Three "V"s of Dialogue in Derry: #2 - View

by Jonathan Archey

Years ago, a wise sage of politics told me, "Where you stand depends on where you sit." This adage holds just as true in Northern Ireland as it does in the States, and perhaps no where more so than in Derry.

In our interactions this week with former combatants, prisoners, and other citizens affected by The Troubles, we're hearing again and again that different people can have different interpretations of history and truth. Maybe that's because truth is so grounded in one's own perception. No one likes to think his or her perspective is narrow-minded, but unless one seeks others' points of view, oftentimes tunnel vision is the result.

A Loyalist mural, viewed through the 17th-century Wall of Derry

The optics of this city provide so many examples of how one's point of view also can be shaped in the literal sense of the word "view." Imagine living in the Bogside neighborhood, where every day the sun rises over a high hill and imposing stone wall that dominate the entire eastern horizon. Or picture living in the Waterside neighborhood, where one of the widest and fastest-flowing rivers in Europe cuts you off from the beautiful, historic city you call home. With such powerful vistas, how could one not grow up feeling somewhat detached, sequestered, or at the very least divided from the other parts of your community?

The Wall of Derry, viewed at Guildhall Square

Seeing things from someone else's viewpoint takes courage. It can mean confronting one's deeply-held beliefs and longstanding prejudices...starting with accepting the truth that one is, in fact, prejudiced. In Derry, the prejudices might be tied to history, or gender, or religious belief, or ethnic heritage. Is this really any different from America?

And if the people of Derry can so admirably begin to confront these demons, if they can seek to understand the point of view of those not of their faction, creed, or other perceived group...can't the people of America do the same? I think it's a responsibility each of us bears.

An apt street sign in a Derry neighborhood

Through the Lens - The People of Northern Ireland

by Janet Clancy-Feliciano

Sometimes the best way to convey the feeling of a place is through photographs. Instead of words, this entry will show a few of the warm, hardworking people of Northern Ireland as seen through the lens of a camera. I am struck at how welcoming they are here - how much they appreciate us coming here and learning about the conflicts that have plagued this place for hundreds of years. My camera is filling up with the sights of this beautiful country, but nothing describes the character of a place better than the faces of it's citizens...

Andrew pours the perfect beer for new friend Sophie - Walled City Brewery

A young boy stays warm while walking in the streets of Derry - Bog Side

Heading home from the grocers - Derry

Lovely lady passes through Castle Gate, soon to greet this photographer with a smile - Londonderry

Welcoming Belfast Bartender...

Smiling faces in a Belfast butcher shop.

Calm before the cooking storm at Walled City Brewery - Londonderry

Relaxing with a Guinness at Derby's Bar - Derry

End of a long day - butcher shop - Londonderry

A Peace Paved in Blood

 by Teri O'Connor

     Studying the peace work that’s been done here in Derry, Northern Ireland, it’s easy to believe that the Troubles are in the past; That a new day has dawned and the people have moved on from the former conflict that laid waste to their homes and turned neighbors against one another. As we walk the streets together, our guides share information from a historical perspective that makes the days of trouble seem far away, as if they themselves weren’t effected by the violence. Yet even as they share the stories, flickers of personal pain flash briefly across their faces like ghosts they can’t quite escape.

     Those working tirelessly to sustain the fragile peace know all too well how thin the veil of civility is that keeps the armistice here in this now quiet town. They live in constant awareness that one thoughtless deed could ignite a short fuse with devastating consequences. Yet it is this very knowledge that fuels their diligent efforts toward dialogue and peace. 

     In the taxi on my way back from “the other side” of town, my young driver asks me where I’m from, and as so often happens, what I was doing here in Derry. When I explain that I am here with other students to learn about how the people of Northern Ireland are working together toward peace, he scowls and sets me straight with a forceful, “Och, there’ll be no peace in Derry!” He tells me with derision that there is no Northern Ireland. In a hushed and angry tone he assures me, “There’s but Irish and British here, and make no mistake.” Surprised by his impassioned speech, I ask him what it was like growing up in the time of the Troubles; if as a young boy he just thought it was normal? 

“Aye,” he nods, “The bombs might be blastin, 

but we’d ownleh be thinkin, ‘what’s fer teh?’” 

