Complexity Through Simplicity

By Ron Bateman

The wind and rain have settled back in after a two-day reprieve. I chose a seat this morning in the Guildhall café that would allow me to see the Peace Bridge that spans the River Foyle. I have been reading from John Paul Lederach’s book, The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace. His words resonate with me on this my last day in Derry. He states that, “a haiku must capture in a few words the complex fullness of the moment, a setting…an experience. I have come to see the haiku challenge as a metaphor. The practice of haiku is this: to embrace complexity through simplicity. I believe this is a core practice of peacebuilding, both discipline and art…” (p. 67).

I offer the following, humbly and embarrassingly:

A space once filled with
Violence. The shadow now
Bridged in confidence.

Visual Borders

By Matt Matassa

It's hard to tell the difference between a Catholic and a Protestant, a Unionist and a Nationalist. However, it is not hard to tell if you are entering one of their respective communities. Each side has established a strong visual identity through murals, monuments, curb paintings, sculptures and peace-walls. These images create "visual borders" that enforces this community's deep political and social divide. I can't help but wonder if the opportunity for creative expression has helped or hindered the ability to achieve a shared vision of peace.

West Bank, Londonderry-Derry, Northern Ireland - Protestant Community

NO ENTRY - "Londonderry West Bank Loyalist Still Under Siege No Surrender."

Londonderry-Derry, Northern Ireland - Bogside Catholic Community

Mural depicting realities of Bloody Sunday

Belfast, Northern Ireland, Mountain View Tavern - Protestant Community
Plaque reads, "This Poppy Cross is in memory of five men murdered at this spot by a no warning
by a sectarian IRA bomb attack on the Mountain View Tavern on 5th April 1975"

Londonderry-Derry, Northern Ireland - Bogside Catholic Community

FREE DERRY: The former entrance to the self-declared autonomous nationalist area. 

Londonderry-Derry, Northern Ireland - Bogside Catholic Community

Mural depicting the fighting that took place during Bloody Sunday.

Belfast, Northern Ireland - Catholic Community

Two school girls on their way home past a mural created by the Nationalists 

in support of the Palestinian Conflict.

Londonderry-Derry, Northern Ireland - Bogside Catholic Community
"Brits Out Now"

Belfast, Northern Ireland - Protestant Community
Peace Walls divide opposing Belfast communities in an attempt to protect the residents from
frequent attacks and create a sense of peace and safety.

Saturday in Omagh

By Ron Bateman

I took the bus to Omagh this morning, eschewing the opportunity to travel with the Gonzaga class to Donegal.  It’s not as grossly anti-social as it may seem at first or second or, even, third glance.  In short, my mom is terminally ill and could pass at any time; I feel it unfair to engage too deeply with these new friends.  Like a dark grey rain cloud, omnipresent here in Northern Ireland (at least in January), the specter of her passing has left me with this awkward and unfamiliar battle plan – to purposefully keep myself at arms length.  These Zags don’t need to feel the obligation to tend to me at this moment in life - that wasn’t on the syllabus, I know for a fact.  This is my cross to bear after all and dialogue be damned.  Right?

I read some on the bus, but mostly just watched the brightly painted sheep graze in the passing, rolling green tapestry.  I arrived in Omagh right at noon.  I thought about pulling out my derelict umbrella – the one I bought at the Europa Bus Centre in Belfast on New Year’s Day – but it just wasn’t needed.  I knew from my research online that the memorial to the victims of the August 1998 bombing was remarkably close to the bus depot, but I exited in the wrong direction and found myself on the opposite side of the Strule River.  No worries – hardly an issue in a town of just 22,000.  I meandered back across a pedestrian bridge, following a series of signs pointing my way.

Beautifully kept and adjacent to an arterial roadway, the memorial is, at first glance, a random collection of posts crowned with a variety of mirrors, oriented in opposing directions.  The majority of the posts are positioned on the north of a small reflecting pond.  They are interspersed among similarly sized trees that make them feel part of a larger aggregate.

I took out my headphones and fumbled with them in the light rain.

I cued U2’s, “Peace on Earth.”  A song released in late 2000 that gained popularity after the 9/11 attacks in the United States.  I read somewhere that Bono or the Edge had been quoted, saying that the song was, “as bitter and as angry a song as they’d ever written.”  Listening to the opening lines – lines I have heard hundreds of times – made the hair on my arms stand on end.  “Heaven on earth / We need it now / I’m sick of all of this / hanging around / Sick of the sorrow / Sick of the pain / Sick of hearing again and again / That there’s going to be / Peace on earth.”

I wandered back across the bridge and immediately spotted the translucent, aquamarine obelisk that marks the site of the bomb blast.  I hadn’t realized that it was going to be so close to the memorial itself.  I recognized, accidentally, that a series of additional mirrors affixed to two or three buildings appeared to direct the light from the memorial around the corner and towards the marker.  I tried to take a picture or two without cars / people / etc. to no avail.  I gave up and decided to cross the street and get a coffee and sandwich. 

