When blogs and peace processes run long

There was once a story written about the fictional town of Derry, Maine, USA. It was a wonderful epic about nostalgia for the present moment, the strange nature of memory, and what might happen when the forces of evil meet the power of friendship in its purest form- through the bond of children. I am not the author of this story, though I am a big fan of it. If you would prefer to read about that (and I would highly recommend it), please feel free to exit this window now and refer to the Stephen King section of your local bookstore.

All the same, since arriving in Derry, Northern Ireland, I have been unable to stop thinking of the book It, which I coincidentally was reading the last time I was in Europe, and making (perhaps excessively grandiose) connections between the tales of the two cities with the same name. 

Like all places, Derry has a feel of its own- the distinct, intangible colors that characterize it. For a place that has so recently experienced active conflict (Bloody Sunday occurred here in 1972, and the Good Friday agreement officially ending the time of "the Troubles" wasn't signed until 1998), it seems strangely quaint- an old city with historical walls, a few commemorative murals, and a polished peace bridge. With antique buildings and pubs set among green hills, and  a vibrant river running through it, Derry to me seems like the friendlier grandfather of many PNW cities in the United States. Through our partnership with local peacebuilding organization The Junction, I have seen obvious displays of genuine friendship between Protestant-Loyalist and Catholic-Nationalist ex-combatants, and both young and old alike seem to proudly boast of how unconcerned Northern Irish from my generation are with such sectarian divides. People here seem relieved at how far they have come, and the many tourist groups walking Derry's streets are a testament to its safe, small-town feel.

Early on in the novel It, each of the main characters has a moment in which they're forced to come face-to-face with the villiwn for whom the book is named. In classic evil fashion, It appears as whatever the child fears most- a giant bird, a highly antisocial clown named Pennywise, blood spewing from the bathroom drain, etc. The experiences are the children's introduction to the Derry that lies just beneath the town's quiet streets, a revelation that things are not quite as genial as they seemed.

I have, in some ways, been waiting for my Pennywise the Clown moment since arriving in Derry. But other than far-too-frequent encounters with gluten, nothing had been that terrifying. And then we took a day trip to Belfast, Northern Ireland's largest city, and the place where I'll be spending the majority of my summer. The contrast between Derry and Belfast was stark. Belfast is highly industrial, and instead of a river separating those who are traditionally Protestant-Loyalist from prople who are traditionally Catholic-Nationalist, there is a wall. And not one that was built centuries ago by an English king who was bad at finances like the one in Derry. Belfast's wall is specifically designed to separate the two groups (the gates are locked each night at 10pm), and general consensus is that citizens want it there- it makes them feel safer.

We viewed these walls, lovingly termed "Peace Walls", along with several Protestant and Catholic memorial gravesites, through a bus tour half-led by a former IRA member (on the Catholic-Nationalist side of the city) and half-led by a former UVF member (on the Protestant-Loyalist side of the city). Though the two were working together under the same tour company, they never interacted, and they were both honest that they had come to the job because their former prison sentences had made it difficult to find work elsewhere. 

All the while, our kind, well-meaning bus driver was passing around rubber bullets and a tear gas canister that had been used during the Troubles. Touching these not-so-distant artifacts, looking at the tall, graffitied concrete wall, and witnessing an overwhelming sense of apartness in the city's commemorative monuments, I began to feel my blood sugar drop. I was struck with one redundant, sickening thought: I've seen this before. 

It's been a little over a year since I traveled to Israel-Palestine. During this time, I have been challenged to face pain and embrace the paradoxical moments of peace entering into violent terrain. And I'm proud of the ways I've begun to cultivate this skill. But going to a place that was so reminiscent of my own personal trauma and representative of the potential future of a region I care about deeply was...a bit dismantling. The strength I have gained through the fire of the past year is one my greatest treasures, and I was suddenly forced to realize that it is fragile. Pennywise the Clown had made it onto the bus.

Belfast is not Bethlehem- on this trip I've been learning a lot about the value of having models for transforming conflict, but also a lot about the danger of story comparison (my wise friend Matt calls it cheapening another's history). And where Belfast is at is not bad- it was just a jarring reminder that there's still work to do. 

