Say Goodbye to the Murals of Belfast

by ARIELLE EMMETT, special to the Armagh Examiner

BELFAST, AUGUST 1. The Northern Irish government has promised the country that all graphic reminders of the troubles will be washed away.

In Derry this week, a pink mural welcoming the world to gay and lesbian Derry was half painted over. On Tuesday, July 31, the last of the British forces shipped out of Northern Ireland for Afghanistan, symbolically the end of British occupation and the start of peace. And in West Belfast, the paramilitary murals painted on Protestant and Catholic neighborhood buildings are about to be white washed forever. “After next week the murals will be gone,” said Margaret McAliskey, our Irish Culture and History professor of The Armagh Project. She made a scrubbing gesture with her hand, as though wielding a paint brush or mop. “You’ll not see them again. They’ll be painted over,” she said.

Seems this is the Northern Irish government’s plan to help paint over the wounds of 30 years of war. Curiosity got to us; the idea of painting over the collective history of a people seemed strange. So on Sunday morning, July 29, Professor Susan Jacobson and I caught the bus to Belfast. On our arrival, we encountered a city bus tour guide who ignored us while he whipping out a pack of tickets for a group of visiting Yankee businessmen. We stood in line, and when he refused to answer our questions about his tour, we left. Meeting him was a fairly creepy introduction to the city.

Our next encounter was more fortunate. We grabbed a “black taxi” (actually painted silver) to visit the murals. Our cab driver, Robert Beattie, patiently guided us through the social history of thirty years of bitterness. He drove us along both sides of the “Peace Line,” actually a graffitti-strewn concrete and iron wall festooned with thousands of signatures – including President Bill Clinton’s. The Peace Line separates the Protestant district of Shankill Rd. and the Catholic district known as The Falls. On each side of the wall, you can see a distinct record of the troubles in popular art – cartoonish murals of William of Orange and Oliver Cromwell, a hero to the Ulster loyalists; a bleeding red hand, symbolizing “The Red Hand of Ulster,” and some expertly drawn and sinister portraits of young commandos and other paramilitary types from the UFF (Ulster Freedom Fighters) and the Ulster Volunteer Force (another loyalist group). Many of the commandos are wearing black head socks and carrying machine guns. Text accompanies the murals commemorating fallen heroes and innocent victims of the bloodshed.

On the Catholic side, the murals depict most famously the hunger strikers, especially Bobby Sands, a poet and elected Member of Parliament who was the first to starve himself to death protesting the treatment of Catholics. One of his most famous lines, “Our revenge will be the laughter of our children,” is written on the mural walls. There is also a stone memorial set inside a tiny garden within the well-kept Falls Catholic estate. The stones are inscribed in Gaelic with the names of Republican fallen from 1916 to the present day.

I was struck by the bleakness of the Shankill estates especially. In the middle of the road of one residential neighborhood, there is a tire graveyard, with heaps of garbage and scraps of metal piled up. Beattie, our guide, said the people here routinely set bonfires at the site, but the area will shortly be cleaned up. The estate still gives off the aura of an armed camp. The murals here are painted both in color and black and white; they are eerie and monumental reminders, and Irish children play in front of them. Some portray scenes from both IRA and Loyalist bombings and sniper fire; others are divided up like comic strips, depicting several scenes of anguish and the death of babies wrapped in swaddling clothes.

On both the Catholic and Protestant sides, it’s easy to see the anger here, but also the art of an anguished people. It seems hard to believe that the government is now going to white wash these records of history and replace them with more homogenous and “healing” imagery such as Northern Ireland’s sporting heroes.

“I was born in Shankill where a lot of innocent people have died,” Beattie said. “Hopefully they [the government] will take the Peace Line down, block by block, and then restore it. At least some of it should stay up as a memorial. If they take it down in a block, they should put it in a Peace Museum.”

We feel the same way about the murals. It’s clear that the mood here is to succor the population while encouraging a new era of healing and bipartisanship. But the ‘painting over’ program seems shot gun and short-sighted, as though the government is erasing a memory tape. The program certainly does not have the support of many residents of Belfast; the white wash program suggests the presence of an Orwellian Minister of Culture, Big Brother.

