both the Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph, 65
percent of articles that included Sinn Fein contained neither emotion in relation to the party. In
the nationalist Irish News, only 17 percent contained hope, and 18 percent contained fear. But the
Belfast Telegraph featured more fear (31 percent) and very little hope (four percent) associated
with the party. Of the newspapers, the unionists Ulster News Letter contained the greatest
261

percentage of fear (48 percent) and least amount of hope (2 percent) in the articles containing
Sinn Fein. But, similar to the other newspapers, most articles in the News Letter that included
Sinn Fein contained neither hope nor fear (51 percent). Even in the republicans’ An Phoblacht,
most articles that included Sinn Fein contained neither hope nor fear (70 percent) associated with
the party, while thirty percent of articles including the party contained hope associated with the
party, and less than .5 percent contained fear. As with the other variables, Combat offered the
exception to the patterns. In the loyalist publication, 76 percent of articles including Sinn Fein
associated fear with the party, and two percent (one article) contained hope. The remainder, 22
percent, contained neither hope nor fear.
Table 16: Sinn Fein, Hope & Fear

Sinn Fein,
Hope and Fear
Hope Neither Hope Nor Fear Fear
Irish News 17 % 65 % 18 %
Belfast Telegraph 4 % 65 % 31 %
Ulster News Letter 2 % 51 % 48 %
An Phoblacht 30 % 70 % >.5 %
Combat 2 % 22 % 76 %
χ² = 332.26; p < .001

The DUP, Hope & Fear: Most newspaper articles including the DUP also contained little hope
or fear associated with the party (See Table 17). In the unionist newspapers, the Ulster News
Letter and the Belfast Telegraph, 85 percent of articles including the DUP contained neither
emotion . The Ulster News Letter contained hope associated with the DUP in 10 percent and fear
in five percent of articles including the party, while the Belfast Telegraph contained fear
262

associated with the DUP in nine percent and hope in six percent of articles including the party.
Similarly, the nationalist newspaper, the Irish News contained neither emotion in the majority of
articles including the DUP (63 percent). However, while the Irish News contained similar
percentage of hope associated with the party (seven percent), it featured considerably more fear
associated with the DUP (30 percent of articles that included the party) than the unionist
newspapers. This again reflects the combined influence of the journalistic institution’s norms and
structures and the role of group identity and its related factors.
Similar to the other emotions, the paramilitary-related publications again offered a
contrast. In An Phoblacht, most of the articles (58 percent) that included the DUP expressed fear
about the party, no articles expressed hope, and 42 percent expressed neither emotion. In
Combat, one article (twenty percent of articles including the DUP) contained fear related to the
party, and four articles (eighty percent) contained neither hope nor fear. While the loyalist
community had parted ways with the DUP, which could explain some of the emotions, the
number of articles containing the DUP was so minimal that it is difficult to analyze.

Table 17: DUP, Hope & Fear

DUP, Hope and Fear Hope Neither Hope Nor Fear Fear
Irish News 7 % 63 % 30 %
Belfast Telegraph 6 % 85 % 9 %
Ulster News Letter 10 % 85 % 5 %
An Phoblacht 0 % 42 % 58 %
Combat 0 % 80 % 20 %
χ² = 83.72; p < .001

263

The PUP, Hope & Fear: Similar to other parties, most frames containing the PUP associated
neither hope nor fear with the party, with the remainder of articles split between the emotions
(See Table 18). For example, in the Belfast Telegraph, 82 percent of articles that included the
PUP contained neither hope nor fear with the party. But the remaining 18 percent of articles were
nearly evenly divided, with eight percent associating hope and 10 percent expressing fear toward
the party. Although the percentages varied considerably, a similar pattern continued in both the
nationalist Irish News and the unionist Ulster News Letter. In the Irish News, for example, 57
percent of articles associate neither hope nor fear with the PUP but the remaining 44 percent
were exactly divided—22 percent of articles associating hope and 22 percent expressing fear
toward the party. In the News Letter, 65 percent of articles contained neither emotion, and the
remaining 35 percent were closely divided between the emotions (19 percent expressing fear and
17 percent expressing hope toward the party).
Table 18: PUP, Hope & Fear

PUP, Hope and Fear Hope Neither Hope Nor Fear Fear
Irish News 22 % 57 % 22 %
Belfast Telegraph 8 % 82 % 10 %
Ulster News Letter 17 % 65 % 19 %
An Phoblacht 0 % 36 % 64 %
Combat 54 % 43 % 3 %
χ² = 40.02; p < .001

264

Hostility or Respect

As discussed in Chapter Three, the political communication literature has identified the
“conflict frame” as a frequently-used and key means of conceptualizing politics. In this frame,
communicators emphasize disagreement and conflict. But because conflict frames may be used
to describe a wide range of exchanges—from disagreements to genocides—this research sought
to further delineate and distinguish the degree of conflict in the frames. Similar to the “us-versus-
them” frame, getting to the degree of hostility within a conflict may assist analysis, particularly
in wars or other types of Combative situations. This research used five codes to distinguish levels
of hostility or respect within conflict situations, coding each article as follows: A) Extreme
hostility/conflict such as multiple destructive acts, such as bombs and assassinations (-2); B)
Moderate hostility/conflict such as physical or verbal assaults (-1); C) Neither hostility nor
respect (0); D) Non-hostility/or respectful disagreement, particularly for a common end (1); and
E) Strong respect, agreement or consensus (2). Thus, more negative numbers indicated greater
hostility while more positive numbers indicated greater respect.
Past research indicated that journalism tends to focus on conflict and divisions (Bennett
2007), but interviews with journalists suggest that their own hopes for peace might have
decreased the use of this practice. The findings in this category, however, indicate that the
practice of emphasizing conflict continued, which may have resulted from a preponderance of
conflict-filled events. Most articles across the publications under study emphasized moderate
levels of conflict and hostility during this time period (See Figure 21). More than forty percent of
the articles in the Irish News, the Belfast Telegraph and the Ulster News Letter, for example,
265

emphasized moderate hostility (45, 43 and 49 percent, respectively). In the paramilitary-related
publications, Combat featured the highest percentage of moderate conflict frames (56 percent)
while An Phoblacht contained just less than the other publications (39 percent).
Figure 21: Hostility or Respect

However, reflecting the hopes of journalists, the second most frequent frame in the
publications emphasized non-hostility, which features a healthy dose of respect, even when there
was disagreement, and an emphasis on possible agreement. In two newspapers, the Irish News
and the Belfast Telegraph, 30 percent of articles emphasized this level of respect or non-hostility.
In the Ulster News Letter and the republican publication, An Phoblacht, 32 percent of articles
used this emphasis. The loyalist publication, Combat, however, only contained 21 percent of
articles that emphasized respect and possible agreement. Many articles also featured a moderate
amount of articles that featured neither hostility nor respect. Two newspapers—the Irish News
0
10
20
30
40
50
60
Irish
News
Belfast
Telegraph
Ulster
News
Letter
An
Phoblacht
Combat
Extremely Hostile
Conflict & Hostility
Neither Hostile nor
Respectful
Respectful Disagreement
or non-hostility
Strong Respect and
Agreement
266

and the Belfast Telegraph—and the republican An Phoblacht each contained over twenty percent
of articles with this frame (22, 24, and 26 percent respectively). The Ulster News Letter and
Combat used this framing less frequently (17 and 14 percent, respectively).
Very few articles contained either extreme hostility or strong respect and agreement. This
likely reflected the real environment, which was changing, no longer marked by extreme
violence but neither did it feature an abundance of strong respect between the communities or
their leaders. The newspapers each contained less than .5 percent of articles with extreme
hostility, and the paramilitary-related publications contained slightly higher frequencies with
extreme hostility: two percent and seven percent in An Phoblacht and Combat, respectively.
Strong respect and consensus were also rarely present. In the Irish News, the Belfast Telegraph,
and Combat, three percent of articles emphasized strong respect and agreement. In the Ulster
News Letter and An Phoblacht, one percent and.33 percent of articles, respectively, used this
emphasis.
Political Futures: Dealing with the Parties

The final variable in this study pertained to either overt or latent suggestions about the
appropriate ways of relating to the four political parties and their members using a seven-level
scale. The scale includes (from negative to positive) suggestions that the group members should
be: 1) Killed, tortured or annihilated (-3); 2) Jailed or punished with loss of rights (-2); 3)
Shunned, censured and excluded (-1); 4) Can’t tell (0); 5) Negotiated with, invited, or included
(1); 6) Actively engaged for problem-solving and other important activities (2); 7) Exalted or
honored (3). The following subsection describes the results from these codes.
267

Dealing with the SDLP: As in the other category scores, in the three daily newspapers, the
SDLP received the greatest percentages of positive scores, of which the highest frequencies
occurred in the nationalist newspaper, the Irish News (see Table 19). In the Irish News, 96
percent of articles that contained the SDLP suggested positive ways of relating to the party and
its members, with most of those articles, 59 percent, suggesting active engagement or problem-
solving with the party, 36 percent suggesting inclusion or diplomacy and one percent suggesting
honoring or exalting the party. Only one percent of articles suggested excluding, shunning or
censuring the party or its members, and two percent were unclear.
While the Ulster News Letter also overwhelmingly suggested positive relations with the
SDLP and its members (88 percent positive), the unionist newspaper less frequently suggested
active engagement and problem-solving with the party (31 percent) and mostly (56 percent)
suggested inclusion or diplomacy. One article (.56 percent) suggested exalting or honoring the
party or its members, five percent suggested excluding or shunning the party, and seven percent
were indiscernible.
Similar to its scores for other variables, the Belfast Telegraph’s values for SDLP relations
situated between the scores of the Irish News and the Ulster News Letter. Most frequently (53
percent), the article frames suggested inclusion or diplomacy with the SDLP or its members
while secondly (43 percent) suggested active engagement and problem-solving with the party
and members. One article (.5 percent) suggested honoring or exalting the party or its members;
one percent of articles suggested exclusion, shunning or censure, while two percent were
indiscernible.
268

The paramilitary related publications offered a contrast with suggested SDLP relations.
The republican publication, An Phoblacht, for example, most frequently (63 percent) suggested
inclusion or diplomacy with the party and secondly, suggested active engagement (27 percent).
Only eight percent of An Phoblacht articles that included the SDLP suggested exclusion, censure
or shunning, and two percent of articles were indiscernible. But in contrast, Combat most
frequently (54 percent) suggested excluding, shunning or censuring the SDLP or its members
and secondarily suggested (31 percent) inclusion or diplomacy. Eight percent suggested honoring
the party or its members, and eight percent were unclear.

Table 19: Future Relationships & How to Deal with the SDLP

Kill,
Torture,
Annihilate
Jail,
Punish,
Lose Rights
Shun,
Censure,
Exclude
Can’t
Tell
Include,
Invite,
Diplomacy
Actively
Engage to
Solve
Problems
Exalt or
Honor
Irish
News 0 % 0 % 1 % 2 % 36 % 59 % 1 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % 0 % 1 % 2 % 53 % 43 % >.5
Ulster
News
Letter 0 % 0 % 7 % 2 % 65 % 26 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 0 % 2 % 8 % 63 % 27 % 0 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 54 % 8 % 31 % 8 % 0 %
χ² = 145.89; p < .001

Dealing with the DUP: With respect to relations with the DUP, newspaper articles
predominantly and consistently suggested inclusion or diplomacy (See Table 20). In the Irish
269

News, the Belfast Telegraph and the Ulster News Letter, this suggested relation appeared in 69,
72 and 64 percent of articles, respectively, that included the DUP. The newspapers were also
consistent in their rare suggestion of excluding, shunning or censuring the DUP. The Ulster
News Letter suggested this in five percent of articles; the Belfast Telegraph in 1 percent, and the
Irish News in eight percent of articles including the DUP. However, greater variation between
the unionist and nationalist newspapers emerged on another level: The two unionist newspapers,
the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph, frequently (29 and 23 percent, respectively)
implied actively engaging or problem-solving with the unionist party while the nationalist Irish
News rarely (nine percent) suggested this way of relating to the DUP.
The paramilitary-related publications featured somewhat greater variation. In the
republican An Phoblacht, the majority of articles (55 percent) suggested inclusion or diplomacy
with the DUP, while 41 percent suggested exclusion, shunning or censure. Combat, the loyalist
publication, instead, mostly (60 percent) suggested exclusion, shunning or censure, while 40
percent of articles suggested inclusion and diplomacy.

270

Table 20: Future Relationships & How to Deal with the DUP

Kill,
Torture,
Annihilate
Jail,
Punish,
Lose
Rights
Shun,
Censure,
Exclude
Can’t
Tell
Include,
Invite,
Diplomacy
Actively
Engage to
Solve
Problems
Exalt or
Honor
Irish
News 0 % 0 % 8 % 13 % 69 % 9 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % 0 % 1 % 4 % 72 % 23 % 0 %
Ulster
News
Letter 0 % 0 % 4 % 3 % 64 % 29 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 0 % 41 % 5 % 55 % 0 % 0 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 60 % 0 % 40 % 0 % 0 %
χ² = 118.55; p < .001

Dealing with Sinn Fein: Similar to the other variables, relations with Sinn Fein offered the
biggest contrast in the publications (See Table 21), divided by group identity and ideology. The
nationalist newspaper, the Irish News, for example, predominantly (61 percent) suggested
inclusion or diplomacy with the party, while the unionist Ulster News Letter suggested this less
frequently (40 percent).The unionist paper more frequently suggested exclusion, shunning or
censure (45 percent), which was rarely (14 percent) suggested in the Irish News. The Belfast
Telegraph’s suggested relations with Sinn Fein again situated in between those of the Irish News
and the Ulster News Letter. Like the Irish News, it most frequently (56 percent) suggested
inclusion and diplomacy while suggesting exclusion, shunning or censure less frequently (29
percent).
271

The newspapers also diverged on whether to actively engage Sinn Fein in problem
solving or other important issues. Here, the Irish News was the sole newspaper that implied this
level of engagement for any significant portion of articles (19 percent). The unionist newspapers,
on the other hand, suggested actively engaging the party in only three percent (Ulster News
Letter) and seven percent (Belfast Telegraph) of articles that included Sinn Fein. The newspapers
rarely (less than two percent) suggested extreme means of dealing with Sinn Fein such as jailing
its members. And no articles suggested either honoring the party or death for its members.
The paramilitary publications, however, offered more dramatic variation in relations with
Sinn Fein. An Phoblacht most frequently (56 percent) suggested active engagement and
problem-solving with Sinn Fein and secondly (42 percent) suggested inclusion, while Combat
most frequently (69 percent) suggested exclusion and shunning and secondly (16 percent),
inclusion and diplomacy. The loyalist publication was unique in its occasional suggestion (eight
percent of articles containing Sinn Fein) of torturing, killing or annihilating the group or group
members. Combat never implied punishment by jailing or loss of rights as the way of dealing
with Sinn Fein.

