first few days

I’ve never walked into something so intense so quickly. Traveling to Belfast was uneventful, other than the chaos that is London-Heathrow airport. As soon as I got to Elms Village where we are staying, my professor (Marika… don’t tell her I told you that we’re on a first name basis in Ireland) told everyone that it was my birthday. It was at that moment that I remember getting swept away with this sense of community that I’m sure we’ll need to support each other through the rough spots of what we’re studying. Monday night was a blast, a lot of partying and shenanigans – a great way to spend the first night with people you will be with incessantly for a month.
Tuesday morning was early. Really fucking early. We had a meeting, and afterward, we went for a walk through the area we’re staying over to the museum that had an exhibit for the Troubles, as well as art, history, and fashion exhibits. Before coming to this program, we had to answer questions about events as they happened chronologically, from the time of the Protestants moving to Ireland until the recently history of peace. It was a systematic and comprehensive way to get the facts straight, that Republicans were typically Catholic for a Republic of Ireland, that Unionists were typically Protestant and wanting to be a part of the United Kingdom, that the IRA fought the UVF and the RUC, etc. When we went into the Troubles exhibit, you got a real feel for the chaos of the period as the exhibit was scattered around the room so that every time you turned your body, there was another wall of information and photographs. It was difficult to read everything and to be surrounded by photographs of the prison Long Kesh and the Royal Ulster Constabulary holding down riots. I believe that the layout of the museum was very deliberate because it isn’t a simple event in time, and there is still a lot of chaos where we are.
After the museum and lunch, we went on our first tour of Belfast on a bus led by the wonderful Martin. He showed us city hall where hundreds of people were laying in the grass, soaking up the sun, the birthplace of the Titanic (did you know it was built in Belfast?!), which is now a big hole in the ground, and Stormont, their parliament. The Stormont is absolutely grandiose, just stunning, but it has been historically open only the Nationalists who ran the government. It was at the Stormont that I had my first really emotional experience, the first of many to come, I’m sure. Martin is a Catholic and a Republican who was an IRA member, and he shared with us the story of his first entering Stormont after the Belfast Agreement was passed in 1998, telling us how difficult it was just to walk inside the building, tears streaming down his face. He talked of how difficult it is to shift from 30 years of hating and fighting to the last 10 years of working with Nationalists for peace and reform. With all the statues and symbols currently reflecting the Unionists at the Stormont, they are trying to add more statues and art that reflect the Republican presence in their government, trying to add community activities on the grounds to pull in and include different communities. I think it’s really noble and inexplicably difficult to rewrite your mental and emotional disposition after having it for over 40 years. Do you ever forgive? Do you ever forget? While we were standing in a smaller group, I asked Martin about whether schools are integrated or not, which led to a much more intimate discussion about how his family and he personally have been involved in the politics of Ireland. His family was educated in a Catholic school, though I believe he wants his children to have Protestant friends, and I know he wants his children to have very different experiences from his own. He showed us the scar on his arm from when he was shot, which naturally led everyone to gasp. A lot of his accounts were really difficult to follow and complicated in nature. When I looked into his eyes, they showed a pain almost tangible and still soft and sensitive, like the pain is still easily rubbed raw, the wound readily opened. I can’t imagine regularly giving tours and opening myself up to perfect strangers like that, subjecting myself to emotional trips like what Martin was obviously experiencing at that moment, but it seems like this city wears its emotions on its sleeve. This was the first really emotional moment I had in Belfast, but everyone we’ve talked to since then has shared the same sentiments, like talking about it is very therapeutic and there are still many overt wounds to be healed. When we left the bus, Martin shook my hand and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I felt a great connection with him, maybe just something I saw and felt in his eyes, and this short but sweet relationship has made me more prepared for all subsequent events on this trip.