How can the Northern Irish forget that those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it?

Arielle Emmett is professor of storytelling in the Armagh Project.

A COMIC GUIDE

HERE'S A SPECIAL TREAT for Armagh Examiner readers-- a colorful comic guide to our classroom facility, the Amma Centre. Let student Laura McKean-Peraza be your guide to its nooks and crannies in this exclusive, behind-the-scenes tour.

Click on the comic to enlarge it

ANGUISH ALLEVIATED AS FRIDGES MULTIPLY
EXTRA SPACE FOR LEFTOVER FISH AND CHIPS, WILTED GREENS
by CHRISTINE SLOMSKI, special to the Armagh Examiner

A SOURCE OF ANGUISH to the student and faculty group, the community refrigerator at the Armagh Youth Hostel housed more than twenty-five people's food for nearly two weeks. Packed to the brim, the grumbling got so bad that another full-size refrigerator and freezer showed up magically one afternoon in the dining room. Needless to say, the group is breathing easier with the added space. Now, if only the dishes could get done...

LATE-NIGHT BASEMENT CINEMA PACKS THEM IN

MOVIE-MAKING PROF DRAWS RAVE REVIEWS

FILMMAKER AND VIDEOGRAPHY PROFESSOR Dustin Morrow's landmark 2005 documentary Matchmaker received its exclusive Armagh City avant-premiere last night in a crowded hostel basement. The director was in attendance and played on the internet while students gathered round on a motley assortment of chairs and couches to watch the feature-length film.

Matchmaker, shot in 2003, follows the filmmaker, Morrow, and his associate Seth as the pair of Americans attempt, unsuccessfully, to find love in Ireland.

"It's about the world's largest singles event," Morrow explained, "The Matchmaker Festival, which takes place every September in County Clare. A man named Willy Daly, the world's best matchmaker, introduces people to their soulmates." Morrow rejects the notion that he and his 'production partner' Seth were desperate and dateless, preferring to use the term "single filmmakers".

Asked about making a documentary about himself, Morrow concedes that the film is very much a "product of its time". "You couldn't do it today," he told me. "But that first-person Michael Moore-style documentary was really in vogue when I made it."

In vogue or not, it was popular demand that led the film to be shown in the first place. "I showed some clips in class," Morrow said, "And they started pestering me about it."

The reaction to the film was, Morrow said, "very positive".

"It was hilarious," Bennett College student Janine Quarles said. "Dustin brought the comedy, and Seth was just silly as hell."

Asked if she would attend a similar dating event, called "Mardi-Gras-esque" by the filmmaker, Gonzaga graduate student Cate Oliver shouted out "Oh yeaaah!"

Others disagreed. "It seemed a little raunchy," Quarles told me. "Some of those older women were getting a little loose-- loosey-goosey!"

"I don't think I would go," Temple University student Andrew Harrington said, shaking his head. "Nothing against Irish girls, but they just didn't seem too interested in Dustin or Seth."

But there was love in the end for Morrow after all. Despite his lack of success in the movie, the Matchmaker Festival still led indirectly to his current girlfriend.

"She saw the film," Morrow explained. "She e-mailed me, saying she thought I was 'cute'. We've been together ever since. I don't know if I should tell Willy Daly, though-- he might use it to up his stats," he laughed.

Morrow is currently in the process of preparing the film for widespread U.S. release.

STUDENTS MAKE MERRY WHILE PROFS COME UP FLAT

JIGS, REELS, AND ROADSIDE BREAKDOWNS

STUDENTS TOOK A WEEKEND OUTING to the small nearby town of Coalisland for traditional dancing and music, returning to Armagh fresh-faced and with a noticeable spring in their step. Coalisland, so-named due to its association with coal mining, was this weekend the home of the regional trials for an all-Ireland song and dance competition.

Along the way to Coalisland, students were able to learn a bit of the history of the area thanks to impromptu minibus lectures from Irish culture professor Margaret McAliskey. Stops were made at the Moygashel Linen Centre for scarves and scones, and the Tyrone Crystal factory so students could get a sense of some of the local artisan traditions.