There's still work to do. And it's complex. I have a lot of questions about how things fit together here, and am often overwhelmed by all the components that I don't understand (so basically, it's a lot like how I feel most of the time in the United States). I'm still learning to embrace complexity and long runs as good things. I'm impatient for endings, but I'm often sad when they come (a brief example: I spent all of one summer tackling the thousand-page-plus leviathan that was It, with a slight twinge of resentment toward each perceived unnecessary detail, only to cry when I finished it). I'm excited for the challenge to keep facing troubles (no pun intended) and to keep my own heart present in the fantastically real story that is being woven together in Northern Ireland 

right

now.

The Walls Among Us

Hey everyone, my name is Amber! Before this trip I had anticipated to be brought into a culture that resembled my own and to visit places that were previously discussed in class. When I actually arrived here though I was quickly taken aback by the streets and people that made up the city. In Derry/Londonderry and in Belfast I was shocked to see a Wall separating the Loyalist community and the Nationalist community. I had known that there was conflict, but I did not expect to see the physical representation of it so obviously shown. On our trip to Belfast I was speechless when I heard our tour guide talk about how at night they closed the gates of the Wall. This struck me in a way that I hadn't expected. How could there be the declaration of peace but yet the people still enforce the laws of separation? To me this seemed like a person saying that they are okay, but remaining broken on the inside. Back home in America we hear the stories of the hardship that occurred in Ireland, but we never hear of what's happening in the now. We know that there is a peace agreement, but we do not know how individuals are actually managing. Coming here and being a witness to the repercussions of The Troubles is something that more people should experience. A person can only learn so much from a book and until they witness it, what they learn will only remain a story. 

-Amber

The Long View

"Many people want peace, but few people want reconciliation because reconciliation has proven to be more difficult." This comment, made by a tour guide, could not be more true. Few people have tried to reach reconciliation in Northern Ireland. James Greer is currently on the path towards reconciliation. James was born in Darry as a Protestant Christian. During the Troubles, a period of deep conflict in Northern Ireland, he was part of a paramilitary group that fought for Northern Ireland to stay loyal to the British government. He was eventually convicted as a terrorist. James did not tell us the specifics of what he did during the Troubles, nor do I think that matters. The pain of the past seems to be evident amidst his his healing process.
The first thing I noticed about James was his deep respect for the other, which was shown in his small intimate actions. James seems to be very aware of the natural power he has and he frequently exhibited the willingness to humble himself in the presence of his friends. One example of such behavior happened when one of his friends was telling a story. Before they began their narrative he asked them if they wanted him to leave the room. This small action becomes more amazing when you stop to consider how their relationship would have been different during the Troubles. Reconciliation is hard, but the process is easier when you take the time to recolonize each other, even if they were your enemy.

-Emily

The Importance of Play

As most college students will tell you, there are times when things get really hard. Everything feels like a catastrophe, like the end of the world. My junior year was no different. It seemed like every time something worked out, something else would go wrong. I spent a better part of this year hoping the semester would end, that summer would start, and that I would finally be on this trip.

The days leading up to taking off were spent talking with friends about how we were in vacation mindset. The idea of lectures, tours and history lessons gave me a lot of dread. I came to Ireland with the hope that I could somehow slip through without having to invest very much: because I felt like I had been creating a debt for myself over the year.

The trip has, admittedly, been full of lectures and discussions, museum tours and day trips across the coubtryside; but it has also been full of play and joy and laughter.
I have felt myself growing here in Ireland, and because I feel renewed there is a sense of being able to be present and invested in this trip more than I have before.

Tonight, the team gathered together and went through a series of improv and performance games. What started as a lighthearted workshop quickly became a space of depth and meaning to many of us. The Spirit was present in the room as we laughed and shouted and ran about. And I welcomed it with great joy.

I know as I leave Ireland, I will remember the stories, the faces, and the beauty: but I also know the important lesson of play will stick with me every day, as I begin to search for the playful serendipity of the moment. 

Seeds of Doubt

On Saturday morning our team was privileged to meet with two members from our host organization here in Derry/Londonderry. The content presented to us was on the topic of “Ethical & Shared Remembering” – in which the poignant phrase “sowing seeds of doubt” was used as a description of the organization's vision.

Much of the organization's heart is captured in this phrase and it carries with it a profound significance.

Protracted conflict oftentimes polarizes issues and enables individuals to develop and defend strong narratives surrounding the sources of conflict. As each person understands conflict from their own contextual experience with the affirmation of a surrounding community, a sense of tunnel vision easily sets in. In order to make sense of violence and trauma it is only natural to create ways in which to protect ourselves and the community we identify with.

