Learning from the Past

From the far South to the far North, I made the journey from Cork to Belfast.  From the moment I got off the train and walked into the city centre, I was hit with a wave of familiarity.  One of the first thoughts I had was "man, this place reminds me of Boston".  The old red and brown brick buildings, the maze of confusing streets, and just the general energy of the place all felt strangely like home.  I was sold immediately, and the next two days of wandering around and exploring didn't disappoint: the Titanic museum, City Hall, St. George's Market, the Botanic Gardens, Crumlin Road Gaol...I haven't enjoyed being a tourist this much in a long while. 

City Hall

Albert Clock

 

 

The Titanic Museum

The Old Courthouse

I also had to do laundry, as I was down to my last "clean" pair of clothes (well, at least they WERE clean three days earlier when I first put them on). As I was sat in the laundromat waiting for my clothes to dry, I found a brochure lying on the table for a walking tour of the city centre called "A History of Terror" that was focused on presenting an unbiased account of "the troubles".  My interest was instantly peaked.

One of the four jobs I worked while in Seattle was as a script reader for an international screenplay competition.  Each week they would send us scripts via email, and we were to read them and write up an analysis, telling the writer what we liked about the story and what we thought could do with improvement.  Most of the scripts I read were not good...REALLY not good... and I spent a majority of my time coming up with creative and un-hurtful ways of suggesting that maybe they find something else to do with their lives. Every now and then, though, there was a good one.  One of these was from an Irish writer, and told the story of an Ex-IRA member who had turned in his fellow IRA members in the aftermath of a bombing gone wrong.  He was then sent to live the rest of his life with his wife in England, under assumed identities, never to have contact with their family or friends back in Ireland again.  When his wife dies, years later, her final request to be buried at home in Ireland is enough to convince him to go back, despite the danger, and reconnect with ghosts of his past. It was a great story, and very well told, and it provoked in me a great interest in understanding what really went on during this time in Northern Ireland. In the States, we hear about the IRA being a bunch of bomb-happy terrorists and not a whole lot more than that.  I could tell from this story, though, that the reality was much more complex.

I wound up staying in the city an extra day so that I could take this walking tour and I'm so glad that I did. It was guided by a Belfast native who has also worked as a professor of history, and who currently works in conflict resolution with both republicans and loyalists, former prisoners and surviving family members, helping them come to terms with what happened and find a common ground.  It delivered exactly what it promised: an unbiased and fascinating history of the events that transpired in the city centre and beyond, filled with personal stories from our guide's own family and friends.  It was meant to last two hours, but stretched on to nearly three. No one minded. I could have followed him around all day listening to his stories. It really shed a new light not only on the script I read (which I intend to read again when I get back to my computer in the States), but on the city of Belfast in general.

This was the energy I was feeling... that life, that vitality, that heightened awareness
that buzzes electric around a city that's seen things. That same passion that once drove the place to ruin is still there, but focused now in a different direction. It hangs in the air and on the battle scarred walls as a testament to the ability to distill unbridled rage and injustice into knowledge, compassion, artistic expression. Lessons can be learned here, for those open to listen.