Refugees Welcome - Mostar and Belfast

Earlier this month we visited the Balkans, moving between Croatia, Montenegro and Bosnia & Herzegovina. Over the course of 2 days during our trip, Alan and I passed through 12 border crossings, taking in some of the most stunning natural beauty in the world while exploring a very complicated history of conflict and suffering. 

As we were passing through borders with relative ease, thousands of others were (and are) waiting behind barbed wire for their chance to move freely to safety. Others are being pushed across borders into unknown territories and makeshift camps.The "refugee crisis," Syrian asylum seekers fleeing for their lives en mass across Europe, the Middle East and beyond, has become central to social action and political discourse over the past several months. Sadly, many of these conversations have focused on issues of the resource and security of host counties, rather than of those vulnerable people in great need of safe haven.

Mostar Bridge

One of the main aims of our trip was to visit the divided city of Mostar in the present day Bosnia and Herzegovina. A local resident explained that in the early 90s the city was completely destroyed by war. She compared their reality at the time to the images we're seeing today of decimated Syrian cities. She described the 1993 divide, when the city was separated by an unseen interface and individuals were forced to take sides - tearing neighbours and families apart. 

Although the city has largely been rebuilt, the visible legacy of conflict remains in the form of bullet holes and ruined buildings. The government remains divided among Bosniaks, Croats and Serbs - where no decisions can be made on even the most essential issues because there is no conciliation or compromise. 100,000 people lost their lives during the three years of conflict, a short period in what has been a long history of struggle and war in the region. Unsurprisingly, the social reality of the the breakdown of Yugoslavia, civil conflict and limited external funding (eg: as Bosnia & Herzegovina is outside of the EU) manifests in crushing youth unemployment, political corruption and community division. 

In the city of Mostar, beside the Unesco protected Stari Most bridge across the river Neretva, I noticed a small sign which read, "REFUGEES WELCOME be human because we care." This message was a reminder that those who remember all too well the horrors of conflict, show an empathy beyond what other countries, with far greater resource and privilege, have shown. It's a small sign, in the midst of a complex political context, but it was a moving testament to the grassroots support for refugees. 

Belfast Underground

Last month in Belfast, Amnesty International arranged a rally to support the Refugees Welcome movement and to say to the UK government that what they have promised to do is not nearly enough. This event had a disappointing turn out, given the severity of the crisis and the potential Belfast has shown in the past to organise in support of other issues of human rights. That aside, the event did provide an important platform for asylum seekers and refugees living in Belfast to share their stories. For example, Isan, a Syrian refugee in Belfast, talked about his experience, his life before war and his excellent academic successes in our city. In sharing his reality, he was able to confront myths and preconceptions that separate us from them in the discourse of refugees. 

The people of Belfast and Mostar have known (and many still know) conflict. The expressions of humanity in these cities is evidence that those who have suffered have great capacity for feeling empathy with others. If we continue to find positive ways to harness these feelings of connectedness into political action, as in the efforts of the refugees welcome movement, perhaps humanity can find its way into decision making and help us to share resource and security with those who need it most. 

Garden of Reflection - Tullycarnet

Earlier this month we happened upon The Garden of Reflection in Tullycarnet, a tribute to those fallen during WWI, WWII and global conflicts. The tribute was comprised of a dedicated garden, sculptures and benches. The international link to global conflict and the focus on peace have differentiated this space from many other war memorials across East Belfast and other Loyalist communities in Northern Ireland.

The Garden of Reflection was unveiled in 2010 as part of the Arts Council’s Re-imaging Communities Programme with local participation from Charter NI and Tullycarnet Action Group Initiative Trust (TAGIT) in partnership with Ground Work Northern Ireland. Re-imaging this mural and space, was part of a larger programme on-going across Northern Ireland to make transformative changes to deeply deprived areas across Northern Ireland, where conflict related imagery defined the landscape. 

The murals on the homes nearby reflect the dynamism of the area, reminders of the troubles intermixed with hopeful messages for young people and cross-community links. Of note, there stands a mural of James Magennis, a veteran of WWII and the only person to return to Northern Ireland with a Victoria Cross. He was also a Catholic man from West Belfast. Incorporating this imagery into the murals of the area highlights the focus to build bridges cross-city and cross-community. Not far away is a UFF mural detailed with a group of masked men, a reminder that change is not linear nor immediate. 

Although Tullycarnet is a few miles outside of the city centre and very near the rolling hills of Dundonald and beyond, it has not been immune from the negative impacts of the Troubles. Although many residents believe it to be a quiet neighbourhood, as recently as 2013 evacuations were required because of suspected dangers related to the legacy of the past and broader social issues continue to impact the area. 

