For a whole generation, politics in the North has been a wasteland, unpleasant and dangerous. Now politicians emerging into sunny uplands find they have power of a kind, local prestige enough to make many happy, and the prospect of lengthy careers. For several reasons, this would be a good moment to construct a system of accountability with effective checking mechanisms - transparency, in the voguish word, writes Fionnuala O Connor
Unfortunately, muddling through is the more likely scenario, which will bring inevitable disgrace. In that the unlikely Stormont arrangement is still new enough to retain the potential for a fresh start, disgrace would be doubly disappointing. Think of the scorecard. One of the leading parties has been part of an organisation involved for decades in murderous violence, destruction, robbery and financial crookery. The other has a reputation for bigotry and obstructiveness. By coming this far, the most prominent figures have confounded many critics and some supporters.
It will be harder to confound the sceptics, their number increased by the recent sight of the two figureheads so amusing the US president. (But why would anyone think either party likely to spoil the atmosphere?) The most cynical have always thought the Stormont breakthrough at best a recipe for back-scratching, with erring politicians - and civil servants - Teflon-coated against investigation and punishment.
It could still ward off corruption, and there will be no better time to get it right. Having been paid for so long while the Assembly failed to meet, the fledgling Members of the Legislative Assembly (MLAs) need to build credibility. For every seasoned Stormont inhabitant, some more candid and scrupulous than others, there are five or six with little or no experience. The present register of interests is a thin affair. Some MLAs clearly log all or most invitations: others either receive none, are less conscientious, simply careless or perhaps naive.
But it is in their own interests to set up keen oversight of their dealings, since there is bound to be temptation from lobbyists for commercial enterprises of all kinds. As long as all contact is logged and no favours are done, business of course has a right to lobby and politicians may properly take up cases. (Ideally, of course, workers laid off by multinationals would have as much access as developers.) Yet the necessary and even desirable interface between business and politics is perilous territory, as bigger political societies repeatedly discover. The scrupulous should lead the way by demanding transparency to protect themselves from the greed of some.
The payoff for propriety is public respect for politics, or a fighting chance that respect can develop. In post-Troubles Northern Ireland, that would be hugely valuable.
In the sure knowledge that no system will work unless there is the will, new millennium Stormont can draw different lessons from the bigger, immensely more powerful legislatures in London and Dublin. The medium-size current British controversy over disguised party funding through proxies creates a London buzz, mainly by revealing that there is public interest in, potential official disapproval of and sanctions against funding which might turn out to be a backhander, a sweetener for some deal. By contrast, the seemingly interminable tale of dodgy doings in the Republic appears to interest only the pedantic few.
British Conservatives are still struggling to recover even the appearance of electability, largely because the last Tory government sank under allegations of what came to be called "sleaze" - for the most part trivial by Dublin standards.
The Southern State knows only too well how trust is abused, propriety winked at. Yet a generation on from the Haughey saga, the chief lesson learned seems to be that spinning out denial of details generates enough boredom and confusion to swamp indignation. The electorate, for the most part, seems remarkably unmoved.
Is the smallness of Ireland a big part of the problem? A State where everyone knows everyone else is perhaps bound to make for a cosiness that discourages stringency about public servants.
Not that size in itself confers correctness. The House of Commons is hardly intrinsically a more moral place than the Dáil. That became obvious in the whispering campaign and refusal to back first "commissioner for standards" Elizabeth Filkin when she challenged prominent Labour figures, and the diminution of the office as soon as she was frozen out five years ago.
And if legislators will not police themselves the fourth estate must live up to the name.
The most heartening perspective on 21st century Stormont is the willingness of the Belfast Telegraph and BBC NI - for the moment anyhow - to keep truffling around new ministers and MLAs.
In the first half of the last century, neither media institution displayed similar healthy curiosity towards the Stormont which unionists controlled. But that was a different country.