     Later, as I chat with an older gentleman, I ask his opinion of the young driver’s statement that “there is no Northern Ireland”. He scoffs and swears to me that this is the foolishness of youth. He shares that one of the obstacles to moving on is the romanticized stories that happen fireside in the pub. "The older men fill the heads of youth with tales of their bravery and valor". My host shakes his head sadly as he whispers,

“The problem with touting the Glory Days, 

is there was no glory in ‘em.” 

     All in all, I have found Northern Ireland to be a place of lush greens, cozy pubs, and engaging people, but the sorrow here is bone deep and lingers in the hushed tones and quiet conversations. Roadside murals and memorials offer cautionary tales of a history that must never be repeated. Yet even as the people work toward reconciliation, Northern Ireland’s poignant legacy remains that her road to peace has been paved with the blood of her children.

Give Way

by Melinda Smith

The  ‘Give Way’ signs in Derry are equivalent to ‘Yield’ signs I am used to seeing back in Washington State. Both signs are traffic signals intended for vehicles to take notice when entering into a traffic way.

For me personally, the two signals elicit different reactive responses. The ‘Yield’ sign is a pro-ego trip approach to traffic. One in which I am going to yield to traffic only if I have to, and in most cases I am going to offensively drive to get ahead of any traffic pattern. On the other hand, the ‘Give Way’ sign conjures up a selfless approach to traffic. It implies a relationship, and others are involved. There is a responsibility to provide space for others.

The two signs are equivalently upside down triangles with cautionary red boarder.  There are 3 corners on a triangle. I think of the top two corners of these signs as two different perspectives from a traffic standpoint. The third point, or the bottom corner of the sign is the intended direction. Both parties want to travel in the exact same direction, but they are coming from two different vantage points.

You can achieve the exact same goal with both signs. I suppose I take pause on the fact that I have choice in my journey, en route to my destination. One sign seems a bit more destination focused, and one sign seems a bit more journey focused. In both cases, you end up in the exact same spot.

As I go for my run today, I am on a pro-ego trip. I am weaving in and out of people in order to get my run done, get some cash, take a shower, finish up my blog post and go out with my friends. As I am darting in and out of people on a Saturday afternoon, an Irish gent sees me, he steps back, and gestures with his arm as if to provide me space to continue my path of travel on my journey.

Peace Walls and Memories

by Patrick Brown 
On Thursday we visited Belfast on a tour bus. During this tour we picked up a couple of guest speakers, at separate times and in separate places. Both were ex-participants in their respective para-military organizations during "the troubles," and they served as tour guides on the drive through their respective neighborhoods.

In spite of the "ceasefire" agreements of 1997, the neighborhoods are still distinctly separated by a formidable barrier, known euphemistically as "the peace wall." The wall originally started out at around 15 feet high, made of block or concrete. This barrier was sufficient to slow down human access to the other side, however it did nothing to prevent an occasional "petro bomb" (a local variety of Molotov Cocktail) from being thrown over the wall (in either direction) onto the adjoining houses.

Indomitable "Authorities" then topped the concrete with an additional 15 feet of corrugated metal fencing. This stopped the routine "petro bomb," but was useless against sling-shot-launched projectiles. The indubitable solution, was yet another barrier - 15 feet of finely meshed and tightly strung heavy wire, added atop the corragated metal. The resulting "peace wall" is approximately 45 feet high and runs for quite a few blocks around the area. I could not help but wonder if this is the type of wall that Donald Trump envisions when he talks of building a "great" wall across our southern border?

The "Peace Wall"

Our tour through each neighborhood included multiple stops to get off the bus and view the numerous "murals" that appear like billboards of some not-to-be forgotten past. Most are kept in pristine condition and we were told that many of the more violent murals have been painted over with gentler reminders of past sorrows or battles won. In one area, small red metal "poppies" were embedded into walls to serve as poignant reminders of lost lives.

The "bogside" in Derry is also adorned with murals. I am not sure how I really feel about all this symbolism. As a proud American veteran, I think it is good to remember our "heroes." However, I also remember driving through the southern United States in the 1970s and seeing all the out-of-date and outworn Confederate battle flags proudly displayed, as if the battle was about to begin again.

Belfast Wall Murals

Peace Activist and Facilitator Maureen Hetherington, our guest lecturer today, mentioned that the trouble with monuments is that they don't include the names of all the innocent victims (woman, children, parents, family, friends) that have also suffered.