  

When we walked by the entrance to the garden, I couldn’t immediately see that it was a unique space. The imagery and symbolism was similar to other Memorial Gardens across the province, and although they warrant respect, they also carry connotations of loyalism which can be seen as territorial and in some cases exclusive. I noticed a painting behind the garden that said “Time for Peace,” and I was drawn in.

The language of the plaques and the nature of the memorial reflects a Northern Ireland transitioning into peace. Although we are 15+ years into the Good Friday Agreement, this language is all too often missing from commemoration sites, which can often be deeply rooted in hurt and blame. The hope and empathy that are central to this Garden of Reflection are the elements required for broader social transition to a fuller peace. 

The messages speak for themselves. 

"DEATH RECOGISE'S NO RELIGION"

"Orange and Green it doesn't matter, United now,
Don't scatter the seedsof peace over our land,
So we can travel, Hand in hand across the
bridge of hope. - Sean McLaughlin"

"Worrying doesn't empty tomorrow of its sorry."

Drielandenpunt - Dreiländereck - Trois Frontières

Last week I returned back to Belfast after a whirlwind roadtrip adventure with my friends and former colleagues, Elodie and Lisanne. During our trip, while passing from the Netherlands to Belgium to Germany to Luxembourg in one day, we stopped at Vaalersberg, a small mountain in a forested park, home to the famous Three Countries Point. 

The photo above is of the borders between Germany, the Netherlands and Belgium. 

Our visit to this tourist attraction was hilarious. We parked (somewhat illegally) in a parking lot we believed to be just beside a small memorial plaque to the borders. What we found was that when the German hiking family joked with us about it being an hour away, it was a very subtle joke, as it took us nearly an hour to reach the main attraction, which we had very little awareness of. 

Of course we didn't think to bring money to ride to elevator to the top of a look out (because who knew that was there) and of course I fell down on our walk back to the car because I was woefully unprepared for any type of forest trails... 

The experience itself, standing across three countries, is somewhat hard to describe. Because it didn't actually feel like anything. The small children laughing playfully as they jumped from one country to the next were precious, but for me the experience presented a difficult reality to wrap my mind around. 

Again I'm left pondering borders - abstract and exact; metaphorical and literal; imagined and physical. Amidst the ruins of battlefields where so many have fought and died lives this stone in the ground as evidence that the boundaries that divide (and connect) us all, are only as meaningful as we make them. 

Lithuanian Passion - The Hill of Crosses

A few weeks ago Alan and I visited the Baltics for a few days for my birthday. Although we loved the food exploration through Riga's Central Market; feasting like Medieval kings in a 12^th century alehouse lit by the glow of candlelight; and experiencing the very serious and dry nature of the people we met – the highlight of the trip was definitely our visit to the Hill of Crosses.

We had a private guided tour with our Riga born guide and our Russian speaking driver. We took in the Soviet architecture and the old Russian Orthodox Churches past the mini-hockey-uniform and the Orthodox rosary, both hanging for our protection, from the rear view mirror. We sped past the unmanned border house and moved onto the smoother roads of Lithuania. Houses were painted yellow, green and red like the Lithuanian flag – and farms were left unattended in the late winter weather. What we found when we got there was something like what my friend, Raisa, describes as a "spiritual high." To me, it was a feeling of complete connectedness to my surroundings, and particularly to my fellow people. 

When we reached the Hill of Crosses, we entered the sacred pilgrimage site that has long witnessed unrelenting faith. Thousands of large crosses, many constructed in a detailed wooden style local to the region, and several hundreds of thousands of relics and smaller crosses adorn the small mound. 

The exact origins are not entirely clear, however, the narrative shared with us relates to the lost lives of local Lithuanians during the 1831 rebellion against the Russian rulers of the time. When many bodies disappeared during the warring, local families brought crosses to the site to honor their loved ones. Overtime, the site continued to symbolize resistance and religion for the people of the area. Most notably, during the Soviet times (1944-1990), the hill was bulldozed several times, wooden crosses burned and metal crosses recycled into railway tracks. Every time, new crosses were brought back to the site and gradually it was rebuilt.

People could not be stopped from expressing their faith. 

We heard stories of young newlyweds visiting the site on their wedding day with all of their guests to hang a cross in the hopes of a long and happy marriage. 

We saw the additions made to the space in preparation for the visit of Pope John Paul II who made pilgrimage there in 1993, as a tribute to the strength of the Catholic faith, visibly preserved in that sacred space. 

Finally, we hung our own crosses for our own hopes and prayers, knowing that a place that holds so many well wishes and has the power to provide solace to those in times of need, was a place of great respect. 