272

Table 21: Future Relationships & How to Deal with the Sinn Fein

Kill,
Torture,
Annihilate
Jail,
Punish,
Lose
Rights
Shun,
Censure,
Exclude
Can’t
Tell
Include,
Invite,
Diplomacy
Actively
Engage to
Solve
Problems
Exalt or
Honor
Irish
News 0 % 0 % 8 % 13 % 69 % 9 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % 1 % 29 % 7 % 56 % 7 % 0 %
Ulster
News
Letter 0 % 2 % 45 % 11 % 40 % 3 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 0 % 0 % 2 % 42 % 56 % <.5 %
Combat 8 % 0 % 69 % 8 % 16 % 0 % 0 %
χ² = 618.13; p < .001

Dealing with the PUP: All three newspapers consistently (more than 84 percent of articles that
included the party) suggested positive ways of relating to the loyalist PUP with some variation
on whether to primarily include and negotiate with the party or to actively engage and problem-
solve with the party (See Table 22). For this variable, the normally divergent nationalist and
unionist papers—the Irish News and the Ulster News Letter—converged much more closely. For
example, in the nationalist Irish News and Ulster News Letter, 61 and 66 percent (respectively)
of articles containing the PUP suggested inclusion or diplomacy; 24 and 26 percent
(respectively) suggested active engagement and problem-solving with the loyalist party, and
eleven and seven percent of articles, respectively, suggested exclusion, shunning or censure.
The Belfast Telegraph’s articles reflected a somewhat similar sentiment, but with a
higher percentage of articles (73 percent) suggesting inclusion or diplomacy, while a smaller
273

percentage (12 percent) suggested active engagement and problem-solving. Six percent of
articles suggested exclusion, shunning or censure, and two percent suggested punishment such as
imprisonment.
In the republican An Phoblacht, the PUP received slightly lower marks. While the bulk of
articles (45 percent) were indecisive, 36 percent of articles suggested inclusion and diplomacy
with the party, while nine percent suggested exclusion, and another nine percent suggested more
severe action such as imprisonment. In contrast, the loyalist Combat articles uniformly suggested
positive relations with the PUP with the largest percentage (74 percent) suggesting active
engagement/problem solving and the remainder (26 percent) suggesting inclusion or diplomacy.

Table 22: Future Relationships & How to Deal with the PUP

Kill,
Torture,
Annihilate
Jail,
Punish,
Lose
Rights
Shun,
Censure,
Exclude
Can’t
Tell
Include,
Invite,
Diplomacy
Actively
Engage to
Solve
Problems
Exalt or
Honor
Irish
News 0 % 0 % 11 % 6 % 60 % 23 % 0 %
Belfast
Telegraph 0 % 2 % 6 % 6 % 73 % 12 % 0 %
Ulster
News
Letter 0 % 0 % 7 % 2 % 65 % 26 % 0 %
An
Phoblacht 0 % 9 % 9 % 45 % 36 % 0 % 0 %
Combat 0 % 0 % 0 % 0 % 26 % 74 % 0 %
χ² = 86.89; p < .001

274

Conclusion
As hypothesized in Chapter One, quantification of several frames and their component
variables revealed the convergence of several factors that contributed to their construction. These
factors include the influence of group identity, ideology, intragroup and intergroup psychological
forces, the judgments and emotions of journalists, and the norms and structures of the journalistic
institution. First, by comparing the framing across publications, which each served a particular
community—nationalist, republican, unionist, unionist-leaning, and loyalist—the influence of
group identity, ideology, intragroup and intergroup emotions became evident. The considerable
differences in these variables’ means and standard deviations that appeared across each
publication suggest the influence of their respective communities. For example, the unionist
Ulster News Letter and loyalist Combat used more negative situation framing than their
“counterparts,” the nationalist Irish News and An Phoblacht. The effect was more pronounced
with the framing of “the other,” with Sinn Fein providing the starkest contrast. Its frame scores
were dramatically lower in the unionist and loyalist publications than in the nationalist and
republican publications. While not as pronounced, this variation was observed other parties as
well. For instance, the unionist newspapers used more positive framing for the DUP than did the
nationalist, republican and loyalist publications.
However, by making two other comparisons—first comparing the scores in the
professional newspapers with those of the paramilitary publications and secondly, the scores of
the newspapers with the parties’ frames—evidence of another important factor emerged. With
milder, less intense values across all variables, the institution of journalism, its norms, structures,
and moderate ideology softened the more severe emotions and framing from the respective
communities about one another. Thus while measures for component variables differed across
275

the traditional newspapers, in many categories, the greater frequency of component variables’
values hovered to the most neutral 0 mark, signaling low-intensity judgments and emotions. This
pattern signified less extreme judgment and emotions in the newspaper frames than those of the
respective parties interviewed in Chapter Four. This softening of the parties’ frames was not
present in the paramilitary-related publication, Combat, which did not have the professional
norms, structures and goals of the newspapers (e.g. gatekeeping, neutrality, cross-community-
sourcing) and thus contained much more extreme values in its framing. These more dramatic
numbers were particularly pronounced in the loyalist publication’s negative framing of the
situation and of Sinn Fein, the party that represented the loyalists’ nemesis, republicans, and
more specifically, the. In addition to the different norms and structures of the two types of
publication, Combat also featured a high percentage of opinion and advocacy articles (75
percent), rather than reporting (10 percent). Despite An Phoblacht’s nontraditional structure and
norms, its framing appeared to conform to a greater extent to some of the professional standards
of the traditional newspapers. For example, it rarely used highly inflammatory language toward
the other parties.
Also as predicted, by comparing the newspapers’ scores to journalists’ express judgments
and emotions, a third factor became apparent—the influence of journalists’ judgments and
emotions in both the newsgathering and frames. For example, journalists expressed the most
positive judgments for the SDLP than for any other party. This positivity was evident in the very
positive frame and component scores in the newspapers. The loyalist Combat was the sole
publication to use negative framing for the nationalist party. Similarly, journalists simultaneously
expressed great interest, confusion and mixed emotions about Sinn Fein, which appeared in the
values. For example, the number of articles featuring Sinn Fein (1354) surpassed all other
276

parties, suggesting great interest. And the frame values for the party varied considerably and
featured high standard deviations (.35, .36, and .38), suggesting either confusion, or mixed
emotions or both. However, while these judgments and emotions seeped through into the final
frames and component variables, they, too, were adjusted by the norms and structures of
journalism, again reflected by the mild numerical values on these variables and final frames.
Similarly, the infrequent coverage (205 articles) of the loyalist party, the PUP, matched the
disinterest in loyalists expressed by journalists. But the PUP’s coverage was paradoxical: While
the PUP’s mostly positive mean frame scores ostensibly contradicted journalists’ reported
negative appraisals and emotions about loyalists, the somewhat high standard deviations in the
newspapers (.26, .27 and .40) also suggested mixed emotions or confusion. This might be
explained by the timing of the coverage—mostly post ceasefires, a time when the PUP took a
greater leadership role in promoting dialogue and intercommunity peace but while some still
committed violence.
As expected the forces of journalism appeared again to influence the frame variable
values, such as tone and emotions. Because journalists often report on specific events and often
in a “he-said-she-said” frame of comments by political leaders, analysis suggested that additional
factors influenced the frames, including the following: 1) the events themselves; 2) the choice of
stories (e.g. what is defined as news) for coverage; 3) the decisions made about whom (persons
or parties) to include and whom to exclude in articles; 4) the particular quotes and paraphrasing
chosen for publication; 5) the language chosen and used by the sources; 6) other language chosen
by journalists; 7) presentation order (e.g. which leader spoke first, second, last); and 8) the
contextual information included or excluded about the event. For example, reporting a violent
event often triggered a hostile conflict frame, whereas reporting a peace rally was less likely to
277

include hostile interactions that shaped the framing. Similarly, relying upon some parties that
used more acrimonious language resulted in more hostility and negative emotions in the frames.
Finally, with these factors collectively constructing the media’s frames, the mean
situation frames still featured considerable variation. But their overall means remained negative
throughout the time period, ranging between the highest mean, -.47 (in the republican
publication, An Phoblacht) and the lowest, -.59 (in the loyalist publication, Combat). The three
newspapers’ (The Belfast Telegraph, The Irish News, and the Ulster News Letter) mean situation
frames fell between these two paramilitary-related publications with -.48, -.49 and -.54,
respectively. The standard deviation ranged between .36, the lowest, in the unionist-leaning
newspapers the Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph and .44, the highest, in Combat,
with the nationalist Irish News and the republican An Phoblacht closer to the unionist
newspapers (.38 and .39, respectively). In addition to the traditional emphasis on conflict, the
consistent negativity was likely due to three additional factors: 1) more negative than positive
events; 2) reliance on those particular sources who emphasized hostility; and 3) the persistent
presence of grouping people. The grouping had two effects on this research. First, because the
presence of “groups” was one of four situation frame components (-1 for presence of groups), it
skewed the situation frames into a more negative range. The presence of groups has been found
in experimental settings to perpetuate competition, intergroup emotions, and at times, hostility
(see Chapter One for a discussion of these phenomena).
The publications’ framing of the parties offered evidence to the powers of group identity
and its related forces, such as intergroup emotions and conformity, articulated in the hypotheses
and theories of Chapter One. The framing of Sinn Fein, for example swung wildly in nearly
exact opposite directions in the paramilitary publications. Its composite frames (on a scale of -1
278

to +1) varied from -.43 (Combat) to .46 (An Phoblacht), with the three newspapers, the Irish
News, the Belfast Telegraph and the Ulster News Letter falling in between with means of .19, -
.03, and -.15, respectively. No other party experienced that degree of variation. The PUP’s mean
frame scores varied in the paramilitary-related publications, ranging between -.06 in An
Phoblacht and .51 in Combat. But the newspapers—the Irish News, the Ulster News Letter and
the Belfast Telegraph—were again somewhat more consistent, with .17, .23 and .26,
respectively. The DUP’s mean frame ranged slightly lower, from -.08 in An Phoblacht) to .31 in
the Ulster News Letter with Combat, the Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph’s frame scores for
the unionist party falling in between these with (-.02, .10 and .28, respectively). The SDLP’s
mean frames were the most consistently positive, save for Combat’s framing. Its mean frame
ranged from -.13 in Combat to +.47 in the Irish News with An Phoblacht, the Ulster News Letter
and the Belfast Telegraph’s mean framing of the nationalist party in between these scores, with
.25, .31 and .40, respectively.

279

Chapter Seven
Frame Changes

By adding a time dimension to the frame values quantified in Chapter Six, Chapter Seven
explores the evolution of media’s framing and the nexus between those changes in framing and
real changes in intercommunity relations. The chapter builds upon the constructivist, political
psychology and political communication literature in Chapter One, which explains the merging
of two forces—the development of meanings, emotions and their behavioral components within
groups, and the forces of news-making (such as the definition of news, and the norms, and
routines of journalists). Secondly, the chapter builds upon the findings in Chapters Four, Five,
and Six: In Chapter Four, party leaders discussed their narratives and frames, their efforts to
communicate and persuade through mass media to the public, and their perception of success.
Chapter Five, then, revealed a perceptive shift by journalists when they realized that
unbeknownst to them, both the situation and the parties had changed. The realization generated
new emotions—hope and enthusiasm—for a better, more fair and peaceful Northern Ireland.
Chapter Six followed, examining and comparing the five publications’ situation frames and the
five parties’ frames, which demonstrated considerable variation both across and within
publications.
This chapter then delves further into two important dynamics revealed from these earlier
chapters—a shift in the appraisals and emotions, particularly by journalists, and an element of
confusion that emerged during the peace process. In the latter case, because violence still
280

periodically occurred during and despite peace talks and in the midst of publicly stated
commitments to peace, some people, including journalists, felt puzzled about the situation and
the parties.
With this background, the hypotheses tested in this chapter include the following: 1) The
media’s framing will evolve and change over time. 2) Both the media’s framing of the
“situation” and “the other” and the intergroup dynamics will grow increasingly more positive in
a dynamic process within the time period of the study. 3) Group identity and related group
dynamics (such as groupthink, intra and intergroup emotions) will affect the media’s framing,
appearing as variation in frame scores between papers. 4) Because of different norms, routines,
structures and goals of the paramilitary publications, the changes will be more pronounced in
these publications than in the newspapers. 5) The paramilitary publications’ framing will
correspond more to the measures of antagonism within their own respective groups (e.g. loyalist
and republican). 6) The positive trajectories in both framing and community relations will
periodically be disturbed by four forces: a) entrenched or lingering appraisals and emotions; b)
journalistic norms and routines (e.g. emphasis on conflict, drama, events, source selection,
indexing); c) strategic activities by political leaders within a changing political environment; d)
confusion and mixed emotions on the part of journalists and their sources. 7) These dynamics
together will appear as variation in the both the publications’ frames and intercommunity
relations that disrupt the positive trajectory.
This chapter tests these hypotheses by exploring framing variation alongside the changes
in intercommunity relations, marked by acts of antagonism, non-antagonism or reconciliation
over the duration of the peace process, by yearly and quarterly frame averages. Each of these
views offers a different window into the trends and changes in them. For example, the yearly
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view offers an overall, big picture of the trends, but it fails to capture the variation that either
preceded or followed important events such as acts of violence, other antagonisms or ceasefires
and agreements. Those are better understood by looking closer—with the quarterly frame score
averages that reflect the changing times.