The minibus pulled into Coalisland to the sound of accordion and tin whistles as youngsters carted musical instruments into the competition hall.

"I watched a fiddle competition, and then some Gaelic-language singing," said Randolph-Macon Woman's Collage student Laura McKean-Peraza. "The doorman said we couldn't film, due to the Child Privacy Act, but I did meet one of the judges who was an Irish dancer."

And not just any dancer-- a "Lord of the Dance," according to McKean-Peraza. "He danced with Michael Flatley, the world's greatest Irish dancer!"

Did he show any of his fancy footwork to the Chapel Hill, NC native? "Not right then and there," she explained. "But he'll be dancing next Thursday night in Dublin, and we'll be there!"

Meanwhile, an adventure of another sort was taking place mere miles away as a group of professors found themselves in a rut-- quite literally.

The group of five had been following the student minibus in a rented Vauxhall until their chauffeur, communications professor John Caputo, lost control of the vehicle and careened into a roadside ditch.

"I was scared for my life," claimed videography professor Dustin Morrow of Temple University.

But within minutes, Caputo and his two sons had sprung into action changing the punctured tire. "The Caputo pit team?" Morrow asked. "I had complete confidence in them."

Within an hour, the spare tire had been successfully attached and the group was ready to regain the highway. Only one problem remained: John Caputo's greasy, oily hands.

IEI Media director Andy Ciofalo rushed to the rescue, drawing from his bag of tricks (a black satchel) a packet of "Cottonelle" moist towelettes which he handed to a grateful Caputo, who vigorously toweled off his soiled fingers with a joyful grin.

The profs took to the road again just in time to see the student bus going back to town in the opposite direction. Professor Morrow, however, was satisfied with his day out.

"It was an adventure in history, culture, and Caputo," he smiled.

Sir Kenneth Bloomfield Addresses the ‘Misgovernment’ and Missed Opportunities of Northern Irish Rule
by ARIELLE EMMETT, special to the Armagh Examiner

ARMAGH, JULY 23. We met with Sir Kenneth Bloomfield, the former Head of Northern Ireland’s Civil Service and also the country’s Victims’ Commissioner, as he gave a talk about new Irish identities at the John Hewitt International Summer School.

Bloomfield, a white-haired scholar, is all worry and humor crossing his handsome Anglo-Irish face. He has worked closely with successive Prime Ministers of Northern Ireland throughout the “troubles,” and finds himself confronting government intransigence and Catholic-Protestant violence with a sense of unease and hope.

“Ever since the Good Friday agreement, we’ve been agonizing, ‘Is it over yet?’” he said. During a talk featuring perspectives from his new book, A Tragedy of Errors: The Government and Misgovernment of Northern Ireland (Liverpool University Press, 2007). Bloomfield expressed sadness about earlier missed opportunities for Catholic-Protestant reconciliation and power-sharing. He wonders why Northern Irish majority leaders rejected outright even modest initiatives in the 1970s, 80s, and 90s to bring Catholics greater government representation and civil rights.

“Will things destabilize or will they devolve [peacefully]?” he asked a packed crowd of listeners. "I'm not optimistic." But Bloomfield, who was raised in the Protestant church but found himself linked by blood to a Catholic woman who lived centuries ago on the Shannon River, hopes scores of issues – including victims’ rights and economic opportunity – will eventually be settled.

“There is a sense here of feeling more and more alienated from England, yet we also feel a distance from the 26 counties of the Republic of Ireland who are so elated by their new-found prosperity,” he observed. A clear Northern Irish identity is emerging, says Bloomfield, whose own home was once bombed by the IRA. That identity is growing stronger in the wake of disappointing interactions with the British government, and exists even with the uncertainty that the bloody enmities of the past are indeed over.

