chapter 33: "they're all hoodlums..."

"they're all hoodlums. one side is green hoodlums and the other side is orange hoodlums."

-john hawthorne, belfast

northern ireland is an interesting place. a tiny place, with a huge reputation. the country claims as its own noted authors such as james joyce, oscar wilde, and cs lewis to name only a few. there's breathtaking architecture and stunning natural beauty.

but it's perhaps best known for the infamous "troubles", between unionists loyal to the british crown, and irish nationalists. it's a long running bloodbath that claimed many innocent lives, pitted neighbours against neighbours and was immortalized by u2 in their song "sunday bloody sunday" about the 1972 killing of 14 people by british troops.

these days, a fragile peace prevails. the people are trying to forget and start over. greg and i got a chance to see it all, and even today, the scars are visible. we stayed with his relatives john and brenda hawthorne in belfast for a few days this month. they've seen it all. and even though the troubles are officially over the peace, in brenda's words, is only "a thin veneer."

walking around the unionist/protestant shankill road and the nationalist/catholic falls road, you can sense the tension. all over the city you see murals.

how could people forget when the reminders of all that tragedy are staring at them in vivid, living colour day after day?

you get the feeling one incident is all it would take for erstwhile butchers, barmen and short order cooks to put down the cleaver, the pint glass and the skillet, and pick up the guns and petrol bombs. the protective wall that divides the two sides is, even now, being built higher and higher.

to put it simply, the wounds are still open, and the emotional scars are generations away from healing. walking through the area, blighted by violence and economic depression, it dawned on me that gawking and taking pictures of memorials to dead teenagers and twentysomethings would be just a wee bit tacky. the words are heartfelt, the plaques shined to a high gloss. phrases like "IRA terrorists" and "evil genocide" make my spine tingle.

maybe one day the scars will heal, and the memorials will be allowed to dull and fade into memory.

but not yet.