Now Entering Free Derry

Over the past couple weeks it's truly been difficult to find the time and energy to mentally analyze what I've been seeing in Northern Ireland.  Since my last post, I've left Belfast, and details have not come to those keeping count at home.  What I can say about Belfast was that it is a divided city.  It's divide is not necessarily the classic identification of 'Catholics vs. Protestants.'  Instead, it surrounds Nationalism vs. Unionism, flag-flying, marching, and music.  Since last winter, the issues surrounding the Belfast City Council to stop their daily flying of the Union flag erupted when the annual 'Protestant' marching season was abruptly ended by the city parade commission in July of this year.  As a result, West Belfast witnessed the formation of Camp Twaddell, where individuals wishing to see their annual July 12th parade finish its parade route through the Nationalist areas.  Since July, Twaddell has been the site of nightly protests, and a monetary strain on the taxpayers of Belfast to fund the numerous police forces present each evening. 

Unsurprisingly, walking along Twaddell Avenue and past the camp before Mass that Sunday was enough to give a real perspective of others who walk to the Holy Cross Church.  Where do they walk from?  What routes would they take?  What motivates them to still attend services at a church surrounded by "the other"?

Nonetheless, we made our way north to Corrymeela Reconciliation Center for the past weekend with side trips to Giant's Causeway, Bushmills Distillery, and the ruins of an ancient castle along the cliffs.  What an amazing experience that was!  The center itself overlooked the sea, nearby cliffs, Rathlin Island, and very distantly the Scottish Higlands.  The center, and our mentor Elizabeth, led us in discussion, yoga, art expression, and along the rocky beaches.  I found peace and beauty there, and some kind of a metaphoric guidance in seeing the lighthouses on R~ Island.  The water, the snails and kelp and creatures in the tide pools were beautifully colorful, and the skies were clear blue. 

A view of the Guild Hall from the defense walls of Derry.  In
the background, the Peace Bridge with its two white supports
connects the east and west banks of the River Foyle.  The
white building complex across the river is an old British Army
Barracks.  The Peace Bridge as a concept is welcomed by the
Derry townsfolk.

Now I am in Derry.  Or Derry/Londonderry.  Or Stroke City.  Whichever you prefer, I'm there, and after walking along the walls, into St. Columba's church, through the Bogside, and up the hills of the Walled City, I've come to love it. Our tourguide of the walls and some of the city itself gave us a fantastic background of the area.  He was an ex-political prisoner himself, and the personalized stories he shared with us were incredible.  He was honest.  He was repentant.  It was a combination of ownership of the past, as well as sorrow and bravery that I can scarce do justice in putting words to.  Through his stories, as well as those from others I've met along the way, I can sense that much research could be done here concerning political prisoners during The Troubles. I realize also that this would be a deeply emotional experience.  Either way, there is a story to be told about Derry.  I'd be honored to do my part in telling it.  It's been 24 hours since I've entered into this city, and I yearn to learn more.  It's going to be a valuable week in terms of finalizing my research proposal.  Perhaps one of those lighthouses from R~ Island will guide me along in writing that.

Slan agat -