Northern
Ireland is a
minefield to write about. It can be a faux pas, in fact, especially for a
curious, highly naive tourist like me. I hear so many stories about the
Troubles and yet I still never know enough to understand…
Catholic or Protestant? Republican or
Loyalist? Nationalist or Unionist? Ranger or Celtic?
It’s strange that the ability to stereotype
is a trait anyone in the PC world would happy to give up, but in a place where
you are unable to pick up signals, to sense tensions, stereotyping can be a
relief. I feel lost in Northern
Ireland. I do not
have psyche ingrained in me by history and by cognitive experience by which I
can perceive these differences and divisions. But is it such a bad thing? Do I
really want to see a clearly delineated society– all painted in blues and hoops?
We took a bus around Belfast. I craned
my neck out on the bus window. At the outset, we saw quiet working class
neighborhoods, similar to those in the rest of England. Human
less rows of terraced houses blur into each other as we sped away. But then… huge
murals appeared and reappeared – flashing in the hysterical precision of a
milestone. Massive hand painted pictures
of hooded men, guns, fists demarked every neighborhood – a testament to the revolutionary
fervour of not long ago. Each brick, a tribute to the historical sentiments
and political alignment of some.
Biases and prejudices took its physical
form in these walls to divide people according to their creeds and alliances.
For a local, the message is clear: a wall could either be a welcome refuge or a
hazard sign and each step can make the difference between a maniac and a
martyr, life and death – depending on which side you are on.
It was a disturbing sight. One always
thinks that prejudice and intolerance is something that can be felt… but to
actually stare at it is unsettling. It reminds me of a saying, “Good fences
make Good neighbors”. I wonder if in these parts of the world, it is true, or still true!
Feeling in the dark, I fumbled around Belfast for some
enlightenment. My
first steps and sights on Ulster grounds left me an impression of
sterility; void of that self-important ambience or nostalgic grandeur that
other European cities pride themselves with. Baffled, I walked further and witnessed a city
that takes its construction seriously, day and night, regenerating areas into
great expanses of steel and grey concrete. Bulldozers and scaffoldings seems
natural part of the landscape – as if there's a semi-conscious, collective
pursuit to efface history, start on a clean slate...
Start on a clean slate.
Is this a cause of hope, perhaps? Maybe my
first impression has been wrong. Maybe I lack the vision of a much larger
picture. Although years of conflict and hatred cannot be bulldozed away
overnight, maybe this is a sign of Northern Ireland’s resilient nature amidst unrelenting
tides of changes, political turmoil, and restlessness. Maybe people are getting
tired of being bogged down by their own blighted history… of having to always
choose sides. Maybe this round-the-clock rebuilding of the city is a shared
purpose, regardless of the sect they belong.
A shared purpose.
Rebuilding a city - rich with histories,
with faiths and with insights - together. Every individual contributes…with the
quiet acceptance that they build a home together that no one sect can build alone.
Or maybe, these are just mad ramblings of a
tourist, drunk with her own naïve optimism.
We have yet to see. The real answer lies to
the inhabitants of Northern
Ireland themselves.
It is up to them to choose to build more walls... or to build new bridges.
Our photos at Northern Ireland
NUTS.
