Time is a great storyteller.
I wish, then, that time could tell the story of the weekend trip to Northern Ireland for me, because capturing the intensity of all that I saw, heard, and felt over the course of those three days is going to be difficult.
Before my visit to Northern Ireland, my knowledge of its history and its politics was minimal. I knew that it rests within the realm of the United Kingdom because I had to exchange my euro for pounds, and I was vaguely aware of the bombings carried out by the Irish Republican Army (IRA). After listening to Professor Whelan lecture over the bus microphone for the entirety of the two-hour drive to Belfast last Friday morning, I gained a fairly solid understanding of the events leading up to the violence that swept through the region while my parents rocked out to Donny Osmond and the Jackson 5 back in the United States. The Irish Free State (present-day Republic of Ireland) emerged after the Irish War of Independence between Ireland and Britain from 1919 to 1921. The six counties of Northern Ireland, populated by Protestants, remained under the jurisdiction of the United Kingdom as they are today. The partition caused the Irish Catholics living in Northern Ireland to feel dispossessed by both their fellow Irishmen and the British government that treated them as marginal citizens. The tensions swelled over the years until the late 1960s when young Catholics, inspired by the Civil Rights Movement in the United States, began to protest their own lack of political and social rights.
Our first stop in Belfast was the new Ulster Museum, where the curator guided us through a new exhibit of gray, black, and white exhibit of walls, words, and video. The exhibit documented the years of violence the protests that began in 1968, the years known in Ireland as the Troubles. The Troubles lingered into the 1990s. Since the history is so recent and so fresh in the hearts of the citizens of Belfast, the exhibit faced a challenge of documenting the events without bias and with great emotional sensitivity. The bleak welcome to Belfast provided us with a perspective from which we would view the rest of our weekend. The tea and scones that followed the exhibit lifted our spirits and gave us the energy to withstand an intense encounter with a Sinn Féin representative at Stormont.
As we drove through the gates of Stormont, the bus filled with the oohs and aahs of the girls who found similarities between the majestic landscape surrounding Stormont and the scenery in Pride and Prejudice. Stormont (pictured below) is the home of the Northern Ireland Assembly, the Parliamentary body of the region. The building only reopened in 2007 after years of devolvement. Since then the Assembly has provided an outstanding example of inefficiency, passing only 36 laws in three years. The United States passes an average of three hundred bills per year. Much of the inefficiency rests on the system of shared power between the First Minister and the deputy First Minister. The two ministers must agree on a ruling before it can be passed, but the ministers represent opposing parties – parties that represent the factions that fought during the years of the troubles. The First Minister stands for the Democratic Unionist Party, the conservative party that wishes to remain a part of the United Kingdom, while the deputy First Minister represents the radical Irish nationalist party Sinn Féin. If the combination of leaders was not inefficient enough for Stormont, then the voting process certainly seals the deal. The process reminds me of an icebreaker game we played with the fifth-graders at the camp where I worked last summer. When voting on a bill, the representatives in the Assembly cast their votes not by ballot but by yelling “aye” or “no.” The yelling game rarely results in a decision. The next step is to ring a bell that can be heard all around the building. At the sound of the bell, all the representatives have three minutes to get to the assembly room and file into a corner. The side with the most people in it wins the vote.
While we were in Stormont we had the opportunity to participate in a question-and-answer session with the Sinn Féin advisor of the deputy First Minister. The discussion became more than heated when our dear professor began to ask accusatory questions regarding Sinn Féin’s violent past. The Sinn Féin representative became so agitated that we were all squirming uncomfortably in our chairs, ready to run if he stood up and started yelling. We learned later that Professor Whelan intentionally argued with him in order to get him to divulge more about the politics of Northern Ireland. We calmed him down with some less provocative questions about policy and language. At the end of the session, Professor Whelan thanked him graciously and, as a token of our gratitude, presented him with the Kelly green Notre Dame football t-shirt that boasts the slogan “We are the Fighting Irish.”
After our visit to Stormont we drove through Belfast, past the most-bombed building in the world (the Europa Hotel), and onward toward the coast of the Irish Sea at Portrush in County Londonderry. There we stopped for a sunset and a delicious meal. The picture to the right is the sun setting over my friend Dan Strittmatter and the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. We spent the night in the village of Ballintoy, population 160. I do believe we met the majority of that population when we walked into the local pub and found that they were celebrating Paddy’s 75th birthday. We danced and sang along as an older gentleman stood at the front of the pub playing covers of Johnny Cash, Elvis, and John Denver on his guitar. Shortly thereafter we stepped out into the crisp country night air to take a walk down to the harbor with Professor Whelan. The night was the kind of beautiful that makes you miss somebody. The stars were so clear that each time I blinked I could see even more of them. In that moment the concept of time seemed foreign; I have no idea how long we laid on the grass sharing conversation and song. No picture could possibly have done the night justice – if I could have bottled it up and mailed it to you, I would have done so in a heartbeat. Once we returned to the hostel, we were still so happy for the beautiful night that my roommates and I stayed up far too late giggling like fifth graders at a slumber party. Professor Whelan’s catchphrase is true: “the tiredness goes away, but the memories last forever.”