The Big Picture: Yearly Trends

As expected, during the peace process period under study (1994-1998), most of the publications’
frames changed, portraying both the political situation and the key “other” political parties more
positively (See Figure 22 for situation frames). When viewed by yearly averages, for example,
the situation frames in three publications under study—the two unionist newspapers and the
loyalist publication, Combat—trended upward into a more positive direction between the
beginning of 1994 and May of 1998. The trend was most noticeable in the loyalist publication,
Combat, and the unionist Belfast Telegraph. The changes in the Belfast Telegraph are the most
logical, as this newspaper attempted to serve both nationalist and unionist communities. Thus,
the construction of peace would align with its goals and structures. Loyalists who controlled
Combat, on the other hand, were advocating for a peace agreement that would simultaneously
ease the violence and prevent the reunification of Ireland. Thus, increasingly positive frames post
ceasefires also makes sense in the loyalist publication. While less noticeable, the Ulster News
Letter’s frames also became somewhat more positive. The ambivalence expressed within the
unionist community, however, would help explain the tepid change: While the UUP advocated
for the agreement, the other unionist party, the DUP, campaigned for its failure. On the
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nationalist side, although the Irish News trended slightly upward, its situation frames changed the
least of the newspapers under study. And while An Phoblacht revealed more yearly variation, it
was the sole publication to tip slightly downward overall, with 1998 containing, on average, a
somewhat more negative mean situation frame than that of 1994. The latter may be a result of
very difficult negotiations processes that often isolated the republican political party, Sinn Fein,
which An Phoblacht would have likely framed negatively.
This next subsection details the frame changes in each of the publications, beginning with
the situation frame. As detailed in Chapter Three, this frame measurement combines four
variables, group identification, blame/no blame, hostility/respect and fear/hope, which together
are expressed in a range of -1 to +1. A second series of variables (including blame, tone, voice,
legitimacy, emotions, and future relations, which are discussed in Chapters Three and Six)
constructed the framing of the parties as well. In these latter measures, a “blame frame” is
marked by persistent negative values, which suggest a combination of group identification,
blame for an undesirable problem, negative tone, negative emotions (such as anger), negative
future relations, a lack of legitimacy, and hostility. A “hate frame” refers to extremely negative
framing of parties or persons, such that the tone suggests the party and its members are evil or
subhuman, the emotions reach extreme negativity such as disgust, outrage and hate, and future
relations suggests that they must be harmed or destroyed to stop them. These dangerous frames
are expected to prompt destructive tendencies. A “genocidal frame” occurs when sustained and
repeated dissemination of hate frames create a hegemonic frame. These genocidal frames persist
over time and remain relatively unchallenged. Finally, an “acceptance frame” is signified by
positive framing.
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These emergent frame scores were compared to the physical acts of antagonism and
reconciliation in the community, which as described in Chapter Three, were created by first
coding the significant events—political violence, other acts of antagonism (such as parades), acts
of non-antagonism and acts of reconciliation on a scale of -3 (extreme hostility such as lethal
violence) to +3 (extreme reconciliation such as active pursuit of cross-community peace-
building). The value was calculated by multiplying the number of acts by the code. For example,
three bombs (-3) in a year amounts to an antagonism/intercommunity relation score of -9. Three
ceasefires were coded as a +3. The composite of all such acts within a particular timeframe
signified the “community relations” score.
Figure 22: Yearly Mean Situation Frames and Community Relations

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The Newspapers: While some similarities emerged in the newspapers’ framing—indicating the
influence of professional norms and the role of journalists, each newspaper had its own unique
patterns, which suggested the influence of group identity, ideology and psychology. Some of
these patterns fit expectations while others defied them. This next subsection explores the
individual newspapers’ findings.

The Belfast Telegraph: Of the three daily newspapers, the clearest frame changes occurred in
the Belfast Telegraph (See Figure 23). In 1994, for example, the situation frames were quite
negative, on average -.71. The middle years, while less negative, ranged between -.68 in 1995
and 1996 and -.64 in 1997; but by 1998, the mean situation frame had risen to -.42, the highest
mean situation frame for that newspaper.
Although not a perfect match, the general upward trajectory corresponded to the real
circumstances in Northern Ireland. For example, 1994 was the most hostile year in the study with
237 acts of political violence such as assassinations and bombs, and eight documented acts of
non-antagonism such as ceasefires or public apologies, generating a community relation score of
-722 (calculated by multiplying severity and number). Those numbers changed drastically in the
following year, 1995, when the community relations score rose to -100. Groups committed 22
acts of political violence, five of which were by organized paramilitaries. Instead of political
violence, however, 27 lesser acts of antagonisms occurred: demonstrations, parades, and pickets,
which intensified into standoffs and scuffles between community members. Both years
contained eight positive intercommunity acts (such as ceasefires or other acts to diminish
antagonism or promote peace). Paramilitary groups resumed their attacks in 1996—although less
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frequently than in 1994. That year witnessed 55 acts of political violence and 19 lesser acts of
antagonism, bringing the negative community relations score down to -192. However, that year
also featured a slight uptick (24) in positive acts. The political violence grew in 1997 to 108 acts
of lethal violence and 35 lesser antagonistic events, which drove the negative community
relations score to a more severe -371. In the first half of 1998, political violence continued with
52 documented acts of lethal violence, of which loyalists committed more than a dozen while
known IRA attacks shrunk to 0, although three acts were suspected to have been committed by
the Irish republican group. Simultaneously, however, positive acts reached 13 and included a U2
concert to support the peace agreement.
The Belfast Telegraph’s framing of three political parties also grew more positive. Sinn
Fein’s mean frame score in 1994, for example, was moderately negative (-.15). Each year,
however, the Belfast Telegraph’s mean frame values of Sinn Fein became somewhat more
positive. In 1995, its average frame was -.05, then -.02 in 1996. In 1997, the party’s mean yearly
frame finally entered the positive range with .05. By 1998, the party’s average frame, .11, was
decidedly positive. This reflects a gradual rejection of static “terrorist” frames and a growing
acceptance of the party over time within the pages of the unionist-leaning newspaper. It also
reflects the hope expressed by journalists that the IRA’s “killing machine” would find an “off
switch.”
Similarly, the PUP experienced an upward trending frame change in the Belfast
Telegraph. The party’s 1994 average frame value remained in the low positive range of .14. In
1995, its frame average bumped up slightly to .19. After it slid in 1996 to .16, in 1997, the PUP
reached its frame pinnacle of .36. The 1998 average remained high with a slight dip from the
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1997 peak to .33, a frame score that was still considerably more positive than the party’s 1994
average frame.
The DUP’s frame patterns somewhat resembled those of the PUP. Like the PUP, the
DUP’s yearly mean frames in the Belfast Telegraph never entered negative number ranges, and
its average frame value over the period grew more positive. In 1994, for example, the party’s
average frame was in the low positive range (.18). It grew markedly more positive in the years
1995-1996 (.30, .33, respectively), maintained that high score in 1997 (.32) but slipped slightly
in 1998 to .29.
The Belfast Telegraph’s framing of the SDLP was somewhat unique. While the party’s
yearly mean frame values consistently exceeded the frame scores of the three other parties, the
scores slid in a slightly negative direction over the time period studied. Nonetheless, the SDLP’s
yearly mean frame values still remained more positive than those of the other political parties.
For example, the party’s 1994 frame score averaged .43. Over the next two years, 1995 and
1996, the frames slipped slightly to .31 and .36. In 1997, the SDLP’s yearly average frames
peaked at .45 in the Belfast Telegraph then dipped slightly to .41, which was slightly lower than
1994’s frame of .43. The high frame scores are consistent with the judgments and expectations of
professional journalists.

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Figure 23: Belfast Telegraph Yearly Mean Framing and Community Relations

The Ulster News Letter: Compared to the Belfast Telegraph, the Ulster News Letter’s frame
changes were less dramatic, though they still appeared meaningfully more positive (See Figure
24). In the Ulster News Letter, the yearly situation frame values underwent a moderate change
toward less negative values. In 1994, for example, the average situation frame value, -.75, was
the most negative of the three newspapers (and more negative than An Phoblacht). The following
year, 1995, saw a slight uptick to -.72 followed by a miniscule retreat to -.73 in 1996. But over
the next two years, the unionist newspapers’ situation frames rose more meaningfully, first to -
.65 in 1997, and finished in 1998 with -.6, the highest annual situation frame for this particular
newspaper during the years,1994-1998 . These small changes, while less pronounced than those
of the Belfast Telegraph, nonetheless, appear to reflect both the changing circumstances and the
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hope for resolution expressed by journalists. Simultaneously, however, they seemed to reflect the
presence of entrenched frames and emotions that resist change that occur within groups. It also
suggests that the journalistic practice of focusing on conflict may maintain negative frame
measures.
In the Ulster News Letter, three of four political parties also experienced, on average,
more positive frames in 1998 than in 1994. Although one party, Sinn Fein, remained in the
negative range, never attaining a positive yearly mean frame score (acceptance frame), the party
nonetheless advanced slightly over time to reflect less negative framing. Sinn Fein’s yearly mean
frame in the Ulster News Letter began at its lowest value of -.24 in 1994 and moved upward to a
more positive frame score of -.14 in 1995 during a time of relative peace and fewer acts of
violence. The following year, 1996, however, the Sinn Fein average frame value fell back to a
negative range -.20, though not falling to the 1994 level of -.24. In 1997, the Ulster News
Letter’s Sinn Fein yearly mean frame peaked at -.06, but in 1998 its framing slipped slightly to -
.11, a more positive number than in three of the other years. This again suggests several forces
together constructing the frames—the simultaneous resistance and hope for change, mixed with
real changes in the community and leadership, and the forces of journalism.
The Ulster News Letter’s average yearly frames of the SDLP were consistently positive
with some variation in the degree of positivity. Generally, the nationalist party’s frames trended
upward. However, two years—1995 and 1996—dipped slightly. In 1994, for example, the
party’s mean frame value was a solidly positive .28. In the following year, 1995, the party’s
mean frame slipped to .21 but then reversed course and moved continuously in a positive
direction in 1996 (.25), and 1997 (.37), finishing at its highest yearly frame value of .39 in 1998.
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Although the PUP’s yearly mean frame value in the Ulster News Letter also trended
overall in a more positive direction, its scores vacillated in particular years. For example, after its
1994 mean frame, .16, the party’s second lowest mean frame score in the unionist newspaper, the
following year, 1995, the PUP’s mean frame value dramatically rose to .32. These numbers were
logical, given the high level of violence in 1994 and its subsidence in 1995. However, the party’s
frame scores then tumbled down to the party’s lowest frame value, .11, in 1996., then rose to the
party’s highest mean frame value in the Ulster News Letter (.36) during the years under study. In
1997, the party increasingly engaged with other leaders in attempting to secure a peace
agreement and denouncing sectarian violence—including violence committed by loyalists. The
Ulster News Letter’s final mean frame for the PUP—in 1998—settled at a relatively high score
of.26. That mean frame value, while less positive than the 1995 and 1997 scores, was
considerably more positive than the mean frame (.16) of 1994. This was a time when the PUP
actively participated in representing its loyalist followers in peace negotiations and in
campaigning for the peace agreement. However, it should be noted that because the PUP was
rarely covered in the media, these numbers are based upon a small sample, which could skew
results.
Like the SDLP, the Ulster News Letter’s yearly mean frames for the DUP remained
consistently high and finished slightly lower in 1998 than in 1994. The party’s framing began
with a 1994 mean frame score of .28 then rose somewhat in the following years, 1995, 1996, and
1997 to.31, .32 and.34, respectively. But in 1998, the DUP’s mean frame values fell to .27,
slightly lower than the .28 of 1994. The News Letter’s consistently positive portrayals of the
DUP are logical, given shared goals and social psychological dynamics of in-group behavior. Its
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slight drop in 1998, however, could be related to the party’s strong anti-agreement campaign, as
the unionist community was quite divided.