I took a seat at the table next to the front window, maybe 35 feet from the site of the monument.  “Where’s the love?” by the Black-Eyed Peas came on the radio in the restaurant.  My daughter, Miranda, would approve.  I sunk into the deep seat and breathed the moment in fully.  It was fleeting.

I sat there for two hours, writing and reflecting – watching people park their vehicles in between me and the marker.  It was hard not to imagine that Saturday afternoon, nearly eighteen years ago, and the people walking up and down these same streets, sitting similarly and enjoying a drink when lives were destroyed in an instant and changed for an eternity.  I couldn’t help but speculate about each driver who parked his or her car in front of me.

I walked up Market Street before catching the bus back to Derry.  I took a few pictures here or there.  I thought about why I came here, but, like so many things about my return to Northern Ireland, I am at a loss to articulate why I am drawn to this place.  The horror of that mid-August day stands in stark contrast to my reality that same week so long ago.  I had a six-week old baby, I had just started my fire service career, and we had begun looking for a house – my life held so much promise and possibility while so many here did not.  My only guess is that I am drawn to understand, as a conduit towards empathy, with people who have suffered so greatly.

My dad texted me while I was waiting for the bus.  He said, “I love you son” and that he was emailing a longer message.  It’s ironic to admit that communication with my dad was never the best, especially when I am here helping out with a communication class.  It was never bad – the stuff of melodramatic nighttime TV; it just wasn’t great.  An inverse relationship, however, has emerged in these past months – as my mom’s health has precipitously declined, the dialogue between my dad and I has improved immeasurably.  And for that I am beyond thankful.

I was nervous on the bus ride back.  The bus was hot and I felt a little nauseous waiting for his email.  I felt guilty being here, nearly 4,000 miles from Chicago, trying to find empathy in the wrong petri dish.  My dad would disagree – he would tell me that he his cross and that I have mine.  He would be resolute.  In the end, I found myself wishing that my mom left today – it felt like a special day, a spiritual day.  There aren’t a lot of those.  More than anything, though, it would have been the perfect day for my dad (to get a wee bit of help with his cross).

Retail Therapy

by Sophie Imbuelten
The way to learn about a city is to shop it- At least that's my story...and I'm sticking to it.  After a few of our heavier class sessions, I decided it was time to blow off a little steam and get the perspective of the people- not the politics of the troubles, so I took it to the street.

Being in need of an additional piece of luggage- (Irish sweaters take up some serious room) I headed to the mall.  I'm not a big fan of shopping malls, they just seem to lack character and imagination; but in a pinch, you've gotta go where supply meets demand.

It was at the luggage store that I met Declan, a 24 yr old native Derry boy- although he had lived the life of someone much older. When I asked him of his take on the troubles- he gave me a lively response... "I know people that were involved-  it was a terrible time, but that was long ago, before I was born."

These days, he is busy working at his cousins luggage store while testing his entrepreneurial skills.  Recently, he started his own computer supply business. "Unemployment in this town is close to 40%- so you have to be a real go getter, and do what it takes."  He managed to sell me a carry on bag- an upgrade from the one I had planned on purchasing. I congratulated him on his salesmanship and made my way to the quaint Crafters Village.

From the outside of the store, it's as if I've been teleported to Diagon alley (Harry Potter fans rejoice!)

Inside The Donegal shop, I am greeted by Eileen.  She is busy assisting my classmates in the traditional Irish sweater store her Mother founded nearly 50 years ago.  When she asks what we are doing in Derry, we tell her of our quest to study Peace Building through Dialogue.  "Fantastic!" she replies, and offers us her unconditional "craic"  (traditional Irish conversation for you folks back home.)

She tells of her recent completion of a video documentary "Together in Pieces" which has just landed her an invitation to the Washington D.C film festival.  It is a serendipitous connection; the topic of the film is the changing landscape of Northern Ireland.  The world famous murals and political slogans that have taunted its communities for over 40 years are being slowly transformed by a graffiti revolution.

It seems no one I meet in this town is just a shopkeeper-

The Handshake

By Alison Bodor

The Gonzaga in Derry class took a bus tour in Belfast. The tour was divided into two tours separated by the city's peace walls that segregate the neighborhoods and the two sides of the story.  Two former combatants guided each tour with their own lenses on the past and present.  

Paedar points to homes with fortification to repel thrown objects

Paedar guided us through the Republician/Catholic neighborhoods, ever so carefully weaving in the themes of poverty, justice, safety, and the importance of being united.  As the tour of the Republican neighborhoods came to an end, the bus drove through the peace wall gate into the Protestant/Loyalist side of town.  Our Protestant/Loyalist guide waited for us at the arranged spot at the arranged time.  The bus pulled to a stop, a short distance back to the peace wall, where Paedar could easily return to his side of town.  The students thanked him for his tour, and he walked off the bus.  Just out of our sight, Paedar shook hands with Robert, our new guide, and Robert walked onto the bus. Robert guided us through the neighborhoods on the Loyalist side. With a slight tremble in his hands and voice, Robert talked of career ambitions limited by his criminal history, the importance of tradition, friendships in his community, loyalty, and equal justice.  Each tour touched on the events and people victimized by the other side.   