We were lucky to wake to a crisp, sunny Saturday morning on the day of our excursion to the Giant’s Causeway. The trail that led from the parking lot (“car park” in Ireland) to the Causeway also happens to be a coastal marathon route, and the race just happened to be that particular Saturday morning. After successfully dodging and then cheering on some runners we made it to the end of the trail. The scenery was breathtaking – from one side we could see hills and glittering sunshine, and, on another, the coast of Scotland. Professor Whelan seized the opportunity to share his infinite wisdom and gave a talk so inspiring that I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of the nature and the people that surrounded me. He spoke of hundreds of years of people coming to the shore and wondering about the expanse of the sea and the height of the sky. He reminded us that we were all thinking of the ones we love at home and how important it is to take these experiences and use them to share with those who couldn’t be with us. And ten years from now, he said, when we look at a picture of the Giant’s Causeway, we’re going to think of all of the people who were with us while we were there.
We slept our way to Derry after the hike. The historic town is called Derry (its original name) by those of Irish Catholic heritage and Londonderry by the British. The picture at the very top of this letter is the view from the walled part of the city looking into Donegal. We had been invited to attend a lecture by Seamus Deane about the influential theater company Field Day. I am under the firm conviction that Mr. Deane never sleeps. Not only has he published numerous books, taught at Notre Dame, founded Notre Dame’s Irish Studies program, and co-founded and co-produced every play presented by Field Day productions, but he also edited the Penguin editions of James Joyce’s novels, which can be a lifetime of work in itself. After the lecture we went to a reception with Mr. Deane and actor Stephen Rea (most recognized for his role as Detective in V for Vendetta). Both of the men interacted with Professor Whelan as if they were the best of friends; I do believe that Professor Whelan knows just about everybody in Ireland. We spoke extensively with Mr. Rea about the differences between acting on stage and acting in film. I was proud to say I’d met him when he appeared in the movie we watched the following week for my film studies course at UCD.
On Sunday morning we met Seamus Deane’s brother Eamonn for a tour of the Bogside in Derry. The name is deceptive; the bog has disappeared since the area of town was named. The Bogside is the Catholic section of Derry and the location of the Bloody Sunday massacre that started the real violence of the Troubles in 1972. A memorial to the innocent civilians who were killed listed thirteen names; two of those young men boasted the last name of McKinney. On a beautiful Sunday morning in 2010 imagining such a tragic incident seemed impossible until I saw those names and realized that I could have lost a brother, a father, a best friend. The political turmoil of the Troubles inspired Derry muralists to paint the edifices of houses with pictures of figures and events to preserve the memory of the civil rights struggle. Above I have pictured one of the most iconic murals in Derry. The gentleman in the brown sweater is Professor Whelan and the other man is Eamonn Deane. Mr. Deane took part in some of the protests and actually appears in one of the murals as part of a crowd. The city now enjoys peace, but the memorials serve as constant reminders of the violence that so recently affected the daily lives of the people living in Derry and in the Bogside.
After Mass in Derry we returned to Belfast for a similar tour of the neighborhoods that played a key role in the warfare of the Troubles. Despite all its grandiose architecture and green hills, Belfast remains scarred by years of violence. The Catholic section of town (Falls Road) and the Protestant section of town (Shankill Road) are separated by a structure of wall and fence tall enough to prevent even a star baseball pitcher from throwing a glass bottle over the top of it. The police force continues to block off certain roads when darkness falls. In the Catholic section we toured with one man who told us about growing up during the Troubles and spoke with another man who continues to fight for a united Ireland. Belfast also boasts murals of figures who took part in the fighting. My favorite mural depicted a group of old women in a kitchen with sandwiches and tea surrounded by soldiers; the painting is a token of remembrance for the women who aided in the struggle. The other side of the wall at Shankill Road was actually very scary. There were no murals of sweet old women; instead, the murals portrayed gangsters, barrels of guns, and bloody scenes of destruction. We were happy to leave that section of town. As we departed Belfast we distributed two more Fighting Irish t-shirts to our friends. As much as I love Notre Dame, I would never, ever wear that shirt in Belfast.
I embarked on the trip to Northern Ireland with little knowledge of its history and returned feeling almost as if I had experienced the Troubles with the men who shared their stories. I thought it would be difficult to verbalize my experience, but I can’t even imagine the courage it took for the men and women who lived through the Troubles to speak about those years. Time has built up their story all around them – in memorials, in murals, in people, in walls, in churches, and in inefficient political systems. Although they are now at peace, I hope that time will bring them just as much peace of heart and mind as it has brought peace to the streets of Northern Ireland.
Receiving the history of Northern Ireland in firsthand accounts was incredible, but when I look back on the weekend my favorite parts were talking under the stars, giggling until the wee hours of the morning, experiencing the glory of creation, and discovering more about the friends I have made through the Notre Dame program while we shared all of these experiences together. I am surrounded by a truly wonderful group of people. I hope that when ten years pass and I look at pictures of Ireland I will think of these friends not just as pieces of memories but as friends to call any time for a meaningful conversation. I am grateful at least that we have two years left together at Notre Dame…but as for the future, time will tell.
beannacht leat go bhfeicfidh mé aris thú,
Meghan McKinney
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