The Catholic man we're walking with along Falls Road once served over a dozen years in prison for his activities as a volunteer with the Irish Republican Army. Apart from a few scars (from bullet wounds) he doesn't look the part--wearing shorts, trainers, and holding a small and energetic dog on a leash. He's leading a small group of us around some of the key sites of the conflict between Irish Protestants (who've wanted to keep the six northern counties of Ireland part of the United Kingdom, loyal to the British Queen), while most Catholic residents of Northern Ireland seem to want the northern counties to unite with the southern 26 counties (which have been the independent country of Ireland for several generations after a successful struggle to break away from centuries of English rule)--or at least gain greater economic rights and freedom from discrimination.
He talks about the ways in which, when he was growing up, Catholics and Protestants lived in separate areas--some still separated by a very high fence (which we walked along) that reminded Barbara and me of the fence/wall separating long stretches of Palestinian land and nearby areas that Israel now claims which we'd seen in Bethlehem and elsewhere around Christmas in 2009. He talks about the reasons young men, and some women, felt desparate and drawn to the cause, even though it involved taking up the gun at times (as he did). We see the wall murals commemorating the ten men who died in prison after committing themselves to a hunger strike until death in 1980 (taking 50-70 days to die), and other murals or markers commemorating men and women (and some children) shot by police or the British army (some as the result of targeted assasinations, others caught in the crossfire during violent confrontations).
He says he believes that the cause for which he fought was just, and would do it all again--that it was worth it. Yet he would also forbid his own sons, now in their 20's, from doing likewise, as times have changed even though the issues are still not entirely resolved. (Even while we were there, confrontations involving up to 500 people in another part of Belfast resulted in the wounding of three people.) It's clear that the struggle cost hundreds and hundreds of lives, and left many with life-long wounds (both physical and emotional), a struggle that was actively waged until quite recently. It's sobering to spend part of the day with him, and have newspaper headlines brought to life.
And yet this experience, significant as it was, didn't completely define our time in Belfast. In spite of the history of conflict, colonialism, and loss lying beneath the surface, we found Belfast an impressive city--though with a lot of rain. We liked much of the architecture, the friendliness of people we met, the wonderful seafood stew we enjoyed in an old pub (a "non-profit" which helps sustain programs for the unemployed), a beautiful botanical garden, and an impressively remodeled national museum of history just next to Queen's University (one of the best in the British Isles).
The museum helped fill in a bit of what little we knew about Irish history and the background of the conflict with Britain. For you history buffs, by 1609 Enland had established the Plantation of Ulster (in northern Ireland)--using military force, tax policies, seizures of land, and various laws to establish England as a colonial power in northern Ireland. An alien religion (Church of England/Protestanism) and language were imposed (over Catholic traditions and the Irish/Gaelic language). By 1714 Catholics held only 14% of all Irish land, and Catholics could not buy land nor hold public office or vote. In spite of some later reforms in the 1800's, the Easter Rising in 1916 by Irish Catholics signalled the approaching end of English rule in at least southern Ireland. The events during the rest of the 20th century in northern Ireland ("Ulster"), where industrial wealth had most developed (Belfast shipyards built the Titanic, among other vessels) and Protestant privileges were most obvious and most defended, was the lingering expression of long-held historical grievances and issues.
We sailed from Belfast by ferry over to western Scotland, and then travelled by bus through small hills and green farms to Scotland's capital city: Edinburgh. But more on that in our next blog.
And, for those you wondering where our photos went--they will return, when we retrieve our little cables to download our photos to our computers next week.
Best wishes. It's really summer!
Bruce
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