And yet there’s hope

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Welcome to Loyalist East Belfast, where paramilitary murals still proudly adorn the walls.

I walked away from my conversations yesterday with a sense of pessimism about the future of Northern Ireland. The people I met had experienced so much pain, and expected so much more yet to come, that I could not help but be touched by their perspective. They firmly believed that the war had only paused. That they had been prevented from winning by politicians unwilling to approve the necessary measures that would make shoot-to-kill an across-the-board reality. And that as a consequence, the resumption of the war was inevitable. More blood would be shed, and more people would die.

And that worried me. Because in every trip I’ve made here beginning in 2008, the feeling of fragility, of the bandage covering deep unhealed wounds unraveling at the edges, has only intensified.

I spent my afternoon today interviewing a former member of the Red Hand Commando*, one of the most effective, or notorious, depending on your perspective Loyalist paramilitary organizations. I walked away from that interview with a sense of hope, not dread, for the future.

Yesterday was about fear and an expectation of the worst. Fear that the IRA had not gone away, that the relative calm was only a facade, that the turmoil along the border would explode. Expectation that things would “kick off” again, and when they did it would be a brutal, bloody mess.

Today was different. My contact was unapologetic about his past, but recognized the awfulness of what it meant to go to war and to be at war in a place where people know each other, recognize each other, live next to each other, and were killing each other. And he was determined that the current generation, and future generations, should not have to go through that hell again.

He did not apologize for his politics. And he recognized the reality of poverty, of joblessness, of educational failure, of non-existent opportunities, of feelings of being abandoned by a Unionist political elite that only seems to acknowledge and turn to his community when it needs someone to do the dirty work. And yet the last thing he said to me, when I asked him what he saw for the future, was this:

This is no longer about us. For future generations, we can’t be selfish. The world will be a better place. We can only focus on our wee bit first. Hope, hope, hope. Give hope, and keep hope.

And so I hope for the future of this place, for the people I have come to know and respect and have real affection for across the numerous sectarian, political, and class divides, and for those that I haven’t yet met. Hope.

*I hate myself for continuing to link to Wikipedia, but hey, this is a different kind of media. Students, do not let yourselves think that this is a substitute for actual, scholarly, research.

Nothing is over

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At the office of FAIR, Markethill, County Armagh.

 

I spent the day in South Armagh and I need some time to process what I heard and saw. But look closely at the memorial monument above. What do you notice?

That’s right. There are no end dates.

I asked my guide if that meant what I thought it did. He said: “The conflict here is not finished.”

If you step closely and look, you can read the inscription at the foot of the monument. It says:

There are no names of individuals on this memorial as a poignant reminder that many more soldiers and police officers may die in their fight against oppression as the war against tyranny is not over.

There is unfinished business here.

It’s kind of like Vegas …

… in that what gets said when the recorder is off stays off the recorder. And hence off the record.

I was thinking about that today after finishing an interview with a contact I’ve talked to before. He’s a smart, energetic, friendly, and open man who was at one time a fairly highly placed member of the IRA but has since left the fold.  His distancing from the mainstream Republican movement was gradual but ultimately total, and his political work is now limited primarily to advocating on behalf of Republican prisoners and the occasional public criticism of Sinn Fein and its leadership. The Republican world is a small one and he remains well connected. In short he is a great source of information and insight, generous with his time, gracious, and someone I am lucky to know.

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My on-the-record interview with him went about 90 minutes or so, and when we were done and I shut the recorder off, he brought out the bottle of Irish whiskey and the conversation became more informal. Informal, but no less informative. We talked about American politics (he wanted to know what I thought of Ron Paul), our respective countries’ gun cultures, racism, global capitalism, Aldous Huxley, George Orwell, state surveillance, enhanced interrogation, and more.

We also talked about the changes in the operational and organizational dynamics of the IRA that took place between the 1970s and the 1990s, what it was like to fight the war within the prisons, how to smuggle contraband into the prisons (everything from fountain pens and tobacco to radios), personalities within the movement and how they got along (or didn’t) with each other, and so on.

None of what we talked about after the recorder went off can I use in my writing, not that anything that was said was out of step with our on-the-record conversation or named any individuals in any way that is not already part of the public record. But it does have the effect of broadening my knowledge and understanding, and the overall tenor of our conversation will work its way in to my professional output, whether on the printed page or in the classroom.

I find that these conversations are much of the reason that I come here. At this point, you could argue that field work on Northern Ireland is not really necessary. The ceasefires have held for nearly 20 years (more or less), the peace process has been slowly but steadily transforming into a real peace for 17 or 18 years. Seemingly endless reams of academic papers and books have been written and published, and my own modest contribution, when it comes, will only incrementally add to that. I’m under no illusions that my scholarly output will reshape the field.

And yet there is a fragility to the peace that I would not appreciate if I didn’t come here and talk to people like those I talked to today. There is an ordinariness to the people who did extraordinary things here (both good and bad) that I would not appreciate if I didn’t come and talk to them. There is a popular narrative about the type of people who become terrorists that I would not be able to challenge for my students if I didn’t come here and meet them and hear their stories.

So while what happens when the recorder turns off stays off the record, it doesn’t stay out of my mind or fail to inform my perspective.  And for my money that makes me both a better scholar and a better teacher.

 

 

Good things happen …

… when you follow your own rules. By that I’m referring to those rules or lessons that I posted about the other day, and in particular the rule that says “talk to everyone.”

Over the last few days that strategy has paid off, not necessarily in ways that will automatically make their way onto the page of some future publication, but in ways that are helping me learn more and more about this place.

Example 1: I spent my much of my day Friday in front of the computer, and then had a meeting in the afternoon. With that over, and it being a little late in the day, I thought I would grab a pint and a quiet spot in my favorite pub to write a little in my journal. I did not count on it being Friday, and the end of the work week, or the Scottish stag party taking up a fair portion of the place. So instead of quiet writing, I ended up sharing a table with a very interesting group who, once we got engaged in conversation, told me about their experiences growing up at the height of the Troubles, how they initially felt about the introduction of British troops on the streets, and where they think things have gone right, and wrong, in the years since the ceasefires.

Example 2: I was in Dublin all day Saturday for a event put on by one of the newer groups on what is generally called the “dissident Republican” spectrum, though that term is more shorthand than real description. A couple of thoughts from that event. If this is the start of the revolution, it’s going to be very small, and over very quickly. But I did meet up with a friend who is always helpful and insightful, I met a pair of young people who may represent the face of a new generation of Republican activists outside the Sinn Fein orbit, and I got to hear two pre-1969 veterans of the IRA talk about how it was back in the old days, when the process of joining the IRA was, according to them, difficult and selective.

Example 3: On the train back to Belfast last night, I ended up sharing a table, and conversation, with a young fellow who represents a new face of politics in Belfast that is neither Republican nor Loyalist. His name is Gerry Carroll, and he was elected a Belfast City Councillor from the socialist People Before Profits party in 2014, representing a Sinn Fein dominated part of West Belfast.

Example 4: During coffee hour following church at St. George’s this morning, I had a chat with a relatively new member of the parish. Turns out she is the retired CEO of Christian Aid Ireland, with more than 50 years experience in the field of international development, and a recipient of the Order of the British Empire for her work, which included a stint as director of Christian Aid NI. She had much to say about the challenges of providing aid and working with NGOs in divided societies torn by conflict.

Three days worth of conversations, and I learned something new from each of them. Three weeks yet to go …