This trip to Northern Ireland has certainly provided many powerful images and thought provoking insights.

Cubano Classico Por Favor

By: Chris Caps

     The dominant narrative of Northern Ireland is that of a fragile peace between one people wishing to inhabit a single Ireland, and the other wishing to retain their British identity.  What is lost in the details and all of the stories that tie into this dominant narrative are the other Irish communities that live within Ulster.  During my last aimless wandering of Belfast I found a different narrative, one of entrepreneurial hope.     

Left to right (Cuban, Irish, Cuban, Carlos - Cuban, Spanish)

     Meet Carlos, owner of the newly opened Cuban Sandwich Factory.  Carlos is a Belfast resident from Cuba and a former executive chef, most recently catering the cast and staff of Game of Thrones.  He employees a diverse staff composed of Cubans, Spanish, and Irish.  Like many he is proud of his heritage and wishes to share his cultural flavour with those who would like to step off the potato path.  

      Carlos and his staff bounce from table to bar to table visiting and welcoming their guests.  They are surprised when they learn I am familiar, nee excited for café con leche or a cortadíto and stand ready for my classic cubano.  As we exchange stories I now find myself chatting with young man from the area with a bushy beard of red fire.  We move onto the typical question of why I am in Belfast and where am I staying.  I share an explanation of the course.  For my efforts I am greeted with a sigh and my bearded friend draws closer and pulls out a pen a paper.  

     “I do not have a stake in the politics, don’t believe what you hear.  The fighting may have moved off the streets but the real issues have just moved underground.  If you want a sense of what is really going on, check this out.” He hands me a small piece of paper with a link to a social media page.     

Chilled to the Bone

by Margaret O'Brien

Malin Head

Ruins at Malin Head

I now know what “bitter cold” and “chilled to the bone” means. We took a day off from learning about peacebuilding and took an excursion to the northerly most point in Ireland, Malin Head. A 30-ish minute drive from Derry, Malin Head Donegal feels remote, as if one had traveled to the end of the earth. The last miles are down a soggy, one lane road, barely wide enough for our small tour bus to navigate. I fastened my seatbelt as we wound toward the point. More than once I thought we would be asked to unload and help heave the bus out of the muck. From this vantage point, on a clear day you can see Scotland. We disembarked into the rain under an unsympathetic sky. This January day, the wind was blowing and biting, laughingly cutting through our clothes, making whimsy of our best attempts to say warm….or at the very least, not frozen. Feeling in my hands in a short 3 minutes, I ducked into a ruin to find some small semblance of forgiveness from the wind. The rain brought a new level of cold. The wind and the rain danced in concert around us, intent on testing our heartiness…I suspect the elements took bets, wondering how long we would last. We scurried back to the bus, feeling victorious that we had lasted as long as we had. The elements won.

Rubber bullet next to a 20 pound note.

This was not the only cold I felt today. On the drive out, Eugene, our driver-extraordinaire, shared some physical pieces from The Troubles. One such item was a rubber bullet. How benign one would think, a rubber bullet. It sounds so innocuous, when one not in the know conjures up an image in the head. Much less fatal than a lead bullet…surely. Rest assured a rubber bullet is not an innocent. It is approximately 6” long and 1.25” circumference. Rubber bullets were lethal and fired at children and young adults during The Troubles. Three children were killed during 1972/73…one was 11 years old, another child lost his vision. The rubber bullets were replaced by plastic baton rounds….and another 14 deaths were incurred. (bbc.com) Bullets, rubber-plastic-lead, are weapons of war. This is a political dispute, a social justice argument. I will never understand man’s inhumanity. That chills my bones.

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame! 

More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame! 

And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, - Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn! (Robert Burns, 1784)

Are We Keeping the Wound Open?

by Griff Ryan-Roberts

Yesterday, during my interview with Brian "Barney" McGuigan, he asked me poignant question that made me reflect a little bit. It was in response to a question I had asked him about the educational process that his organization, Reach Across, plays with the students of Derry. I was curious about the balance between teaching these students about the Troubles, something many of them had not experienced first hand, and trying to close that chapter in history. Barney said it is a difficult balance, because it often means showing imagery and sharing stories of horrific incidents. But he then flipped the script, and asked me, how did I feel about asking community members about the Troubles? Did I feel nervous about it? Did I feel like I was opening up a wound that was trying to heal? It stumped me a little bit and I had to examine my role as a student/interviewer/outsider a little bit more than I had.

