I'm in Belfast (Circa 2002)

It’s November of 2002. I’m still in my right mind. I go to Belfast. My trip to the capital of Northern Ireland feels like a badge of honor; a source of pride; an accomplishment in and of itself. Belfast is a city with a dangerous history. Nearly five years after the peace agreement, it’s still a place Americans are told not to visit. Yet, I’ve made it here, and I like it.

I get to see the city in a particularly cool way. I’m friends with Alix O’Neil. We first meet in Dublin through the Samuel Beckett Theatre. She’s from Belfast. I stay with her and her family in an affluent neighborhood where Catholics and Protestants live side by side without issue. There’s no resource scarcity, so there’s no problem. Economics is the great equalizer. That’s what Alix’s mother, Ann, tells me. I’ve never heard that perspective before. Ann is actually on the Northern Ireland tourist board. She gives me a personal car tour of Belfast. I see the Short Strand, the Falls Road, the Shankill Road, the famous political murals. We talk about “The Troubles.”

“The Troubles” start in the late 1960s and continue all the way to 1998. It’s nearly 30 years of fighting between the Irish Catholic Nationalists/Republicans who want a united Ireland and the Protestant Unionists/Loyalists who want Northern Ireland to remain as part of the United Kingdom. Among other paramilitary groups and state forces, it’s the Irish Republican Army (IRA) against the Ulster Defense Association (UDA). It’s horrific and tragic and heart-wrenching. Thousands die. A lowlight includes the Bloody Sunday Massacre in 1972. British soldiers shoot 26 unarmed civilians during a protest march in County Derry. As an Irish-American, I sympathize with the Nationalists/Republicans and I glorify the IRA. It’s wild to get to see the murals. I observe them with reverence.

Here’s some brief further background: For 800 years Ireland is colonized by England. Cut to 1916 there’s the Easter Uprising where Ireland declares and fights for their independence, which they receive in 1921. This results in the Anglo-Irish Treaty which separates Ireland into the Republic of Ireland in the south and Northern Ireland in the north. Irish people have differing views on this treaty, to put it lightly. A year-long civil war breaks out between those who want a fully united Ireland immediately and those who are okay with the compromise in the hopes that they can get a fully united Ireland sometime down the line through the political process. The Irish Civil War is won by the Irish Free State who are pro-compromise. They defeat the IRA.

I see the mural of Bobby Sands along the Falls Road. Bobby Sands is a member of the IRA who dies of a hunger strike in 1981 in a Northern Ireland prison. The hunger strike is the culmination of a five year protest. The demand is POW status. First, it’s the blanket protest, where paramilitary inmates refuse to wear any clothes, save for blankets. Second, it’s the dirty protest, where they refuse to wash and cover their cells in excrement. Third, it’s the first hunger strike that lasts for 53 days. Finally, it’s the second hunger strike that results in the death of ten inmates, including Bobby Sands. Less than a month before he dies and while still incarcerated, Bobby Sands is elected as a member of parliament. He runs as a candidate for Sinn Fein, the political wing of the Irish Republican Army.

I hope that the above quick history lesson is interesting to y’all lol. I have to be honest, I just love this Irish shit. My ethnicity is actually Irish, Italian, Romanian and Lithuanian, but, for whatever reason, I really identify with my Irish heritage. Maybe it’s simply because my last name is O’Donnell. I don’t know. But Erin go Bragh, bayyybeee!

I realize there’s no talk of mania in this entry. Thank goodness my entire life isn’t mania. Not even close. Although my mental illness has been deeply impactful and traumatic, Bipolar Disorder certainly doesn’t define me. This scene in my life is an exhilarating and eye-opening trip to Belfast, and I recall it fondly. In fact, before I head back to Dublin, Alix’s father, Micky O’Neil, cooks me the most delicious breakfast I’ve literally ever had in my entire life. A proper Ulster Fry. I’ll never forget that breakfast, especially the traditional Irish potato bread! Thanks for the kindness and hospitality, O’Neil family!

Love,

JFOD

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