THIS year will mark two decades since the Good Friday Agreement brought an end to years of sectarian conflict in Northern Ireland. But as the region’s politicians gathered for talks on January 24th, a grimmer anniversary was on their minds. As of this week the Stormont Assembly, set up under the Good Friday deal, has been suspended for a year, following an almighty falling out between republican and unionist parties. The latest round of discussions designed to get it back up and running does not look promising.

Senior members of the clergy painted a bleak picture in their new-year messages. Ken Good, the Protestant bishop of Derry and Raphoe, lamented that Northern Ireland “has felt more divided than for a generation.” Eamon Martin, the Catholic archbishop of Armagh, said: “We seem to have gone into a kind of vacuum at the moment, with very little sense of direction.”

Last January, Assembly proceedings shuddered to a halt when the late Martin McGuinness, Sinn Fein’s leader in the north, resigned as deputy first minister. McGuinness cited the “shameful disrespect” shown to his fellow republicans by the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), Sinn Fein’s partner in government. Under the Assembly’s power-sharing rules, Sinn Fein’s withdrawal caused an automatic suspension of the devolved government.

Since then the British government has hosted rounds of fruitless talks between the two parties, covering issues ranging from the rights of speakers of the Irish language to the investigation of alleged past abuses by the security services. The atmosphere was summed up by Naomi Long, the leader of the centrist Alliance Party, when she declared: “There is zero trust.”

That is partly because the negotiations have been punctuated by bouts of electoral combat. Elections to the suspended Assembly last March produced a surge in support for Sinn Fein. The general election in June saw the DUP recover, increasing its tally of MPs to ten. This proved crucial when Theresa May fell short of a majority and persuaded the DUP to prop up her government, in return for £1bn ($1.4bn) in new funding for the province. Republicans believe that the British government’s dependence on the DUP has undermined its role as an impartial broker in the talks.

The other aggravating factor is Brexit. Most republicans oppose it, since it would weaken ties with the Republic of Ireland. Most unionists support it, for exactly the same reason.

The latest round of talks features two new figures. Karen Bradley, whom Mrs May appointed Northern Ireland secretary earlier this month, was previously the culture secretary and has no previous experience of the province. Meanwhile Sinn Fein will soon be led by Mary Lou McDonald, who will take over from Gerry Adams. Republicans hope that Ms McDonald, who has no past connection to the Irish Republican Army (IRA), will attract a new generation of voters to the party.

That ambition, and the chances of success for the talks, have been dented by the antics of Barry McElduff, a Sinn Fein MP. On January 5th, the anniversary of a massacre in 1976 of ten Protestant civilians by the IRA near the village of Kingsmill, Mr McElduff posted a video of himself larking about in a supermarket with a loaf of Kingsmill bread on his head. He was eventually forced to resign. Sinn Fein should have no problem winning the forthcoming by-election for his seat, but his behaviour has made a mockery of republican complaints about the DUP’s “disrespect” for its opponents. The contest will be bitter.

What if the talks go nowhere? With the Assembly suspended, Northern Ireland is already being governed mainly from Westminster. In the absence of a deal between Sinn Fein and the DUP, the province could revert to “direct rule” by the British. In practice that might not look very different. But the breakdown of a key part of the Good Friday Agreement is a cause for deep concern. The accord has formed the basis for Northern Ireland’s prosperity and security. During the 1990s around 550 people were killed as a result of sectarian violence. In the past decade, fewer than 30 have been. Few believe that the end of devolution could result in a return to previous levels of violence. But the longer Northern Ireland’s politicians play for time, the greater the risks they take with the hard-won peace.