The other day a fellow student, I can't remember who specifically (I apologize if you are that student reading this), asked about all the memorials to the Troubles. She (I believe) asked if having so many memorials becomes a hindrance, rather than a help, to the healing process. If all these constant reminders of past violence are not necessarily a good thing for the people of Northern Ireland. This question and Barney's have been running through may head for the past couple days.

Mural of John Hume, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa, and Nelson Mandela

What has come to mind is my father. My father, who is older than the average 27 year-old's father, was in the Air Force in the early 1960s. During that time he was stationed throughout the American South (Mississippi and North Carolina, to name a couple places) and he was fairly active in the Civil Rights movement. In fact, he was able to hear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. speak in person. During this time Jim Crow was in full effect and my father's best friend, a member of the U.S. Army, was a black man. During that time in the South, it was illegal for my father and his best friend to walk down the street together. My father could get arrested and his friend possibly worse. I grew up hearing about this time from my father and his friend. As a child and into adolescence this seemed so foreign to me. Your skin color could divide you by law, it just seemed insane. But as I got older I began to see the racism (maybe not as overt) that my father and his friend discussed. I began to see how things weren't as far off as what my father and his friend had told stories about. But not all of my (white) friends and peers seemed to know the history, to see the development. Many of my peers didn't even know about Jim Crow laws, and many other racial items of the past. Because of that, they seemed to lack the bigger picture of many racial and socioeconomic issues of the day.

Mother and child walking in the Bogside

The conclusion that I came to is that I'm very thankful to have the stories and perspective of the past, and I believe it is important for the younger generations to hear about it. These issues are not gone. They still exist, not nearly to the same degree, but they are still there. I believe it is necessary for the children of Northern Ireland to learn about the horrors of the Troubles, to know these things, to stay connected to it. Not so that they hold on to the sectarianism, but so that they can be on the look out for the next spark that may cause violence and quickly put it out.

Signs For Peace In Derry

by Gregory Halloran
After being in Derry for over a week now, our class has learned a lot about the Troubles and the violent past this city has endured. But through all of that, there are signs of hope and peace all over. One of the largest signs of hope for peace is the Peace Bridge. Since June of 2011 the people of Derry have had access to this bridge which connects  the waterside and cityside groups who are separated by the River Foyle. The 771ft long bridge curves as you walk across it and is only open to pedestrians. This bridge is not only beautiful to look at, but also has a beautiful purpose of creating community between opposites sides as they walk past each other. 


Other signs for peace around the city can be seen in some of the murals. Originally, many of the murals around the city promoted violence and anger, but over the last few years many of these murals have been taken down and replaced with ones which promote peace. Although there are still some murals which focus on the pains of the past, the ones which look to the future are becoming more common and have a very powerful visual effect.

The third, and possibly the most important sign of hope for peace you can find in Derry is the community itself. Since arriving here, the local community members I have interacted with were very interested to hear about what Gonzaga students were doing here. When explained that we are here to learn about the Troubles and learn how Northern Ireland has come so far, they all wanted to share their stories and hopes for peace in the future. From shopkeepers, to bartenders, to hotel staff, everyone I have interacted with has a hope for peace. One group of people at the Holywell Trust, puts their hope into reality with the community outreach work they do. These individuals work day in and day out making a better tomorrow for the people of Derry and the rest of Northern Ireland. They are committed to uniting the community and creating safe space and peace for all groups within their community. Our class had the privilege of meeting a few of the staff members who are truly inspiring. From programs for integrating kids, to storytelling for adults, the people at the Holywell Trust are making a major impact.

You're Very Welcome ...

By Stacey Hagreen

Since arriving in Northern Ireland, I can honestly say just about everyone I’ve encountered has made me feel welcome. Except for a few stern people in a hurry here and there, even people on the street – soaked through from cold rain and wind blowing in their faces – are polite. Granted, I’ve made sure to be a courteous visitor. Nevertheless, the friendliness with which we’ve been greeted by facilitators, guides, former combatants, local business owners, and others we encounter along our journey endears the community to me.