Figure 24: Ulster News Letter Mean Yearly Frame Values and Community Relations

The Irish News: The nationalist Irish News’ yearly situation frame averages showed less
positive trajectories than the two unionist newspapers (See Figure 25). In 1994, for example, the
situation frame averaged -.64, which was somewhat more positive than the frames in both the
Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph. In the following year, 1995, its mean situation
frame hardly changed, advancing slightly to -.62. But in 1996 the mean situation frame dropped
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to -.71, then climbed in 1997 to its high point of -.58, before slipping slightly to -.60 in 1998.
Thus, while 1998 was less negative than three of the years under study, the rise was modest.
The most unique aspect of the frames in the Irish News, however, was its relatively
consistent positive framing of all four parties in the study. While in the unionist publications, the
“other” (mostly Sinn Fein) grew less negative, the Irish News’ mean frames of “the others” never
fell into the negative range. When observed by yearly averages, the nationalist newspaper
framed each political party with acceptance frames—in the positive value range in every year—
with no political party receiving a negative yearly mean frame value in any year under study.
This treatment of the parties conforms to a greater degree to the norms of journalism.
The Irish News was ostensibly also unique in that only two political parties’ frames—
those affiliated with paramilitary organizations—were more positive in1998 than in 1994. This
met expectations, as these parties underwent the most change—from using physical violence
against their foes to increasingly leading their constituents toward peace. The greatest variation
in the framing occurred with the loyalist PUP (keeping in mind the smaller sample of articles
including the PUP, which could skew results). In 1994, the nationalist newspaper’s mean frame
value for the loyalist party, began at .30 and remained relatively steady in 1995, at .33. This
steadiness defied expectations, as the years 1994 and 1995 were markedly different in terms of
intercommunity relations. After the ceasefires in late 1994, intercommunity violence had
subsided precipitously. Thereafter, however, the party’s framing sunk, first to .18 in 1996, and
lower in 1997 to .06. While still in the range of “acceptance frames,” the drop could also reflect
the breakdown in the relative calm which had occurred in 1995. In 1998, the PUP’s framing in
the Irish News rose again to .21, which aligned more with expectations, as the party advocated
for the peace process’s conclusive agreement.
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Sinn Fein’s average frame values, on the other hand, began at a low positive .14, much
more acceptable than in the unionist newspapers. This differential starting point reflects the
convergence of several forces, particularly the forces of group identity and psychology and the
norms of journalism. Sinn Fein maintained support in the nationalist community for its goals,
even though many Irish Catholics rejected the use of violence to attain those goals. In the year
following the ceasefire, 1995, when IRA violence diminished dramatically, the party’s framing
in the Irish News moved up to .20, again reflecting expectations. Again, as the ceasefire broke
down, in 1996, the mean frame reverted to .15 then rose again to its high point of .24 in 1997, the
year that the group declared another ceasefire. As expected, the positive framing persisted with
an average mean frame of .23 through 1998, a year that contained virtually no documented IRA
violence. The Irish News framing of Sinn Fein meets expectations, particularly in light of
journalists’ expressions of hope and mixed emotions about the republicans. Here, as violence
diminished, the average frame value rose, and as violence resumed, the average frame value fell.
The Irish News’ more mainstream parties’ frames, however, became slightly more
negative on average between 1994 and 1998. The DUP, for example, began with a low positive
mean frame value of .09 in 1994. And while its scores advanced in 1995 to .18, they slid back to
.10 in 1996, climbed again in 1997 to .16, then dropped to their lowest yearly mean frame score,
.03, in 1998. The declining scores for the DUP were also expected, as the party was more
antagonistic toward the Irish Catholic, nationalist community. Led by Protestant minister Ian
Paisley, the party had developed from opposition to compromise with their nationalist, Catholic
neighbors and continued to grow more vociferously antagonistic as the peace process progressed.
However, the nationalist newspaper’s continued use of “acceptance frames” reflects the
influence of journalistic norms and structures.
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The SDLP’s frames, on the other hand, maintained considerably higher average frame
values than the other three parties. And thus, while its frames also dropped over the time period
under study, the party’s mean frame scores still surpassed those of the other parties. For example,
the SDLP’s peak frame in the Irish News, .52, occurred in 1994. Thereafter, the SDLP’s frames
in the Irish News remained below .5. In 1995, they dropped to .43, then to .47, .45, and .42 in
1996, 1997 and 1998. As the party receiving the most praise and positive emotions from
journalists, the consistently high scores met expectations. The drop in values was not expected.
However, as noted, despite the small drop, the frame scores remained particularly positive.

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Figure 25: Irish News Yearly Mean Frames and Community Relations

The Paramilitary-Related Publications
Combat: Among the five publications, Combat’s frame changes were the most pronounced (See
Figure 26). The loyalist publication’s framing trajectory most reflected that of the real
circumstances, according to available data. It began with the most negative annual situation
frame value in the study (-.92) in 1994, a time of extreme hostility in the form of violence. But
the year after the ceasefire, 1995, when violence subsided dramatically, Combat’s average
situation frames rose to -.52. Again, as violence resumed in 1996, after a breakdown in the
ceasefires, again the frames fell, first to -.84 then -.87, in 1996 and 1997. The following year,
1998, a year after a renewed ceasefire, the situation frames climbed once again to a relatively
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high -.54. These scores matched expectations, as Combat served a militant loyalist community
and hadn’t the professional norms and structures of traditional journalism. Thus, the scores, as
predicted, vacillated much more than those of the traditional newspapers and reflected the real
antagonisms and community relations in the region.
The loyalist publication’s framing of the two “other” parties also became markedly more
positive. For example, in 1994, Combat’s average frame value for Sinn Fein, -.53, was the most
negative of any party in any publication of the study. In 1995 and 1996, those frame values grew
considerably less negative, reaching -.33 and -.34, respectively, before dropping again in 1997 to
-.55. In 1998, Combat’s average frame for Sinn Fein (-.21) reached its mean framing peak for the
loyalist publication. And while it still remained negative, this average frame value was markedly
higher than those in all previous years. The SDLP’s yearly frames also grew dramatically more
positive in Combat. While in 1994, Combat framed the SDLP quite negatively, -.34, by 1995, the
party’s average frame value advanced to -.11, after which the party was framed as solidly
positive in 1996, .23. The SDLP frames end there, however, as the party was not mentioned in
any article samples during 1997 or 1998.
Combat’s frame changes toward Sinn Fein and the SDLP are very important for two
reasons. For one, collectively, these two parties represent “the other”—nationalists and
republicans—to loyalists. Secondly, Combat was the publication affiliated with the Ulster
Volunteer Force (UVF), one of the primary loyalist paramilitary organizations. Thus framing
changes that shift depictions of “the other” from that of an enemy to more positive portrayals
may also help change opinions and emotions toward “the other,” allowing for more constructive
relations to occur. The trajectory of the community relations measures paralleled the frame
scores of the other parties, suggesting a relationship between these two phenomena (see Figure
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26). As for the loyalist and unionist parties, the story is considerably different. The publication’s
frames for the PUP were the most positive of the parties across the publication and across time.
However, the PUP’s average yearly frame value in 1998 (.41) was actually slightly lower than its
value in 1994 (.42). But the frame fluctuated considerably in between those two years. From the
1994 mean frame score of .42, the PUP’s framing in Combat climbed to a very high .58 in 1995,
retreated to .44 in 1996, then climbed in 1997 to its pinnacle mean year frame score of .65, the
highest score for any party in any publication across the study. In 1998, however, the loyalist
party’s frame settled at .41, the lowest score for that party in Combat. The DUP’s frame was the
only one of the four party frames that began with a positive mean yearly frame value in Combat
and ended with a negative one. In 1994, the DUP’s frame was solidly positive, with a .32
average frame value, but that score fell decisively to -.11 in 1995 and stayed consistently
negative (-.15) in both 1996 and 1998 (-.11). The party was not covered or mentioned in any
article within the sample during 1997. This may reflect the loyalists’ growing dissatisfaction with
the party’s opposition to the peace process and an internal struggle within the unionist-loyalist
communities. The DUP frame score patterns bore an opposite pattern to those of Sinn Fein and
the SDLP and had no visible relationship with the scores of the community relations.

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Figure 26: Combat Yearly Mean Frames and Community Relations

An Phoblacht: When observed by year, An Phoblacht was the only publication in the study that
framed the situation and the parties under study, on average, more negatively in 1998 than in
1994 (see Figure 27). The mean situation frames fluctuated, rising from 1994’s situation frame
of -.67 to -.54 in 1995, then returning to -.68 in 1996. In 1997 the republican’s publication frame
rose again to a high of -.45, but they fell in 1998 to its lowest yearly mean frame of -.72.
Most of the parties’ mean frame values also dropped somewhat over that period of time.
In 1994, for example, the SDLP’s average frame score was a reasonably positive .32. It peaked
in 1994 at .34 but began falling after that—to .26 in 1996, .11 in 1997 and back up to .27 in
1998. But like in the other publications, in An Phoblacht, the SDLP’s frames remained in the
positive range. The struggle between Sinn Fein and the SDLP ostensibly explains the variation
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with the SDLP. While the two parties worked toward creating fair conditions for the nationalist
community, and while leaders of the two parties—John Hume and Gerry Adams—issued joint
statements, the two parties fundamentally disagreed with the other’s approach to resolving the
conflict. (These differences are explored more in Chapter Four).
In 1994, An Phoblacht’s mean frame for the DUP was slightly negative (-.03). It climbed
into positive range in 1995 (.10) but then sunk to a low point in 1996 (-.21). In 1997 while
remaining in a negative range, the DUP’s mean frame climbed slightly to -.05 but then sunk
lower in 1998 to --.13. Like in the case of Combat, the frames in An Phoblacht’s likely reflect
diminished opinions and emotions toward the DUP as the peace process progressed, and as the
DUP’s opposition grew more vociferous. Further, the DUP remained the party that refused to
talk with Sinn Fein until well after the Belfast Peace Agreement was signed.
An Phoblacht’s first frames for the PUP appeared in 1995 with reasonably positive values
(.24). In 1996 those frame values fell to a low of -.19 but climbed slightly in 1997 to -.07 and
reentered the positive range in 1998 (.09). But this 1998 average frame value remained
considerably less positive as the 1994 mean frame score (.24).
The republican publication’s framing of its own party, Sinn Fein, remained consistent and
positive, maintaining mean frame scores above .40 every year in the study. In 1994, 1995 and
1996, An Phoblacht’s mean framing measures remained .47 for all three years. They slipped only
slightly in 1997 to .43, then climbed back up to .46 in 1998.

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Figure 27: An Phoblacht Mean Yearly Framing and Community Relations

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Quarter and Half-Time Frame Changes

Situation Frames: When the frame averages are observed by quarter-years and half years, some
findings from the yearly average frame values are challenged (See Figure 28). For example,
while most publications showed a more positive average yearly situation frame in 1998 than in
1994, one publication, An Phoblacht, had shown an opposite trend. But a more nuanced look
suggests a different picture, one that better reflects expectations: In the yearly frame
observations, An Phoblacht’s 1998 yearly average situation frame (-.72) was more negative than
its 1994 average situation frame (-.67). But a closer look at the frames—by half-years and
quarter-years—revealed that in all five publications, including An Phoblacht, the situation
frames in the first half of 1998 were dramatically more positive than those in the first half of
1994. In fact, the situation frames in the first half of 1994 trend among the most negative
situation frame values in the study, while the same time period of 1998 reflects one of the two
most positive mean situation frame values, which more closely reflect the real, physical situation.
While the first two quarters of 1994 across all five publications were decidedly more
negative than the first two quarters of 1998, the second quarter of 1994 contained three of the
most negative mean quarterly situation frame values. These two data points correspond with the
real, physical conflict. For example, the most violence occurred in the first two quarters of
1994—with 97 and 78 acts of lethal violence, respectively. Those numbers shrunk in the same
two quarters of 1998 to 40 and 12 acts of lethal violence.
One newspaper, the unionist Belfast Telegraph, and both paramilitary publications, the
loyalist Combat and the republican An Phoblacht, each plummeted to their lowest situation
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frames in the second quarter of 1994 (April through June) with -.84, -.96 and -.79, respectively,
at a time of extremely high levels of violence and antagonism and ostensibly little hope. In
contrast, the second quarter of 1998 (which contained only April and May) also revealed the
most positive quarterly mean situation frames in two publications, the Belfast Telegraph and An
Phoblacht. In the Belfast Telegraph, this situation frame (-.38) was unmatched in any other
quarter and markedly more positive than its other frame values, with its closest score (-.48)
occurring in the quarter just preceding it (January through March 1998). Thus, the shift was quite
dramatic, moving from the 1994’s average frame value of -.79 up to -.43 in 1998. As noted
earlier, the Belfast Telegraph was the only publication that actively sought cross-community
readership, which reflects the role of media structure. An Phoblacht’s pinnacle situation frame (-
.13) during the second quarter of 1998 was the most positive of all publications in any quarter. It
was also uniquely high among its situation frame values of other months, with the closest values,
-.39 and -.31, occurring in the second and third quarter of 1997, respectively. Another stark
transformation occurred in the loyalist Combat. Combat’s first half of 1994 situation frame
averaged -.95, while the frame value in same period in 1998 averaged -.49. The loyalist
publication posted its second highest situation framing, -.38, during this second quarter. Its
highest -.35 occurred in 1995, during a period of minimal violence. Unhampered by journalism
norms, such as impartiality, and structures, such as gatekeeping, Combat specifically served a
loyalist community whose leadership became staunch advocates for the peace agreement, which
evidently impacted the frames in a positive direction.