In May 2007, the four political parties of Northern Ireland announced a landmark power-sharing agreement enabling both the Protestant majority and Catholic minority to join a 12-member administration that took control of Ulster’s government departments from Britain. Although the agreement was the central goal of the US-brokered “Good Friday” accord of 1998, it took nearly a decade to bring the leaders of the two highly polarized Protestant and Catholic parties together. Northern Irish audiences were stunned when Protestant evangelist Ian Paisley, 81, head of the Democratic Unionist party, and Martin McGuinness, 56, Sinn Fein deputy leader and former deputy commander of the outlawed Irish Republican Army, smiled beside each other as they announced the new accord.

A Plea for Victims

But power sharing does not make all the problems of this nation go away. Bloomfield is concerned that Northern Ireland must achieve a high level of government services and competence. He argued that government should address economic disparities among the working poor, Catholic or Protestant. “Many of those currently in office have no previous experience in office,” he noted. “We have a right to seek good service in Northern Irish government as we had from Great Britain.”

The future direction of the country remains open-ended, he said. The notion of direct rule in Ulster – a quasi colonial rule by Britain – is distasteful to Bloomfield and many Northern Irish. “The Protestant working class community has become more demoralized and we’re sufficiently “devolved” [separated] from Britain that we’ve developed a separate identity.” At the same time, Northern Ireland could seek union with its brethren to the South, creating a united Irish state. However, he said, “unity, like childbirth, is not to be achieved without pain.” More imagination is needed – for example, a “devolved’ and independent Northern Irish state that develops closer economic ties with Southern Ireland, encouraging industry, culture, and high technology to cross borders.

One of the most important and troubling challenges is resolving victims’ claims from the troubles. “We can’t go forward until we address the victims,” he said. “The perpetrators are often considered victims and the government pays them from the same purse.” This solution can’t stand, Bloomfield insists. But finding the right balance of clemency, punishment, and government financial support isn’t easy, either. When a reporter asked Bloomfield if Northern Ireland should consider the South African model of reconciliation -- hearings that allow victims to confront the perpetrators of violent crimes -- he noted that the numbers of crimes in Ulster were daunting. "Any victims not participating in the hearings would feel left out," he said, acknowledging anger and divisiveness here still run deep.

Bloomfield is not sure how reconcilation or fair compensation for victims should play out.

“In the future, thousands will live under the shadows [of the troubles], and we must never forget them,” he said.

Arielle Emmett is professor of storytelling in the Armagh Project.

WELCOME TO A WORLD OF PASTA-BILITIES
ITALY MEETS IRELAND IN A HOSTEL BASEMENT

STUDENTS SLURPED HAPPILY ON NOODLES AND SALAD on Thursday evening as the normally quiet hostel canteen was transformed into an Italian trattoria. Students and faculty alike were transported via tomato sauce into the back streets of southern Italy thanks to the tireless culinary efforts of noted gourmand Dr John Caputo and a small team of eager student helpers.

Caputo, who hosts a radio program on Italian cooking back in the United States, drew on his decades of Italian cooking experience to provide the hungry students with a healthy dinner and a break from the ordinary fish and chips or instant noodles.

The scholarly chef was seen in the late afternoon in Sainsbury's car park pushing around a cart filled with six kilos of noodles, six large jars of tomato sauce, six heads of lettuce, four crusty baguettes, a number of chicken parts, and a bottle of chianti. Back at the hostel, he recruited a number of food-minded students to assist him in the steamy hostel kitchen.

Before long, the small confines of the room were filled with the delicious aroma of simmering garlic. Lips were licked with anticipation.

"The smell is the best part!" Loyola student Juanita Dudhnath told me, mopping her brow after her onion-chopping, pasta-boiling, and bread-slicing.

"I was the lettuce-shredder, cheese-grater, garlic-peeler, and olive eater," Gonzaga University student Megan McGovern said with a smile. What was the best part for her? "It's a toss-up between the olives and the company," she said with a sly smile.

Meanwhile, Bennett College student Jenine Quarles stood watch over a bubbling saucepan of olive oil, garlic, flour, and chicken. "It's hot!" she exclaimed. "You need to watch out-- that grease will burn your butt!"

As the food was served, a line of prospective munchers formed, spooning gobs of salad and ladling piles of pasta onto plates. A fine assortment of international wines appeared, thanks to sommelier and photo professor George Miller, who smiled as he went from table to table "topping off" glasses with French and Chilean vintages.