This Lenten season I have been particularly reflective on issues of forgiveness and spirituality. It was a privilege to have shared the experience of the Hill of Crosses with so many others who have gone there to pray, dream, hope, and resist. It as an inspiring place to reflect, a place with special significance - not only for its unique folk art status - but also for its ability to connect us to others. As I looked around at each cross and statue, I thought of the person who left that there and imagined what they may have wished for. There were some public statues, including one with a Star of David to symbolise an apology made by the Germans for the Holocaust. Some paid tribute to lost lives. Mothers. Love. Others had no clear meaning, but surely bore witness to many instances of mourning and celebration both. 

One thing that gets me through in my life is the Lakota saying, Mitakuye Oyasin, We are all Related. Standing in places like the Hill of Crosses, it's easy to believe that we are all related. All with experience of struggle and hopes for joy. Each cross reminded me of that. 

It was an honor to make this visit for myself, particularly as I transitioned to the next year of my life and especially during a holy season for the Catholic faith. Until the next "spiritual high," I will carry the memory of those thousands of crosses and hope that all those who have visited have received an answer to their prayers. 

St Paddys Day in a Divided City

Less than an hour after the parade had cleared, the main event kicked off at Belfast City Hall. 

Flag protestors had gathered, as they still often do on Saturdays and special occasions, although in far smaller numbers than at the start of the protests in December 2012. Ironically they gathered beneath the Union Jack flying high, as St Patrick's Day is one of the 18 designated days when Belfast City Hall raises the flag. 

Opposite the road, and behind two lines of armoured police vehicles, stood a small group of young people wrapped in tri-colours. As both sides of protestors antagonised one another, sang political songs, and on occasion threw items across the barricade; the symbolic division of Belfast was literally colouring two sides of the road. 

In the end the counter protest of young people with tricolours, and without permits, were moved on by the PSNI as young people chanted "F the RUC." Ironically again these young people seemed younger than the Good Friday Agreement and therefore without a living memory of the old police force, the Royal Ulster Constablary.

All in all, many people will have only experienced the positive elements of St Paddy's Day in Belfast, before the public drunkenness of young people and open flag wars ensued. Although in many ways the city's transformation has come a long way, the recent flag wars have brought us one step back in terms of community relations on contentious days. As always, there's more to be done. 

"Finding Peace in a Time of War" - A trip to the D-Day Museum in Southsea

Last month we visited family living in Portsmouth, a beautiful English seaside town with centuries of naval history, the world's oldest dry dock, and a quirky charm. The city itself is diverse - a University town, Royal Navy base, and holiday destination. 

It is also a city of memorials to those who have lost their lives to the sea and war, in service of their country. Alongside the promenade, inside the churches, and throughout the city there are tributes to those lost, those serving and those remembered. Because of the vital role the city and its people (natives and relocaters alike) have played in England's military and maritime history, the memorials act as a reminder of the great sacrifices made. It felt like a sacred place. 

On our first day, we visited the D-Day Museum in Southsea. One particular exhibit focused on local narratives to provide a living history of World War II for the people of Portsmouth. This form of history and storytelling, in addition to preserving memory and raising the voice of people directly affected by war, has great potential to humanize history. One excerpt that struck me was the memory from Sheila Foy, "child in Portsmouth," who shared: 

"When it was a raid above us we used to sing as loud as we could and Mum used to have a little present for the one that could sing the loudest. You had to really shout and sing loud so you couldn't hear the bombs coming over."

I felt profound respect for Sheila's mother, who found a way to bring some kind of peace in that time of war. This, to me, felt like another type of memorial to those who sacrificed and suffered during the war. It added another dimension to the character of the city and the people who did their duty during wartimes. 

In my experience of collecting narratives from the Troubles with the Five Decades Storytelling Project, I have found that this form of everyday heroism existed throughout times of conflict. Stories of mothers and fathers protecting their children and children continuing to play despite the war outside exist across conflicts in different times and places. Ultimately these stories and collections are memorials to the life that continues in the face of so much loss and pain. 

In a world of memorials and tributes to those lost, I find it essential and meaningful to also remember those who fought, in many different ways, to find peace in times of war. Memorials like these can pay respect to the women, like Mrs. Foy, who found a way to elevate music above the sounds of war. 

Thoughts on life in America after Ferguson: MLK Day

MLK Memorial, DC - November 2014

The conversation on race relations in America has been difficult for me to engage with over the past months following #Ferguson. I have felt and continue to feel compelled to join the struggle for improvement in our country, however, institutionalized racism and white privilege have created a barrier even in the way we, white people and people of color, can positively effect change (eg: link to 12 Ways to be a White Ally to Black People by Janee Woods). After a 3 month sabbatical at home, I feel more closely connected to this topic and would like to express some thoughts, albeit they are constantly changing as this wider conversation evolves. 