My favorite expression is, “You’re very welcome.” It’s a greeting that has been followed by ‘here,’ ‘in Derry,’ ‘at the museum,’ ‘in the Guildhall,’ ‘in Belfast,’ and so on. I haven’t heard this greeting anywhere else. The much more mundane, “Welcome to …” is common back home – and said with sincerity – but it doesn’t have the same sense of warmth with which I’ve been greeted in Northern Ireland.

I find this friendliness especially poignant because studying The Troubles is an emotional roller coaster with twists and turns to reflect the complexity of it all. Everyone I meet has a different point of view; in Belfast we went on a tour with a Republican guide, followed immediately by a tour with a Loyalist guide. I watched out the window of our tour bus and saw the two men briefly shake hands in passing. From each man I heard a point of view that placed blame on the other side.

But before I listened to their examples of violence and sorrow imposed upon neighbors and fellow citizens across Northern Ireland, each man introduced himself and then said to our group of visiting outsiders, “You’re very welcome here.”

At the Guildhall, you'll be very welcome to explore the informative, state-of-the-art Plantation Exhibition on the first floor. The second floor houses a gorgeous pipe organ and exquisite stained glass windows (many of which had to be restored because of bomb damage during The Troubles.)

High Anxiety...A perspective

By:  Sophie Imbuelten

There is a common thread in my travel adventures that occurs to me no matter where in the world the plane touches down- my arrival in Derry is no exception to that rule.

Panic typically sets in when I know I have a limited amount of time to make a flight connection. In this case, I had less than an hour between landing at Heathrow in London, and flying onto to Belfast.  Upon arrival in Ireland, provided my flight landed on time, I had approximately 30 minutes to collect my luggage, clear customs and catch the shuttle to Derry. To add to the pile, being a “half glass full” kind of gal, I had not pre purchased a shuttle ticket.  This was just another drop of stress that was mounting into a tidal wave of panic. If I missed the shuttle, there was not another until the next day- which would mean a very expensive cab ride to the tune of 140 pounds or more (roughly 200 hard earned U.S dollars.) Ouch.

Perhaps one just inherits the “luck of the Irish” just by being in Ireland- Miraculously, somehow I managed to collect my luggage, by pass any customs (not sure how that happened) and still, make it to the curb for the shuttle with time to spare.

Feeling somewhat victorious that I had made it thus far, I didn’t want to buzz kill my new found confidence by stressing out about the small detail of not having purchased a ticket.  After all, who doesn’t take hard cold cash these days?!  

The decompression sound of the shuttle bus door opening jolted me back to the present- In my best “sunny side up” smile, showing all of my Chiclet straight teeth - I confidently approached the driver-  “Hello! My name is Sophie and I want to apologize, but I don’t have a ticket.  I would like to purchase one for the ride to Derry, do you accept cash?”  (Eagerly nodding my head up and down as if this would somehow subliminally coerce him to say yes.)  He looked at me with the same enthusiasm that I was showing him, however, nodded his head from left to right …”Feck No!”

“Hugh of Derry” as I came to know him, had managed to simultaneously make me laugh and cry.  After a long and uncomfortable silence of horror- he burst out laughing “Give me 20 pounds…and I’ll get yer arse to Derry!”

I am in Derry to study “Peace Building through dialogue” a heavy subject matter for a lighthearted person.  I have the good fortune of never having to experience first hand the scars of war.  I live a good life, my biggest problems revolve around not having enough time to accomplish all the things I want to get done- Too much traffic, and the inconveniences of having to multi task to keep up with a busy schedule, top my list of grievances.  I don’t worry about religious conflict in my immediate world- I see it on Television when I tune in for the evening news.  I turn off the tele, and “poof” I make it go away.

Today in class, we heard a personal account of how a boy became a terrorist.  James Greer was just a teenager when he was faced with the reality of violence as survival. 

As he led us on a walking tour of the bogside, the section of Derry where Bloody Sunday took place, we experienced a visual history of  “the troubles”.  The murals brought to life the conflict that took the lives of 14 peaceful protestors on the 30^th of January in 1972.   Protestant vs. Catholic, Unionist vs. Nationalist, brother vs. brother. 

Now, with the perspective of time, looking back James says he would have made a different choice.  “It takes courage to admit your wrong”.  Today he believes the pen is mightier than the sword and that by sharing stories, and hearing multiple perspectives, healing can take place.  He has committed his life’s work to making sure that it does.

In the words of Maya Angelou- “Those who know better, do better.”  James Greer is determined to make sure that the next generations know better.