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Figure 28: Quarterly Situation Frames and Community Relations

Similarly, the publications’ framing of “the others” reflected similar patterns, with the
most negative framing used during the first two quarters of 1994 and the most positive in 1998 .
For example, the Belfast Telegraph’s framing of Sinn Fein featured its most negative “blame”
framing, -.31, and -.15 for Sinn Fein, in the first two quarters of 1994 (see Figure 29). In
contrast, its most positive “acceptance” frames, .25, for Sinn Fein, occurred in the second quarter
of 1998. Combat, similarly, posted extremely negative “hate” frames, -.61 and -.58, for the
“other,” Sinn Fein, during the first two quarters of 1994 (See Figure 30). And although they
dipped further in two other quarters (1996’s third quarter and 1997’s second quarter), the
framing rose dramatically in the first two quarters of 1998—to -.23 and -.19 (still negative and
“blame” frames). An Phoblacht’s framing of “the other” party, the DUP, appeared slightly more
positive in the first half of1998 (.09 and -.13 for first two quarters) than the same time period in
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1994 (-.22 and .06 in its first two quarters). The dip during the second quarter’s (1998) framing
of the unionist party likely arose from the DUP’s vehement toward negotiating with republicans,
toward the peace process and the peace agreement itself. The PUP, on the other hand, cannot be
compared in the republican publication, as An Phoblacht did not cover it at all during 1994 or
much of 1995.
Figure 29: Belfast Telegraph Quarterly Mean Frames and Community Relations

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Figure 30: Combat Quarterly Frames and Community Relations

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Figure 31: An Phoblacht Quarterly Mean Frames and Community Relations

Although the Ulster News Letter also used a very negative situation frame value (-.79) in
the first quarter of 1994, its lowest point (-.87) arrived in the following quarter (July through
September 1994), also an extremely antagonistic time (See Figure 32). Similar to Combat, the
unionist Ulster News Letter’s second most positive situation frame (-.57), occurring during the
second quarter of 1998, which was slightly lower than its highest quarterly frame measure (-.52),
which occurred just two quarters earlier in late 1997. Its frames of “the other,” Sinn Fein, were
also decidedly less negative in 1998 than they were in 1994 (-.08 and -.13 in 1998 versus -.33
and -.18 in 1994). Still, however, the unionist publication continued to use negative framing
rather than “acceptance” frames for Sinn Fein.
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Figure 32: Ulster News Letter Quarterly and Community Relations

An exception in this pattern occurred in the nationalist Irish News, which used a
somewhat negative situation frame (-.65) during the second quarter of 1994 (See Figure 33). But
its most negative situation frame came two years later, in 1996, a time when violence resumed
after the late 1994 ceasefires. And while the Irish News’ frames improved in 1998, the change
was much less pronounced than in other publications. Instead, the nationalist newspapers’
situation frames peaked at -.51 in the fourth quarter of 1994 with a close second (-.53) in the
third quarter of 1997, rather than in the second quarter of 1998, a when situation frames were
slightly more negative, -.59.While the precise reason for this is unclear, several possible
explanations emerge. For one, the persistence of the journalistic practice to focus on conflict may
have superseded the other factors, such as changing opinions, emotions and circumstances. It
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could also be that in the newspapers that are more rooted in their respective communities, the
metanarratives and frames are entrenched and resistant to change.
As can be seen from the figures, the first two quarters of 1994 and 1998 also starkly
contrasted in actual events. The first half of 1994 (January through June) was marked by high
levels of physical hostility and violence, while the first half of 1998 featured less actual violence
and more negotiations, which were, at times, quite bitter. Thus while the physical violence had
subsided, some hostility continued.

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Figure 33: Irish News Quarterly Frame Changes and Community Relations

The Party’s Quarterly Frame Changes
The quarterly view also reflects a marked change in the parties’ frames. But the patterns
vary both across publication and time with less consistency than expected. However, one
important change in party framing—the framing of Sinn Fein—did make a relatively dramatic
change for the positive, which meets expectations. And this is particularly important, given the
party’s status as the blamed enemy within the unionist and loyalist narrative. This next
subsection explores the quarterly mean frame changes by party.

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Sinn Fein: Of the four parties studied in this work, one party, Sinn Fein, experienced the most
dramatic shift in framing (See Figure 34). While the party’s frames vacillated considerably,
every publication changed its frames of the Irish republican party, mostly in a markedly positive
direction, over the period under study. Four of the five publications (An Phoblacht as the
exception) framed Sinn Fein in the negative value range during the first quarter of 1994. But two
of those publications—the Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph—shifted into more positive
frames over time. The Irish News only used mean negative framing twice for Sinn Fein, once in
the first 1994 quarter (-.12) and once in the fourth quarter of 1995 (-.15). Although the Irish
News’ highest quarterly frame value (.39) for Sinn Fein occurred in the second quarter of 1995,
the frequency of higher frame values (above .20) occurred in the latter data points—in 1997 and
1998. In these six data points, five Sinn Fein frame measures exceed .20. (The other two clusters
of six data points contain only three and one frame measure above .20).
While all three newspapers used more positive framing for Sinn Fein over time, the most
dramatic shift among them occurred in the Belfast Telegraph. The unionist newspaper
consistently used mean negative framing for the party throughout all of the 1994 quarters and the
first three quarters in 1995 with the most negative occurring in the first 1994 quarter. In the
fourth quarter of 1995, the Belfast Telegraph’s mean frames for Sinn Fein decidedly flipped to a
very positive .30. And although the Telegraph’s Sinn Fein framing briefly sunk back into the
negative range (-.15) in 1996’s first quarter, the newspaper increasingly used positive frames
with seven of ten data points from 1996 through 1998 and five of six data points of 1997-1998
attaining positive mean frame values. The final frame value for Sinn Fein in the second quarter
of 1998, .25, was the second highest mean frame score in the Belfast Telegraph and comparable
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to the frame measures in the nationalist Irish News for the party. This elevation to a respectable
level of framing is meaningful, given the unionist ideological leaning of the newspaper.
Figure 34: Sinn Fein Quarterly Frame and Community Relations

Although two publications—the unionist Ulster News Letter, and the loyalist Combat—
consistently used negative framing for Sinn Fein throughout the quarterly time periods (with one
exception in the fourth quarter of 1997 in the News Letter), the mean frames became
considerably less negative in the latter quarters of the study. For example, the Ulster News
Letter’s quarterly mean frame value for Sinn Fein in the first quarter of 1994 (-.33) was among
the more negative frames for the party in that newspaper. But in the first quarter of 1998, the
party’s mean frame had moved up to -.13, almost “acceptance framing.” Similarly, using the
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same time frame, Combat’s quarterly mean frame for Sinn Fein, -.61, was the second most
negative frame for the party (as well as for any party in the study), whereas in the same quarter
of 1998, the framing of Sinn Fein had climbed upward to -.23, still quite negative but a sizeable
jump. Also notable was the large jump between Combat’s mean framing of Sinn Fein during the
second quarter of 1994 (-.58) compared with the second quarter of 1998 (-.19).
The republicans’ own publication, An Phoblacht, framed Sinn Fein the most consistently
of all the publications—always positive with little variation. In fact, in fifteen of eighteen of An
Phoblacht’s quarterly data points, Sinn Fein’s frame ranged between .40 and .50. On two
occasions—the first quarter of 1995 and the fourth quarter of 1998—An Phoblacht framed the
party slightly higher, .52 and .55, respectively. And on one quarterly data point, the second
quarter of 1998, the republican publication framed Sinn Fein extremely high at .80. Also of
interest, An Phoblacht’s lowest frame measure for Sinn Fein (.40) occurred in the same quarter
in which Sinn Fein received the single positive mean quarterly frame in the Ulster News Letter
(of .23)— the fourth quarter of 1997.

The SDLP’s Monthly Frames: In contrast to Sinn Fein’s trajectory, the SDLP remained
relatively consistent in the three newspapers’ frames (See Figure 35). In the Irish News, the party
consistently scored above .40 with its mean frame, with only two three exceptions—in the first
and fourth quarters of 1995 (.33 and .39, respectively) and the second quarter of 1997 (.39).
Although most data points (eleven of 18) showed the SDLP with average quarterly frame values
between .40 and .50 in the Irish News, four exceeded .50, in the second and third quarters of
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1994 (.57 and .54, respectively), the third quarter of 1995 (.52) and the third quarter of 1997
(.53). In the Belfast Telegraph, the SDLP’s quarterly frames began and ended high, with .46 and
.42 in the first two quarters of 1994 and .39, and .42 in the first two quarters of 1998 but lagged
below .30 on four data points—the third quarter of 1994 (.23), the second and third quarters of
1995 (.29 and .27, respectively), and the party’s lowest frame average in the Belfast Telegraph,
.15, which occurred in the second quarter of 1996. But similar to the Irish News’ framing of the
SDLP, the Belfast Telegraph also elevated the party’s framing to above .50—once in the fourth
quarter of 1994 (.52) and once in the third quarter of 1997 (.53), the latter matching with very
close precision, the framing in the Irish News (also .53). In the third newspaper, the Ulster News
Letter, the SDLP’s framing featured more variation and the most dramatic swings for the SDLP.
However, four of the newspaper’s lowest quarterly mean frames for the party (.18, .19, .14 and
.15) occurred in the first two years of the study (the first and third quarters of 1994 and the first
and fourth quarters of 1995, respectively). Beginning 1996, eight of ten data points escalated the
SDLP to above .30 and two of those to above .40. One anomaly to this ostensible pattern was the
lowest quarterly frame score, .04, for the SDLP in the Ulster News Letter, which occurred in the
third quarter of 1996.

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Figure 35: SDLP Quarterly Frame Change and Community Relations

Among the paramilitary-related publications, the contrast was much more pronounced.
Similar to the newspapers, the An Phoblacht framing of the SDLP remained consistently
positive. However, the republican publication’s lowest quarterly framing scores for the
nationalist party occurred in the first three quarters of 1997, .06, .13 and .20, respectively. The
publication omitted coverage of the SDLP in the fourth quarter of 1997. These contrasted with
the earlier framing scores for the party in An Phoblacht: between .29 and .36 in 1994, between
.29 and .43 in 1995 and between .21 and .63 in 1996. By 1998, however, the SDLP’s frames
were returned to a definitively positive .27.
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The DUP Quarterly Frames: Like the SDLP, the DUP’s quarterly frames in two newspapers
remained relatively consistent (See Figure 36). But rather than the consistency displayed in the
Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph, the unionist party’s frames were consistent instead in the
Ulster News Letter and the Belfast Telegraph. In the latter publication, eleven of 18 quarterly
mean frames ranged between .30and .40 and sixteen of eighteen mean quarterly frames remained
above .25. These three exceptions occurred in the last two quarters of 1994 (.00 and .15,
respectively) and the third quarter of 1995 (.15). Similarly, the Ulster News Letter’s quarterly
mean framing of the DUP remained consistently high—above .30 in eleven of eighteen quarterly
mean frames and above .20 for seventeen of eighteen quarterly mean frames. The exception in
the Ulster News Letter was the last quarter of 1998, when the party’s mean quarterly frame slid
just below .20.
In the nationalist newspaper, the Irish News, the DUP’s frames varied considerably more.
The party began with a strong first quarter of 1994 with a mean frame of .32 but fell into the
negative range for two quarters before returning to low positive scores in the first three quarters
of 1995 (.16, and .11). An anomalous high frame (.39) occurred during the fourth quarter of
1995, but the party’s frame values returned to mostly low positive frame scores thereafter—with
two exceptions, in the second quarter of 1996 and the first quarter of 1997 when the party’s
frames rose to .28 and .27, respectively.

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Figure 36: DUP Frame Changes and Community Relations

Both paramilitary-related publications used harsher frames for the DUP. The loyalist
publication, Combat, however, began with a solidly positive .33 mean frame score for the
unionist party. Its three other quarterly frames for the party all fell into the negative range: -.24, -
.15 and -.11 in the third quarter of 1995, the first quarter of 1996 and the second quarter of 1998.
An Phoblacht also used negative framing much more frequently than positive framing for the
DUP. like Combat, the republican publication began framing the unionist party in the positive
range during 1994 and most of 1995, including two mean framing scores above .20 (.22 in the
fourth quarter of 1994 and in the third quarter of 1995). But thereafter, the DUP’s quarterly
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frames in An Phoblacht fell into the negative category, falling as far down as -.24 in the third
quarter of 1996. Only once did the party rise back into positive terrain—in the fourth quarter of
1997 with.09.

The PUP’s Quarterly Mean Framing: Because the loyalist PUP received much less media
attention than the other parties, the sample size was considerably smaller, which may contribute
to the wild swings in the party’s quarterly framing scores. But some trends still appeared (See
Figure 37). For example, the party’s highest quarterly mean frames in three publications—in the
two unionist newspapers, and in An Phoblacht—occurred in the second quarter of 1997. But
those scores (.43 in the Ulster News Letter, .48 in the Belfast Telegraph, and .36 in An
Phoblacht) hardly comport with the framing in the Irish News, which used a negative frame, -
.05, during that quarter. In fact, the Irish News featured the most dramatic variation in the
framing of the PUP. At one point (second quarter of 1994), the newspaper used the highest mean
frames for the loyalist party of any publication (.68) but then dropped its framing into negative
terrain (-.14) in just two quarters. After the drop, the nationalist newspaper used reasonably
positive framing for the PUP—ranging between .23 and .40 until the second quarter of 1996,
dropping to .04 for one quarter but rising back to strong frames, .23 and .50. Two other negative
quarterly frames appeared in the Irish News—the second and fourth quarters of 1997 (both -.05)
but the remainder of the frames returned the PUP to positive frames--.20, .19 and .26 for the
remainder of the study. The exceptional publication was An Phoblacht, which mostly ignored the
PUP, covering it in only six of eighteen quarters, of which half (three data points) fell into the
negative range. In An Phoblacht, the PUP’s first appearance, in the first quarter of 1995, gave it
positive marks (.24). The publication then ceased its coverage of the PUP until the second
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quarter of 1996 when the PUP’s framing became decisively negative, -.23 and -.16. After another
two quarter absence in An Phoblacht’s pages, the PUP returned with its most positive frames in
that publication, .36. But the positivity was brief, for in the next appearance, fourth quarter of
1997, the party slipped to its most negative frame score, -.29, then rose again to .09.
Figure 37: The PUP’s Quarterly Frame Changes and Community Relations