It is from this place – I am convinced – that divided narratives emerge.

These senses of understanding are formed within and representative of a specific context and subsequently isolated from the alternative perspective of other communities or people groups. Contained within the walls of one’s community, the collective narrative and remembering/commemoration of events is not only simplified but also strongly reinforced. The longer this narrative circulates, the more mythologized it becomes.

It is in response to this firm grasp on the notion of “truth” that seeds of doubt are presented and sowed. Doubt is necessary not as a means of compromising truth but as a process towards a more holistic and full understanding of truth.

As diverse truths are shared – informed by the historical accounts of persons and events which informs current conflict – a process of deconstructing learned sectarian narratives is cultivated. In further creating and nurturing space for ethically informed and shared remembering a sense of togetherness and collaborative truth can emerge.

I am intrigued at this process of critically engaging the truths found in narratives from divided communities. Sensing and responding to doubt is a courageous endeavor. For those traumatized from violent conflict, allowing these seeds to take root is both challenging and highly subversive. The willingness to shift from absolutes to ethically collaborative understanding has profound impact on places of violence and division – be it in Northern Ireland, Israel/Palestine, or Chicago. While challenging and oftentimes deeply uncomfortable or painful, critical examination of “truth” and the biases from which it emerges is essential.

As we continue listening and learning in Northern Ireland, I hope to further explore the depths and significance of “sowing seeds of doubt.”

-David F. Potter

Questions

Throughout the first week of being in Northern Ireland, I have been reminded of the importance of questions.  Often, I try to "figure" out an issue or conflict before I even ask a question.  Without questions to ask, what am I even trying to say?

With the conflict in Northern Ireland, I am learning to not be afraid to ask questions even if they may not seem significant.  I don't know the significance of an orange sash in Northern Ireland and I want to know--that's ok.  Once I am able to formulate and ask my questions, I can then begin the hard work of wrestling through both unresolved questions and  hard answers.  From this trip so far, some of my questions are as follows:

How do younger people view the conflict and peace process?

What should be Britain's role in Northern Ireland?

How do communities heal from trauma?

What are the dangers of memorials in Northern Ireland and other countries?

What is problematic of murals?

What is the role of faith in Northern Ireland and healing from the troubles when religion has been so divisive?

What is our role as Americans in helping Northern Ireland heal from the conflict?

How can we be better informed of international conflict besides just reading books and articles?

These questions and more have given me a lot to wrestle with.

First Impressions of the Emerald Isle

Greetings from Northern Ireland! My name is Caleb, and I am studying conflict transformation with several of my classmates here. Specifically, we are interested in studying the Troubles, a conflict that lasted from 1968 to 1998. Ireland is a land with a long memory of events both tragic and magical. In the last week, we have had the opportunity to experience many stories, sights, and sounds of this strange place. Here are few of my first impressions of the Emerald Isle.

Stepping off the plane in Dublin, I was exhilarated. Despite the stress of travel and lack of sleep, I felt excited and ready to experience all that Ireland had to offer. One of the first things I noticed was that all the signs and roadposts are written in Irish, a strange rhythmic language. Although less than a third of the population speak it fluently, the locals claim this Gaelic dialect is the best language for poetry, seduction, and curses. One of the first words one learns is "craic," meaning good times. Craic is had often in pubs with the company of friends with lifted spirits. 

After a day in Dublin, we loaded onto a bus headed to the town of Derry/Londonderry in the north. I spent the time watching the green hills roll by. Unlike the flat Midwest where I was raised, Ireland is land of many textures with low river valleys, squat mountains, and rugged coastlines. The air is fresher here and the trees are healthier. The entire country is steeped in green, even in the city where little flowers and moss poke out between cracks in the road.

Soon we arrived in Derry/Londonderry where we are spending most of our time. The city sprawls out through a valley, surrounded by lush green hills. The wide river Foyle cuts the city in two, spilling into the lough a few miles north. The city is composed of squat brick buildings and the city center is ringed by walls that are 400 years old. Here we began learning of Ireland`s long history. We heard of the Troubles, but also of medieval sieges and Celtic bonfires. It is clear to me that Ireland is a land that is rich in stories, and I am excited to learn as many as I can.