Since the death of Mike Brown and the following months of protest in #Ferguson and beyond, the United States has seen a re-emergence of conversations around issues of race, poverty, equality and justice. Subsequent cases of police brutality, including the death of Eric Garner, resulted in further demonstration such as the "No Justice, No Tree" protests outside of the Rockefeller lighting of the Christmas tree in New York city in December 2014. 

The impact of increased civic mobility following these events can be seen in the wider conversation taking place across the US and beyond via social media and other outlets, meetings among key stakeholders to propose and plan for change, and broader engagement throughout society. It will take time to see the long-term impacts of these efforts, however, it can already be noted that the hands up Twitter movement and other mobilization taking place across the country have been a great success in raising awareness around serious issues while including people who have often been marginalized into the struggle. 

In the Midterm Elections of November 2014 I worked as an election official in Annapolis, Maryland in a socially diverse electoral district. Anecdotally, a co-worker who as born and bred in a majority African American neighborhood in our district, made note that there were a lot of people missing from his own area who could have come out to vote. When I asked him why he didn't call them to come down, he said it wasn't his responsibility to tell people what to do. I understood his meaning and didn't press the question further. 

When the ballots were counted and Republican representatives won by overwhelming majorities, including in my own traditionally Democratic state of Maryland, people were not surprised. Some people, like myself, were saddened by what this change would mean in the face of the deepening schisms within the country, fighting polarised battles around sensitve topics such as immigration, health care and police reform. 

Immediately we turned our attentions to the low turn out at the polling stations across the country, including the two-thirds of African Americans who did not vote (link to Reflections on the 2014 Midterm Elections by Clarence B. Jones)

and the overwhelming abstention of youth voters, who in some states dropped by 20% from 2010 (link to CIRCLE article on Youth Turn-Out). This low turn-out following increased civic activity across the United States seems difficult to understand at first glance. Why wouldn't people vote if they wanted change? 

Just before leaving my hometown to return to Belfast, I went to see Selma, knowing it was a film made in tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., but very little about the premise. I came to find that although I've studied American History and taken courses exclusively dedicated to African American history, although I grew up in a border state with history of slavery and racial persecution, and although I engage actively and openly with conversations around race and equality, I do not, and possibly cannot understand the "terror of living in the south" as an African American during the times of MLK (link to Most of you have no idea what Martin Luther King actually did by Hamden Rice). 

When I left the film Selma I wondered why it didn't come out sooner, wishing it had been released before the elections to remind many of us in pursuit of change but who did not use our vote of the lives lost in the fight for voting privileges. I left the cinema feeling inspired by the faith and hope people maintained during such trying times, marching alongside MLK and one another and continuing to register to vote while knowing the persecution they could face. I also left feeling helpless after witnessing the suffering so many Americans, particularly Black Americans, have faced in this struggle and the continued challenges that institutionalized racism present in the everyday life of so many. 

Upon further reflection, I understand more clearly why so many people did not vote. There are more nuanced analyses of this issue available, but to me it seems clear. There is no hope that change will come once we vote. People do not feel inspired to work within a system that feels broken. A system that continues to function alongside blatant injustice. A system that is biased. To add insult to injury, instances of racial injustice are occurring alongside the second term of our first Black president, a constant and very real reminder that positive change is a slow and tiring process.

Living in Northern Ireland after the Troubles, a conflict which was also fueled by the Civil Rights movement, I am becoming more familiar with the struggles that took place here to overcome the destruction of hope resulting at the hands of injustice, inequality, institutionalized prejudice, police brutality and community aggression and the subsequent mistrust between the two. Polarized politics have brought government to a standstill, in some cases literally dissolving the institutions built to serve. 

These similarities go to show that the impacts of oppression and injustice will linger long after physical violence is abated. In the words of MLK, "We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war but the positive affirmation of peace". This includes justice for all. 

Ultimately, we need hope for a better future and a trust in the political process that enforces democratic change. If people felt their representatives could hear and respond to their needs, they would vote. In the last few months, polarized politics, cases of questionable impunity and lack of empathy among us all have caused further deterioration to an already divided system. For the next 4 years, many states will have politicians who do not reflect the will of their constituents, because people have lost faith in the system. 

Continued dialogue and grassroots efforts working for justice and change will be the way forward in the coming years. We all have a role to play, regardless of our class, color or creed. By maintaining and broadening the heightened levels of participation that we've built upon in the past months, we can continue to find effective ways to speak, protest and work together.