Conclusion
Among its findings, as hypothesized in Chapter One, this chapter found that media’s
frames change and evolve, and they did so across all five publications under study. However, it
also found that certain factors—entrenched opinions and emotions—can generate a resistance to
change, which appeared as variation in the degree of change in the comparisons across the five
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publications. For example, in the two newspapers most directly connected to specific
constituencies—the unionist Ulster News Letter and the nationalist Irish News—the situation
frames changed less than in the unionist-leaning newspaper, the Belfast Telegraph, which had
attempted to serve both unionist and nationalist communities. These patterns were most evident
when comparing the frame scores in two ways—by examining the quarterly means over time and
by comparing the mean frame scores in the first few months of 1994 to the same period of 1998.
The overall positive trajectory was most pronounced in two publications—the loyalist Combat
and the unionist-leaning Belfast Telegraph—which both used markedly more positive framing as
the peace talks advanced.
Simultaneously, when using annual and quarterly means, across all publications, the
framing for at least one party, Sinn Fein, changed for the more positive. And when using
monthly means, Sinn Fein’s mean framing in three of five publications evolved from either
“blame frames” or “hate frames” to “acceptance frames” by the final data point in May 1998.
The exceptions—An Phoblacht and the Ulster News Letter—framed Sinn Fein in near
oppositional ways. In the first case, An Phoblacht always used a minimum of “acceptance
framing" for Sinn Fein and elevated the party by the last data point in the study. The Ulster
News Letter, however, vacillated in its framing of the republican political party from “blame
frames” to “hate frames” to “acceptance frames” and back to “blame frames” by the last data
point.
Many of the situation frame patterns closely matched the patterns of the Sinn Fein
frames, suggesting that most of the negativity in the situation frames were directly related to
those of the republican political party. Similarly, it suggests that as opinion and emotions related
to Sinn Fein grew more positive, the situation frame also changed for the more positive.
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Among all of the publications, Combat’s framing ascension was the most pronounced
and dramatic. The loyalist publication’s framing of the situation and of the two “other” parties,
Sinn Fein and the SDLP, began with the most negative of all publications—using both “blame
frames” and “hate frames” for Sinn Fein and “blame frames” for the SDLP. Yet by May 1998,
the end of the study’s timeframe, Combat was the sole publication to shift to positive
“acceptance” framing for both “other” parties and positive situation frames. This was the most
transformative frame change in the study. The Belfast Telegraph also experienced a profound
change, the most pronounced of the newspapers.
In the other paramilitary-related publication, An Phoblacht, the framing featured more
subtle upward patterns. And the publication’s framing of the parties remained relatively stable,
even for its own, Sinn Fein, until the last data point, when it jumped to its highest point. In fact,
one party, the SDLP, appeared to shift in a downward framing direction after its height in 1996,
ending slightly lower than where it began. This may be partly explained by two factors: For one,
the two parties, while aligned on most issues, were also rivals, particularly during elections.
Secondly, while they shared many goals, the parties were critical of each other’s fundamental
approach to the attainment of those goals. Other framing patterns in An Phoblacht were less
revealing and need more research to assess.
Similar to the overall frame scores, the newspapers’ patterns varied from each other over
the study’s time frame, suggesting that ideology, identity and their related appraisals and affect
were factors that differentiated the publications’ responses to political events and changes in the
community. For example, the newspaper that attempted to appeal to both nationalists and
unionists—the Belfast Telegraph—changed the most, increasingly using “acceptance framing”
for “the other” party, Sinn Fein, much more than the more decidedly unionist newspaper, the
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Ulster News Letter. The Belfast Telegraph’s frame changes also demonstrated similar patterns to
those real changes in community antagonisms: Generally, as the real antagonisms subsided, the
framing of the situation and the two paramilitary-related parties, Sinn Fein and the PUP, grew
more positive. Because these parties were affiliated with the more violent factions, this finding
conforms to expectations. However, more research is needed to determine the precise
relationships between the framing and real community relations.
Although the unionist Ulster News Letter’s framing of the situation and “the other,” Sinn
Fein, also grew more positive over the study’s time frame, the patterns were more erratic than in
the Belfast Telegraph, and the positive change was less pronounced. This newspaper’s patterns
showed other interesting trends as well. For example, the situation frame and the framing of Sinn
Fein followed very similar trajectories, suggesting that the newspaper’s hostility was directly tied
to the republicans. The frames appeared to bear a relationship to the real antagonisms in the
community as well, but these relationships need further statistical analysis, in particular by
separating republican instigated antagonisms from loyalist-instigated antagonisms.
The Irish News’ frame changes revealed important trends. While it also trended in a
more positive direction overall, this papers’ framing of three parties spiked prior to the
subsidence of intercommunity violence, suggesting the newspaper had begun using “acceptance
frames,” before the ceasefires. The situation frames, on the other hand, peaked at the point of the
least intercommunity violence. For a period thereafter, the framing followed the real
circumstances’ trends until 1997, when its situation frames rose again before the violence
subsided, then flattened for the rest of the time frame under study. These patterns suggest that the
Irish News may have, at times, led, rather than followed the circumstances in the situation
framing patterns. Thirdly, the patterns for the most positive and most negative framing for the
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two paramilitary-related political parties appeared closely aligned, although while Sinn Fein’s
framing appeared to trend in a more positive direction than the PUP’s framing. These patterns
need more statistical analysis to better gauge their relationships.
The movement toward increasingly positive frame scores by May 1998 was expected,
although Combat’s frame change exceeded expectation. The change in Combat is somewhat
logical, as loyalist party leaders actively promoted the peace process and strongly advocated for
the agreement’s ratification. Thus, the frame changes may have either reflected authentically
positive judgment and emotion after achieving such a milestone as the Belfast Agreement, or
they may have been a strategic shift to positive framing in an effort to attain the greatest support
for the agreement from its readers.
Another expectation pertained to the journalist-favored SDLP’s frames. In all
publications, except for the loyalists’ Combat, the nationalist party’s frames remained the most
consistently positive. And while they fluctuated, they rarely—if ever—dropped into the range of
“blame frames” and never into the range of “hate frames.” In Combat, the exception, the SDLP’s
framing began with “blame frames” but moved to “acceptance frames” as the peace process
advanced.
Also, as expected, the frames varied at different times during the peace process, reflecting
the confusion and mixed emotions that journalists expressed. Sometimes, these frame changes
corresponded with real antagonisms between the communities, but at times, they were
mismatched with the circumstances. The sometimes erratic variation in framing when not
directly connected to real events, confusion, and mixed emotions may have also reflected
lingering judgments, or a sense of betrayal, such as when promises were broken during the peace
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process. However, while simple, clean patterns were difficult to discern, important overall trends
were evident and met expectations: For one, both the overall framing and the real circumstances
trended in a generally positive direction over the key years of the study’s time frame.
The publication’s framing that most closely resembled the circumstances changes was the
loyalist Combat. The yearly and quarterly patterns of the framing for the situation and Sinn Fein
were nearly identical, suggesting a very close relationship between the two variables. Essentially
as framing became more negative, antagonisms increased, and as framing became more positive,
those antagonisms decreased. Although the SDLP appeared less frequently in Combat, the
patterns for its framing also contained similar patterns. This finding is important, and suggests a
strong relationship between antagonistic behavior and violence, which was often perpetrated by
loyalists and the framing in the loyalist publication.
Other publications’ framing also reflected similar relations. In the unionist-leaning
Belfast Telegraph, for example, with some variation, the quarterly view’s patterns between the
real community relations scores and the framing show similar trajectories between framing and
real community relations. The more positive community relations data points often closely
corresponded with positive framing for both the situation and most political parties while the
negative framing and community relations also bore similarities. But the alignments varied more
in this publication than in the loyalist Combat. Similarly, the framing of the situation and for
three of four parties (all but the DUP) in both An Phoblacht and the Irish News bore resemblance
to the real community relations. The DUP, of course, opposed the peace process and
vociferously advocated against the agreement.

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Chapter Eight
Conclusion
The Politics of Transformation

Overview

This study analyzed the construction and evolution of frames in the public sphere and
their relationship to the construction of conflict and peace, using Northern Ireland as its case
study. It contributed to three fields of scholarship, international relations, political
communication, and Irish studies, by integrating frame theory, political psychology—emotions,
intergroup dynamics, and identity—and constructivism to better understand the politics of
transforming violent conflict into peaceful coexistence.
In the process of testing its theory, this work contributed (1) two original databases, (2)
the coding of 3,000 articles from five publications and 410 events in Northern Ireland, and (3)
the development of new methods and original scales to quantify framing of parties, the conflict,
and events, with specified component variables, including emotions and group dynamics, that
together comprised the frames’ values; (4) new framing concepts to be used in testing hypotheses
in conflict situations, including “blame frames,” “hate frames,” “genocidal frames,” and
“acceptance frames.”
The work’s findings developed from the use of both qualitative and quantitative methods.
Through interviews with political leaders and journalists, the research 1) distinguished the
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Northern Ireland political parties’ “frame wars” that helped motivate the real conflict and 2)
explored the forces behind the “frame-changers,” the journalists who “translated” events and the
parties’ frame wars into meaningful news stories.
Finally, with the new data, methods, and distinctions garnered through the interviews,
this project conducted a series of analyses and comparisons: 1) it compared the media’s newly
measured frames to the framing generated and used by the parties; 2) it compared the quantified
frame scores to the journalists’ expressions during interviews about the parties and the situation.
3) To understand the role of group identity and ideology on the frames and its components (such
as emotions), it compared the frames across the five publications; 4) It analyzed the degree to
which these quantified frames evolved or changed in the five publications (listed below) over a
specific time period—from January 1994 (before the ceasefires and before the lifting of the
broadcasting bans)—until May 1998, just after the Belfast peace agreement was signed and
ratified. 5) Using two original databases and the new scales, the study assessed the possible
relationship between these media frames and real intergroup relations by comparing the frame
changes to the real changes in the community (e.g. acts of antagonism, non-antagonism or
reconciliation).
The contributions of this study are described in more detail in the following subsections:
“Databases and Methodology,” “The Frame Wars,” “The Frame Changers,” “Frame Wars
Realized,” “Frame Change,” and “Constructing Peace.” The contributions section follows with
possible future research that can build upon this groundwork.

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Contributions of this Work

Databases and Methodological Contributions: In order to conduct this research, two new
databases and new methods for measuring conflict frames and parties within conflict frames
were devised. First, because no electronic media database existed for the period under study, this
research first collected digital copies (JPEGs) of randomly sampled articles from hard, mostly
bound copies of five publications, which included three newspapers—the nationalist Irish News,
the unionist Ulster News Letter, the unionist-leaning Belfast Telegraph—and two paramilitary-
related publications, the republican An Phoblacht, and the loyalist Combat. Then in efforts
determine the relationship between media framing and political conflict and peacemaking, it
created a new method by which to quantify the framing of the situation and the four parties under
study. The scales created for the situation frames distinguished the degree of conflict and
hostility within frames, known in the literature as “conflict frames” and “us-versus-them”
frames. As part of this effort, the scale incorporated psychological impacts using component
variables such as emotions and the identification of groups (to signify presence of possible
intergroup dynamics), blame, hostility/respect, and emotions within the frames. To measure the
framing of the parties (the “us” and “them”), similar scales were created with six appraisal
component variables—blame, dominant tone, counter tone, voice, legitimacy, and future
relations—plus two emotional component variables—one related to fear and hope and one
related to anger and acceptance. These component variables together comprised the framing for
the parties with the most negative frames signifying “blame frames” and “hate frames.” A
sustained, repetitive and hegemonic “hate frame” signifies the presence of “genocidal frames.”
And positive numbers signify “acceptance frames.”
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These new scales and frame measuring methodologies were then used to assess the more
than 3,000 randomly sampled articles. (The raw data includes more than 10,000 JPEGs). Then,
using the new scales and datasets, it generated the quantified frame scores for four political
parties and the political situation over a crucial period of the peace process. This compilation
resulted in one of two datasets created through this work. To determine the relationship between
these media frames and the real antagonisms and peace-making, this work constructed a second
database of intercommunity antagonism/reconciliation by first merging an existing database with
a chronology, then correcting and coding the entries. The database included significant events,
including political violence, antagonistic parades, peace rallies, ceasefires, apologies, and other
such acts coded for the level of antagonism or accord/reconciliation.

Findings

The Frame Wars: Through in depth interviews with political leaders in the region, this study
first identified the parties’ parallel “frame wars” that helped motivate the real conflict on the
ground. Opposing narratives from the parties contained virtually identical frames—identical in
their structure but with their roles reversed. For example, each community used “us-versus-
them” and “blame frames” in which “they,” or the “bad guys,” were causing the political
problems and “we” or the “good guys” were working to rescue “our” object of value (country,
culture, integrity, rights, people) from “the other.” These narratives and frames identified and
defined the “problems,” their “causes,” the “perpetrators,” “heroes,” “victims,” and what a
“happy ending” would be for each side. These constructions about the conflict and the
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participants served to justify political violence or other penalties (e.g. raids, jailing, or censure)
against “the other,” either officially or unofficially sanctioned. In fact, within some
communities, the narratives considered violence against these “bad guys” as necessary and
laudable, not merely justified.
As revealed in Chapter One and Four, embedded in these narratives and frames are
meanings and appraisals about belonging, right and wrong, justice, fairness and causality that
evoke negative emotions such as anger, fear, rage, disgust and hate and their behavioral
components such as attacking or distancing. In all of the frames, the unacceptable activity of “the
others” was expressed as an on-going phenomenon that needed arrest. But for some, such as the
nationalists, the end could be achieved through peaceful means such as persuasion or peaceful
demonstrations. In the unionist frame, the “others” had to be controlled, punished, or
sequestered—by force, when necessary. And narratives from republicans and loyalists called for
more extreme action. In these frames, the “others” were portrayed as an unjust and sometimes
evil force that must be forcibly arrested or crushed, before they—“the others”—destroyed the
object of value. Through their intensely negative appraisals of “the other,” these additional
components generated extreme emotions such as hate, making destruction or torture desirable.