Murals on Shankhill Road and everyday foot traffic

Paolo Freire in his theory Pedagogy of the Oppressed said "It is essential for the oppressed to realize that when they accept the struggle for humanization they also accept, from that moment, their total responsibility for the struggle."  The two tours in Belfast focused on the wrongs by the other, not yet fully ready to describe and point out their side's contributions to the struggle, other than to note that both sides suffered.

Robert said the first walls are scheduled to come down as part of the peace agreement in 2025.  Yet, since the peace accord in 1998, new walls have gone up to minimize rioting and damage.  The city that provides the walls that keep the peace will also need to find ways to get the community into dialog.  It will take more than a handshake for this community to create their common future.

Two Types of Adventures

by Kate 
On Thursday, most of the Gonzaga-in-Derry group (everyone except me) took a day trip to Belfast.  I stayed behind in Derry to do the interview for my profile project.  Remaining in Derry while my class toured Belfast was both disappointing and a relief to me.  It was disappointing, because I missed seeing Belfast with my class.  It was a relief, because my interview did not take up the entire day.  For the first time in almost a week, I had time to reflect on my thoughts and experiences, many of which were intense and complex.  I had time to enjoy silence.  I could recharge my mental and emotional batteries.  I took a walk around the Wall of Derry and the Bogside in the morning.  After my 2 p.m. interview, which I think went pretty well, I walked around on the Waterside for a while.  Even though I was a little sad to miss out on Belfast, I was glad to have this day to myself.

The Malin Head Peninsula shoreline.

While I missed the trip to Belfast, today we took a field trip to County Donegal, in the Republic of Ireland, where we visited two shopping areas and the Malin Head Peninsula, the northern-most point in Ireland.  Even though it was cold, rainy, and windy, it was one of the coolest, exciting things I have ever seen.  We climbed to the top of Malin Head and looked out over the rocky shoreline and the crashing waves.  It was an invigorating experience.  I felt like I was on top of the world when I climbed up on the centuries-old rocky cliffs to see the magnificent vista and take photos.  When we came back down from the top of Malin Head and got back on the bus, I was so cold that I couldn’t feel my hands.   A little while later, a bowl of delicious, hot potato-leek soup for lunch warmed me up quickly.

Enjoying the adventure at Malin Head!

Tomorrow, we will take our final Gonzaga-in-Derry filed trip to the Giant’s Causeway, the Bushmills Distillery, and possibly some other places.  I can’t wait to see what adventures and photos this trip brings.  After we leave Derry, I will embark on my own journey in Dublin, where I will spend a few days before returning home to Washington, DC.

A Matter of Fact

By: Alexandra Courtenay

It is easy to feel like you do not matter. To have sinking thoughts that no one likes you, peers find you annoying, and people simply do not want you around. These are only thoughts – however, your heart speeds up and your hands become clammy. You feel awkward, unwanted, and downright ugly. The label “outsider” scrolls along the mind. Anxiety clouds the mind and it is hard to have rational thoughts.
Humans have an ongoing battle if they matter or not. Sometimes becoming a member of something can create a high. It is a drug when people are validated for who they are and what they do. Pleasing others to feel included can be an addiction. You become someone; a leader, a follower, a member, a friend… no matter the label, you have a name for yourself. All of a sudden, some people “matter” more than others. Enemies arise – in some cases, violence and killings occur. The people who matter (your own) need to be defended.

Walking in the Alley (full/empty) - Bogside

Bloody Sunday Mural 

When we walked down the alley where some shooting on Bloody Sunday occurred, I could not shake some questions: Did those people who ran for their lives not matter? Did they matter more in death than life? I have come to the conclusion that they mattered. Of course, they mattered. They mattered significantly. However, in that moment, victim and attacker, they did not have value.

I personally have an ongoing issue with self-worth. I have learned through my journey that my life is not necessarily mine. Not that I do not think for myself or am owned by anyone. I mean that my actions affect the world – a ripple effect that weakens as it goes out into the world. As a reader, I bet "conceded" or "self-centered" pops into your head. Please, bare with me for a little longer, I have a point. A single decision or an option can change someone’s life that could affect family, friends, even strangers, etc. It’s those choices that could alter other people’s choices and so on and so on. I found that I was making decisions to make other people happy and I neglected my own feelings. I felt like I did not matter; I would draw back, stay quiet, and fear that I was disliked. My way of negative thinking was not productive - I was addicted to wanting people to like me.

It is a hard concept to wrap my mind around the fact that people killed others because they did not agree or like them. I found it interesting to hear on the tour in Belfast that people on opposite sides found their people innocent and vice verse. Some lives started mattering more than others. I think that the continuous path to peace in Northern Ireland and the world needs to have dialogue to build self-worth and believing people matter. I know, this is wishful thinking - but wishful thinking can sometimes be productive.