"It went pretty good," said Dr Caputo at the end of the evening, looking over the remnants of his meal and patting his belly contentedly. "My helpers came through, and we're ready to do it again. I'm even going to type up the recipe and hand it out." Here's to more happy eating.

YOGA-A-GO-GO
GIRLS GO YOGA GA-GA

AFTER A LONG DAY IN THE CLASSROOM, students in the Armagh Project may be inclined to sore muscles and clouded thoughts. But as they climb the hill from the Amma Centre classrooms to their cosy bunks at the Armagh City Hostel, though, a number of female students have a regimen of stretching and bending to look forward to to clear their minds and tone their aching bodies.

"We have a really hardcore group," professor Arielle Emmett, who leads the yoga sessions explained. "We do it every night. It's called 'Power Yoga'."

What led Emmett to propose nightly yoga? "I train during the year," she told me. "I wanted to do something for myself, and for the students, to keep in shape."

And this is no light routine. "It's an aerobic workout," Emmett nodded. "After a solid hour of it, you leave sweat on the mat."

"It's good," Temple University student Chrissy Doughty said. "We're just starting out at this point, and learning some key moves. It's a pretty flowing routine."

Doughty explained that the nightly sessions were originally held in the hostel TV lounge, but were moved, perhaps due to too many gawkers. "They ruined the aura," she confessed. She explained that the exercises are now done in a top secret location somewhere within the depths of the Armagh City Hostel, but that she was not at liberty to disclose the location to those not yet initiated in the yogic arts.

Although just starting out, some of the moves are quite challenging. Doughty singled out a move known as "the dancer", rumored to be especially complex. She took advantage of the moody lighting in the hostel kitchen to demonstrate the move, succeeding in the difficult pose for mere seconds before falling over the trashcan and spilling half-eaten prawns onto the floor.

Are the moves just too tough for Doughty, a yoga veteran? "No," she confided. "I think my pants are just too tight. And now my stomach hurts-- but I think that's the tomato soup I ate."

STARVING STUDENTS FLUMMOXED
BY FUNKY FOREIGN FOODS

HUNGRY STUDENTS, fresh from the United States and only just arriving in the rainy climes of Northern Ireland, found themselves in for a few culinary surprises at lunch on their first day of class.

The students took advantage of the well-appointed communal kitchen facilities at their local digs, the Armagh City Hostel, to prepare themselves a variety of foodstuffs they had acquired down the street at Sainsbury's supermarket. Though similarities between food on either side of the Atlantic abounded, many students ended up shocked and astounded by the food they bought.

"For me, everything was familiar," Gonzaga University student Christine Slomski explained, "But in different forms. I went with things I recognized, and with ingredients I know." She sat downstairs at the hostel, chomping happily on a green salad coated in hummus and lightly sprinkled with "Good 4 U" brand pumpkin seeds. "It turned out okay," was Slomski's verdict. "Average. But I'd definitely eat a lunch like this again."

Not so lucky was student Kyle Saadeh, who decided to treat himself to a cup of instant noodles known as "Pot Noodle Southern Fried Chicken", a local specialty. Saadeh began to worry when, upon opening the pot of soup, he found a flavor packet adorned with a large Confederate flag and the cryptic phrase "It's, like, so tangy, y'all".

Nevertheless, he added boiled water and let steep, as per the instructions. He was later seen in front of the televison, looking miserable and picking at his noodles. "It's not that good actually," he sighed. "Not tangy at all."

"There are some sort of white chunks floating around in it," a horrified Saadeh told me with a look of terror, while holding aloft some sort of goopy substance he had dredged from his instant soup. "It's sort of like curdled cheese," he gasped.

Student Nora Daly sat nearby, sipping on Sainsbury's Apple and Blackcurrant Squash. She was noncommittal at first as to the post-lunch beverage's qualities, saying "I think I should have diluted it, but it was otherwise pretty good."

However, the truth soon came out. "It leaves a weird aftertaste, now that you mention it," Daly told me, coming clean as to the nature of undiluted squash. "Would I drink it again? Probably not."