The Frame Changers: Secondly, this research interviewed and identified “frame changers”—
the journalists who reported on the events of the day within the broader context of these frames
of conflict. Through the interviews, this work revealed several factors that affected the
journalists’ choice of stories and frames during the conflict and peace process. First and
foremost, these factors included professional considerations. For one, because the means of
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succeeding—and the definition of success—in their professions required maintaining relations
with the opposing parties to the conflict, these media professionals needed to navigate a difficult
balance: Because of the highly contentious lexicon, journalists carefully chose their stories,
questions, frames and words. Words were frequently codified—laden with meaning beyond their
common usage. The definition of “success” in journalism—such as “getting the story” or
“breaking the story” alongside the definition of “news,” drove a particular type of pursuit. Within
this structure, the practice of “indexing” the parameters of debate to those of public officials, and
the routines, norms and ideologies of journalism also contributed to the pursuit of stories, the
questions they asked, the language they used, and their choice of frames.
Simultaneously, however, other hidden, more personal forces also influenced the
construction of the news: the journalists’ personal histories, values, judgments about the situation
and the parties, and their emotions. For example, some journalists saw their craft as a righteous
cause and pursued matters that they believed fulfilled their professional, personal, and societal
goals. Some were “keeping an eye on things;” others were “shining a light” on unethical aspects
of life in Northern Ireland, and still other journalists were challenging secrecy and dishonesty.
Further, nearly all interviewed journalists expressed a variety of negative emotions about the
seemingly intractable conflict as well as sympathy for victims. As the circumstances and
leadership changed, the possibility of a resolution to the conflict shifted journalists’ assessments
and emotions, which affected their story choices and framing. Hope for peace in the region and
acceptance of those parties previously considered less than acceptable became more frequently
part of the framing.
Another finding in this chapter was the importance of political leadership and official
action in the construction of frames. Similar to some of the practices in the U.S., this research
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offered some evidence of “indexing,” a practice in which journalists tend to mirror the range of
the public debate to those of political leaders. Thus, changes in leadership—or leaders’
behavioral and rhetorical change—affected the media’s frames. But while journalists heeded the
changes in leadership, at times they also broke from the leaders’ rhetorical confines. This was
particularly evident when new discoveries challenged journalists’ beliefs and related emotions.
For example, the revelation that the British government was secretly meeting with Sinn Fein
leaders shook journalists, leading them to question the status quo framing that they had used for
decades. Additionally, Hume’s public joining with Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams and the efforts
of United States President Bill Clinton challenged the status quo frame about the intractability of
the conflict and the republican leaders. Further, as part of their strategic negotiations, many
leaders—including the leaders of the paramilitary organizations—changed their language,
frames, and activities. And finally, personnel changes, such the election of Great Britain’s Prime
Minister Tony Blair, shifted the tone, the debate, and the language during the peace process.
Over this time period, for example, the so-called “terrorists” evolved into increasingly acceptable
persons, allowing journalists to interview them without lambasting them during each exchange.
Changes in leadership also instigated new types of events and language that also affected the
news stories and thus, the framing.
However, although leaders were found to be important factors in the making of frames,
not all leaders were treated equally in mass media. Journalists’ own assessments and opinions of
the leaders, their activities and rhetoric, led these media professionals to respond more
affirmatively to some than to others. For example, the SDLP’s John Hume was nearly
universally lauded among interviewed journalists. And when they judged government action as
wrong-headed, some journalists defied government leaders (e.g. during the broadcasting bans).
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Similarly, many journalists expressed negative opinions and emotions of loyalists and mixed
opinions and emotions about republicans. These opinions had some bearing on the actual frame
values, which is further discussed in the next subsection.

Frame Wars Realized: The new frame measures allowed for analysis and comparison of mass
media framing and generated new findings about the realities of the frame wars. In the “Frame
Wars Realized” chapter, the overall means compared the quantified media frames to the framing
by the parties, the journalists’ articulations, and across five publications. With these
comparisons, it became clearer that group identity and ideology, which was embedded in the
media’s ownership, interacted with journalists’ judgments and emotions to influence the
construction of media’s framing of the situation and the political parties. With each of the five
publications rooted in particular communities—republican, loyalist, nationalist, unionist and
unionist-leaning—each represented a somewhat different identity and ideology within Northern
Ireland, which was evident in the component variables and thus influenced the mean frame
scores in the publications. These identities, ideologies, and their related affect became evident in
the differential frame measures. For example, the framing scores of Sinn Fein were dramatically
lower in the unionist and loyalist publications than in the nationalist and republican publications.
And while Sinn Fein’s frame score differences were the most pronounced, this variation was
observed in some of the other parties, such as the DUP, which received more positive framing in
unionist publications than in nationalist and republican publications.
Although ideologies, identities and the related appraisals and emotions affected the
media’s frames, by comparing the frame scores, it also became evident that the influence of
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journalists and journalism mattered. Journalism at the newspapers tempered, or softened the
more severe framing articulated by the parties about one other. Thus while the frame and
component variable scores differed across the newspapers, in most categories, the values hovered
closer to neutral. For example, most of the frames contained low-intensity emotions such as mild
to moderate anger, upset or acceptance, rather than more extreme emotions such as hate, rage, or
adoration. This pattern, which occurred in most component variables and the frames themselves,
signified moderated judgments and emotions in the newspapers’ frames. This was not the case in
the paramilitary-related publication, Combat, which without the professional constraints of
traditional journalism, used far more extreme framing and frame components such as the
emotions of rage or hate.
When newspaper framing was compared with the paramilitary-related publication,
Combat, the journalists’ softening of the frames became more evident. The loyalist publication
contained much more extreme framing of both the situation and “the others” than any other
publication. This was partly due to the high percentage of opinion and advocacy articles (75
percent), rather than reporting (10 percent). Secondly, because Combat was decidedly loyalist
and advocacy-oriented, its writers had different goals and norms than those of professional
journalists: Combat had different definitions of “success;” It did not need to maintain
professional journalistic norms, traditional gate-keeping, or cross-community sourcing. Thus, the
loyalist framing was unconstrained by the traditional journalism structure and norms. However,
because the overall article sample from the three newspapers also contained opinion pieces,
editorials, advocacy journalism and letters to the editor, some of these less tempered voices were
also present in the newspapers’ mean frame values.
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Additionally as expected, softened versions of the journalists’ own judgments and
emotions contributed to both the choice of stories and their framing. For example, journalists
expressed interest and excitement about covering the republicans, the IRA and Sinn Fein, but
expressed mixed emotions and sometimes confusion about their activities—disdain for the IRA’s
taking of human life but admiration for Sinn Fein’s savvy political skills, sympathy for the
republican victims of discrimination and hope for resolution, peppered with mistrust. The sheer
number of articles in the sample covering Sinn Fein (1354 articles) matched the expressed
interest and excitement expressed by journalists, while the mixed mean frame scores and high
standard deviation in the newspapers ostensibly reflected mixed judgments and emotions.
Similarly, the infrequent coverage (205 articles) of the loyalist party, the PUP, matched the
disinterest in loyalists expressed by journalists. But the PUP’s coverage was paradoxical: While
the PUP’s mostly positive mean frame scores ostensibly contradicted journalists’ reported
negative appraisals and emotions about the loyalists, the somewhat high standard deviations in
the newspapers suggested mixed emotions or confusion. This might be explained by the timing
of the coverage—mostly post ceasefires, a time when the PUP took a greater leadership role in
promoting dialogue and intercommunity peace, a cause that journalists purported to personally
favor.
Further, while newspaper frames contained minimal frequency of high intensity positive
emotions, such as pride and adoration that had been orally expressed by journalists about the
SDLP, the party’s mean framing scores in the newspapers were decidedly higher than the frame
scores of the other three parties. This finding suggests the merging of two forces—professional
norms of attempted neutrality and objectivity with the ostensibly unavoidably human appraisals
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and emotions. And while it appears that journalism was the deciding factor, neither professional
journalism nor group identity and its progeny erased the influence of the other.
Additional factors that affected the frame variable values, such as tone and emotions,
appeared to emerge from the routines of the journalists. Because journalists often report on
specific events and often in a “he-said-she-said” framework, the analysis suggested that the
frames were affected by several additional factors, including the following: 1) the events
themselves; 2) the choice of stories (e.g. what is defined as news) for coverage; 3) the decisions
made about which persons or parties to include and exclude as sources in the articles; 4) the
particular quotes and paraphrasing chosen for publication; 5) the language chosen and used by
the sources; 6) other language chosen by journalists; 7) presentation order (e.g. which leader
spoke first, second, last); 8) the contextual information included or excluded about the event. For
example, reporting a violent event was covered using a hostile conflict frame, whereas reporting
a peace rally was less likely to include hostile interactions. Similarly, relying upon some parties
as sources, such as the DUP, which remained opposed to the peace process and adamant about
banishing other parties as “terrorists,” resulted in more hostility and negative emotions in the
frames. Thus, when articles relied on the more inclusive party, the SDLP, rather than the more
hostile DUP, as a primary source, less negative emotions, tone and less negative framing
resulted.
Finally, journalists reported the influence of their own journalistic communities. In some
cases, the influence emerged from the interest and emotions of other journalists, such as the
international media corps, that affected their reporting. In other cases, their editors and political
leaders who feared damaging the peace process by focusing on flaws held sway. These factors
also led to some self-censorship, according to interviews.
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With these factors impacting the component variables and the construction of the frames,
the individual articles’ situation frame values varied widely. But their overall means remained
negative throughout the time period. The three newspapers’ (The Belfast Telegraph, The Irish
News, and the Ulster News Letter) mean situation frames fell between those of the two
paramilitary-related publications. The standard deviation also varied considerably. While these
findings suggest considerable variation in framing the political situation’s conflict, they also
demonstrate that the concentration of framing remained negative. This suggested the following
factors: 1) the focus on more negative than positive events and sources; and 2) the persistent
presence of grouping people. Because the presence of groups can perpetuate hostility,
competition, and intergroup emotions, this factor was one of four situation frame components
ostensibly skewed the situation frames into a more negative range.
The publications’ framing of the parties was less consistent than the situation frames,
particularly the framing of Sinn Fein, which swung wildly in nearly exact opposite directions in
the paramilitary publications. As expected, its composite frames varied dramatically with the
lowest scores in Combat and the highest scores in An Phoblacht, with the three newspapers’
frames falling in between those values. Although the framing of the other three parties also
varied, they were less divergent than those of Sinn Fein. The PUP’s mean frame scores, for
example, varied in the paramilitary-related publications. But the newspapers used more
consistent frame scores. The DUP’s mean frame values ranged slightly lower—lowest, as
expected, in the republican An Phoblacht, highest in the unionist Ulster News Letter, with
Combat, the Irish News and the Belfast Telegraph’s frame scores falling in between. The most
consistently positive framing occurred with the SDLP. Only Combat used negative mean frames
for the nationalist party.
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Frame Change: Using the new database and frame scores, this work found, as hypothesized,
that frames change and evolve. Both the situation’s framing and the party frames changed,
mostly in a positive direction, over the key years of the peace process, January 1994 through
May 1998. These frames varied at different times during the peace process, sometimes
corresponding with real antagonisms between the communities and sometimes mismatched the
circumstances. However, two important overall trends were evident and met expectations. For
one, the SDLP’s frames remained the most positive across all publications, except for the
loyalists’ Combat. This was expected, given the praise journalists heaped onto the party’s
leadership and their general agreement with its positions. Secondly, the overall trajectory of the
real-world circumstances and most frames over the study’s time period grew increasingly
positive.
This upward direction was most pronounced in two publications—the loyalist Combat
and the unionist-leaning Belfast Telegraph, which both used markedly more positive framing as
time and the peace talks advanced. These patterns were most evident when comparing the frame
scores in two ways—by examining the quarterly means over time and by comparing the mean
frame scores in the first few months of 1994 to the same period of 1998.
Among all publications, Combat’s framing ascension was the most dramatic. This was
unexpected. Its framing of the situation and of the two “other” parties, Sinn Fein and the SDLP,
began with the most negative of all publications—suggesting evidence of “blame frames” and
“hate frames,” the latter specifically for Sinn Fein. Yet by May 1998, the end of the study’s
timeframe, Combat was the sole publication to shift to positive, “acceptance” framing for the
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situation and both “other” parties. Moreover, the three frame patterns bore a remarkable
similarity to one another and to the real-world community relations. The matching of these
trajectories—particularly those of Sinn Fein’s frames, the situation frames, and the real-world
community relations—offers evidence for two hypotheses: First, the parallel patterns between
the situation frames and Sinn Fein’s frames demonstrates a relationship between them and
suggests evidence of loyalist blame on Sinn Fein. Similarly, it suggests that as opinion and
emotions related to Sinn Fein grew more positive, the situation frame also changed for the
positive. It also establishes a likely relationship between loyalist framing and real-world violence
and antagonism. When framing was negative, antagonisms were heightened; and when framing
grew more positive, antagonisms decreased. This construction of peace through the dynamic
interaction of real-world phenomena and framing is a key finding of this project. The
relationship between Combat’s framing and real-world violence is logical, as a substantial
portion of the violence was committed by loyalists—the core readership of Combat. The
movement toward increasingly positive frame scores by May 1998 was also expected, as the two
loyalist parties, the PUP and the UDP, had actively promoted the peace process and supported
the agreement’s ratification. Thus, the frame changes may have either been authentically positive
judgments and emotions or a strategic shift to positive framing in an effort to attain the greatest
support for the agreement from its readers. This, too, needs further research.
Other publications shared some of these features. As hypothesized, the newspaper that
attempted to appeal to both nationalists and unionists—the Belfast Telegraph—changed the
most, increasingly using “acceptance framing” for “the other” party, Sinn Fein, much more than
the more decidedly unionist newspaper, the Ulster News Letter, which as expected, was more
entrenched and resistant to frame changes. Further, the Belfast Telegraph’s frame changes also
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largely reflected similar path to those of the real changes in community antagonisms: Generally,
as expected, as the real antagonisms subsided, the framing of the situation and the two
paramilitary-related parties, Sinn Fein and the PUP, grew more positive. Because these two
parties were affiliated with the more violent factions, this finding conforms to expectations.
Although the unionist Ulster News Letter’s framing of the situation and “the other,” Sinn
Fein, also grew more positive over the study’s time frame, the patterns were more erratic than in
the Belfast Telegraph, and the positive change was less pronounced. This too conforms to
expectations. However, this newspaper’s patterns showed other telling trends as well. For
example, the path of the situation frame and the framing of both “others”—the SDLP and Sinn
Fein—while framed with very different values, still moved along a similar trajectory. The
negative situation frames corresponded with negative party framing for these “others,” again
suggesting that the newspaper’s hostility was tied to the opinions about republicans and by proxy
somewhat to the nationalists, though to a lesser degree. With some variation, the frames also
appeared to bear a relationship to the real antagonisms in the community, particularly toward the
end of the time period under study. As frames dipped into more negative ranges, so did real
antagonisms. And as one variable climbed in two of the last data points, so did the other.
The Irish News’ frame changes also revealed important trends. While they moved into a
more positive direction overall, other interesting patterns occurred. For one, its framing of three
parties rose prior to the subsidence of intercommunity violence, suggesting the newspaper had
begun using “acceptance frames,” before the ceasefires. The framing then rose again after that
point. As expected, the situation frames peaked at the point of the least intercommunity violence.
For a period thereafter, the framing followed the real circumstances’ trends until 1997, when its
situation frames rose again before the violence subsided, then flattened for the rest of the time
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frame under study. These patterns suggest that the Irish News may have, at times, led, rather than
followed the circumstances in the situation framing patterns. Thirdly, the patterns for the most
positive and most negative framing for the two paramilitary-related political parties appeared
closely aligned, although while Sinn Fein’s framing began in the more negative range and
trended overall in a more positive direction than the PUP’s framing.
The second paramilitary-related publication, An Phoblacht featured subtle upward
patterns in the situation framing. And the publication’s framing of the “others” did not rise as
dramatically as Sinn Fein had done in other publications. Its own party, Sinn Fein, remained
relatively stable until the last data point, at which time it peaked. Further, one party, the SDLP,
appeared to shift in a downward framing direction after its height in 1996, ending slightly lower
than where it began. This may be partly explained by two factors: First, the two parties, while
aligned on many issues, were also rivals, particularly during elections. Secondly, while they
shared many broad goals, the parties’ were critical of the other’s fundamental approaches to the
attainment of those goals. Other framing patterns in An Phoblacht were less revealing and need
more research to assess.
Similar to the overall frame scores, the newspapers’ patterns varied from each other over
the study’s time frame, suggesting that group identity, ideology, and their related appraisals and
affect were factors that differentiated the publications’ responses to political events and changes
in the community. The sometimes erratic variation in framing when not directly connected to
antagonisms or more positive events is likely related to several phenomena—confusion, mixed
emotions, lingering judgments, or a sense of betrayal. The conflict had taken decades and many
lives were lost, which likely entrenched emotions that could not be easily assuaged. Further, the
paramilitary leaders’ rhetoric of peace, at times, did not match the groups’ activities, leaving
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observers to judge them as inconsistent or hypocritical, and their motives, intentions and
commitment to peace unclear. For example, after the IRA declared a cessation of violence on
August 31, 1994, it resumed a violent campaign in February 1996, after British officials refused
to engage Sinn Fein without disarming the IRA first. Loyalist groups behaved with additional
inconsistencies, including rash of splinter paramilitary organizations that did not follow the lead
of the umbrella loyalist organization, the CLMC (Combined Loyalist Military Command). These
circumstances generated confusion and mixed emotions for both journalists and other
community leaders (Clergy leader 2009; Sinn Fein leader 2009). Further, as violence became
more abnormal, expectations may have changed, leading journalists and others to judge an act of
violence more harshly than at times when violence was just a status quo part of the fabric.
Altogether, these cognitions and emotions may have been reflected in the more erratic frame
changes that occurred in the monthly mean frame scores, particularly when the overall positive
trajectory was sprinkled with negative frame scores.

Next Steps
Building on this Groundwork

More research is needed in political communication and political psychology to
understand the nuances of conflict and peace—some which can spring directly from the
groundwork laid by this project and some that could be of entirely different datasets and
methodologies. The next subsections explore several options for next steps that can build upon
this work: developing the data; fine-tuning the frame measurement scales; incorporating and
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measuring the presence and impact of additional emotions, intergroup relations and frames;
conducting additional interviews; and using other statistical methods, experiments, natural
experiments and comparative studies to more fully comprehend the meaning of the findings here.
Developing the Data and Scales: First, additional data to both expand the longitude and fill the
data gaps can enhance accuracy for a future study. Secondly, as the first effort to measure the
“us” and “them” in conflict frames and a new attempt at measuring the degree of conflict in
frames, the scales need review and potential refinement. Thirdly, while this work coded for
groups of emotions separated by three dimensions—intensity, approach/avoidance, and positive
or negative charge—several specific emotions can be identified and incorporated into the studies.
Further, additional frames can be identified for further analysis within conflict settings. For
example, other frames, such as the “economic frame,” were periodically present in the data set,
but they were often still within the context of the conflict. Thus layers of frames may be present
and fruitful for exploration, separating and coding.

Interviews: During the process of researching the public aspects of building peace in Northern
Ireland, another dimension of the peace process became apparent that offers important future
research. A number of interviewees revealed their efforts toward constructing peace in private
settings—at times in complete secrecy and other times in more open intercommunity
reconciliation efforts. Exploring the secret side of the construction of peace adds another
comparative dimension to this work, which had focused primarily on the public sphere.
Additional Statistical Opportunities: Additional statistical applications, such as a time series
analysis, can build upon the groundwork laid by this research to attain greater precision about the
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relationships found in this project. Further, because the databases produced for this research
coded multiple variables, it offers many additional correlation options to understand which
component variables were most influential. Further, it appeared that journalists frequently relied
upon particular sources for subjects such as policing, political violence and security, while using
other parties for subjects such as education or the environment. With these additional categories,
which have been coded, this could also help to understand an aspect of stereotyping promoted in
the public sphere.
Opportunities for Experiments: The combined publication databases and the JPEG collection
of articles can be used in experimental settings to test for framing and affect effects. Because
each publication has its own particular framing slant, subjects who are not knowledgeable in
Irish politics can be divided into groups that would each be exposed to articles representing the
different frames.
Natural Experiments: Using natural experiments, the relationship between key events, media
framing, and the construction of peace. For example, within the current dataset, key events
include acts of political violence, parades, demonstrations, ceasefires, and bridge-building
symbolic gestures. To better understand frame construction, researchers can measure changes in
framing for several days before and after these diverse key events.
Comparative Opportunities: Additional datasets of media frames from other regions can offer
comparative opportunities. For example, the framing from regions with protracted, more deadly
conflicts or genocides and media from regions that are not antagonistic can be subjected to a
similar analysis then compared with the results of this study. When conducted with similar
situations, it may give more far-reaching implications for understanding the relationship between
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media framing, conflict and peacemaking. The same process can be used to compare other
conflicts: For example, Rwanda and Burundi contain many cultural, religious, and historical
similarities; but while in Rwanda, the Hutus committed genocide on the Tutsi people, in
Burundi, the conflict was mitigated before it escalated to genocidal levels. A key difference in
these two conflicts pertained to available mass media and diversity of frames that were present in
the public sphere.

Final Thoughts
The Construction of Peace

While past research has demonstrated how mass media framing has contributed to
political conflict, war and genocide, this work sought to examine the construction of peace in
mass media frames and in the physical reality. It built upon the idea that political realities are
constructed through a combination of mass ideation, emotions and behavior, using the Northern
Ireland transformation as a case study. Particular kinds of rhetoric, such as Blame Frames and
Hate Frames, can evoke meanings, beliefs and reinforce the demarcation of groups, which give
rise to emotions and their related behaviors, such as distancing and attack. This dynamic, then
reinforces conflict. But peace can be constructed through the transformation of these two
realms—the rhetorical and the real—which interact to shape politics in one direction or another.
Northern Ireland is a “political miracle,” according to observers (Journalist #4 2009,
2010). For decades, the region was mired in a hostile, hateful status quo of reciprocal violence
343

with no real hope for resolution, but it transformed into a relatively peaceful state-let in which
formerly warring communities now cooperate and govern together. The Politics of
Transformation used this “political miracle” as a case study to untangle the forces of
constructing peace.
Northern Ireland’s peace was created on these two planes: one rhetorical plane—in the
framing of the situation and the parties within the public sphere—and one in the real lives of the
Northern Irish people in the form of diminished violence and greater cooperation. This study
suggests that the two planes—the real and the rhetorical—are intertwined and influence each
other in a dynamic process: The media’s frames are influenced by leaders, events, structures,
institutions, judgments and emotions while these very influencers are, in turn, shaped by mass
media frames. Changes in political leaders, journalists, and media frames worked to shift the
meta-narrative and framing of both the situation and “the other,” primarily the framing of Sinn
Fein.
This co-creation appeared most in two publications. However, in most other publications,
neither plane progressed along a straight path toward peace, and both contained considerable
variation, with some wild swings in antagonism or antagonistic expression, and sometimes non-
antagonism and peaceful expression. Some of the framing trajectories occurred concurrent with
real community relations and interactions, but some of them did not. And throughout the
process, the forces of the institution of journalism itself—its norms, structures and moderate
ideology—softened the edges of the parties’ framing. When particular leaders used Blame
Frames and Hate Frames to describe the political situation and “the others,” the forces of
journalism and sometimes the journalists’ own opinions and emotions tempered those frames in
two of the traditional newspapers. This conversion created more neutral frames in the traditional
344

newspapers than in the nontraditional publication, Combat. However, Combat’s frames featured
the most dramatic changes over time. And as the frames grew more positive, from Blame Frames
or Hate Frames to Acceptance Frames, so did the scores of intercommunity relations, which also
means that violence decreased. Thus, as the publications moved from Blame Frames or Hate
Frames to Acceptance Frames, so, too, did the community.
One less expected discovery was the pattern of change, which appears to have occurred
in stages that together constructed the region’s peace: First came the agency of leadership—norm
entrepreneurs, who rejected the status quo and championed a situation change. In Northern
Ireland, the SDLP’s John Hume was among the most important norm entrepreneur. He publicly
rejected and worked tirelessly against three status quo “truths”: 1) the discrimination against the
native Irish/Catholic community and treatment of them as inferior; 2) the use of violence to settle
political differences; 3) the banishing of republicans as one-dimensional terrorists.
Hume persuaded others, including his own party, and was later joined by important
political leaders, namely, US President Bill Clinton and later, the newly elected Tony Blair, who
both responded to their own domestic pressures, which have been the subject of other studies.
The election of British Prime Minister Tony Blair and the engagement of US President Bill
Clinton (at the urging of the Irish American community) contributed to a change in the
landscape—language, news events, emotions, milieu, and framing in Northern Ireland.
Hume also publicly issued statements with Sinn Fein leader, Gerry Adams, as part of his
advocacy, simultaneously signaling to the wider community his rejection of the status quo
framing of republicans and recruiting another important leader to the cause. Thus, while Hume
wasn’t alone in the hard work of changing the status quo, he was the most visible, cross
345

community, and vocal. Other leaders were also important: Republican and loyalist leaders
persuaded their own constituents to lay down their weapons, and clergy leaders separately
worked with paramilitaries of both sides.
The second important stage occurred in the form of journalists’ response to Hume’s
advocacy. Both the quantitative and qualitative work in this research suggested that Hume and
his party were supported by the media throughout the period under study. Interviewed journalists
agreed with Hume. Many admired him, felt pride in him, and relied on him as a type of moral
compass, according to interviews. Quantitatively, Hume’s party was framed with consistently
higher scores than any of the other four parties, including those with other powerful leaders, such
as the DUP’s Ian Paisley, who opposed and advocated against the very changes that Hume
advocated. The frame changes over time suggest that Hume’s advocacy gained ground,
particularly in the framing of Sinn Fein. Throughout all newspapers and the loyalist Combat, the
framing of Sinn Fein grew more positive, attaining “acceptance framing” in all publications
during the study (the Ulster News Letter slid back into negative framing toward the last data
points). Simultaneously, the framing in the paramilitary-related publications, particularly
Combat, were ostensibly used as an instrument of persuasion. Combat’s frame change was the
most dramatic, clearly moving from hate frames to acceptance frames. The time plots, which
show nearly identical trajectories between real world events and Combat’s framing, suggest this
publication’s frame changes played an important role in diminishing the real-world violence.
Throughout this period, however, the peace process periodically experienced real
breakdowns, erupting in antagonisms and political violence between communities, sometimes
led by opposing norm entrepreneurs and their respective parties. But journalists disapproved of
the violence and antagonisms, and the more antagonistic parties’ frames slid lower than those of
346

the SDLP. However, as groups rejected violence and antagonism, their frame scores generally
ascended—though not necessarily on a linear pathway—into the zone of acceptance framing.
Finally, this use of these more positive, acceptance frames appears to have helped
persuade enough members of the public to accept “the others” such that two important
phenomena occurred: The paramilitary members decreased their use of violence. And the
majority of the public voted to support the peace agreement, in which the “others” of each side
would now join forces and share power in the region.

347

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i
Most data gaps resulted from the harder-to-obtain paramilitary publications, which were not as well-archived as
newspapers within the Northern Ireland libraries. A few dates are also missing from the daily newspapers, either due
to library misfiling or user error.

Abstract (if available)

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Core Title The politics of transformation: mass media and the Northern Ireland peace process

School College of Letters, Arts and Sciences

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Politics and International Relations

Publication Date 04/05/2013

Defense Date 12/11/2012

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag acceptance,conflict,DUP,Emotions,Hate,Hope,IRA,journalism,media,Northern Ireland,OAI-PMH Harvest,Peace,political psychology,political violence,PUP,SDLP,Sinn Fein,terrorism,UUP

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Crigler, Ann N. (committee chair), James, Patrick (committee chair), Dekmejian, Hrair Richard (committee member), Ramirez, Ricardo (committee member), Starr, Kevin (committee member)

Creator Email armoudian@aol.com,mariaarmoudian@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c3-231840

Unique identifier UC11295402

Identifier usctheses-c3-231840 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-ArmoudianM-1514.pdf

Dmrecord 231840

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Armoudian, Maria

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the a...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus MC 2810, 3434 South Grand Avenue, 2nd Floor, Los Angeles, California 90089-2810, USA