This morning, I awoke to the soft sound of misty rain. The sound created rhythms that were the only sound to be heard at 3 am. From the window of the hostel room I looked directly at a 12 foot stone wall, with another 12 feet of chain linked fence on top, with razor wire between the two. This was the wall of the local police station. The town, Derry, north Ireland.
Two days before, Aria and I were viewing one of the most amazing ancient ruins in the world. New Grange. An ancient tomb over 4000 years old. We met a New Yorker who was taking a pilgrimage to his ancestral home, much like me. He told us stories of how amazing Northern Ireland is, and supported by many other claims of travelers we met, we decided to take a quick two night trip up to see Derry, and take a direct bus to the Dublin airport from there.
We arrived in Derry at 9:30 pm two nights ago. The town was rather quite, but the public art, stencils, and posters created a feeling of energy. The town felt full of life, and very interesting. The quite streets hummed a tone that was felt, rather then heard.
As an Irish American, Northern Ireland has always been known to us (especially from Boston) as a place of conflict and oppression. It was quite common growing up to hear about the conflicts there. We would side with the Irish, knowing full well of the history of oppression England had there. This was another strong reason to go there; to learn about the place and the situation.
Our full day there was touring the city. A gummy bear dislodged a cap on a back molar tooth on the bus rife there, so a 1 hour dentist visit was needed to repair it. Before and after that, we toured the town.
We started with the plantation house free museum tour. This was of a very beautiful plantation house that looked like a well decorated Brick church. The exhibit inside was very well done, with a comprehensive history of English occupation of Northern Ireland. The building was renovated after it was burned to the ground by the local Irish people, the year I am uncertain of.
Towards the end of the exhibit an overwhelming feeling of discomfort came over me. Suddenly, I felt that I had to get out of the place. I notified Aria of this feeling, which cooled me down a bit. I can only credit the feeling with the enormous amount of disgust that I have for the history of oppression of my ancestors. I couldn't take any more facts of how the English came to Ireland and used Northern Ireland as a command post to try to rule the whole country, as well as use Scottish people as pawn soldiers (I have Scottish blood as well, who are also Celtic blood line, and were also oppressed by the English). I had to leave the museum.
Right out side the museum was a huge wall about 20 feet high and 20 feet thick that surrounded the old city. This was used to protect the central English town from the local Irish people. The wall gives a feeling of power, makes one feel small and powerless, dwarfed by the uncountable amount of rocks.
After my appointment we went to the free Derry museum, which is dedicated to the preservation and education of Bloody Sunday. In 1972, around 15 peaceful protesters where killed. The IRA was not present, for this was to be a peaceful demonstration for civil rights. The right to vote, the right to work, and other common rights were the issues the local Irish were demanding in their own native land. A group of paratroopers from England had an agenda, and they followed it. The brother of the man working the front desk of the museum was killed at this event, as well as the father of our walking tour guide (that we took after the museum). Sounds that were recorded of the days events echoed through the museum, adding to the grim feeling. On display at were numerous facts about the massacre along with blood stained cloths of victims, and banners that were used.
Aria and I hardly spoke after the museum. We were speechless. I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know what to say.
The tour guide was an honest Irish man. As real as they come. Aria and I were the only people on the tour. He spoke with a hard Irish accent. Much of what he spoke we heard in the museum; 1,100 canisters of tear gas were used on the crowd, peaceful protest for workers rights, in solidarity with MLK's " I have a dream" speech, the African American woman who wouldn't sit at the back of the bus in the USA. Solidarity. He explained the meaning that the murals were portraying. These murals covered the sides if many of the row houses. We later walked the intimidating wall that I spoke if earlier and could clearly see these murals from above. The images in the murals were of protesters, civil rights activist from around the world, and of the victims of the massacre.
We ended the tour at the Bloody Sunday memorial. The first name on the memorial was his father. He died at the age of 31, a year younger than I am now.
After the extremely clarifying tour, aria and I again were silent. Our guide was aware of how we were affected by this tour, and beeped from his taxi (his other job) as he drove by. We sat quite looking at the memorial, in respect for those who stood for what we stand for. Basic human rights.
Waking up this morning was very ironic. On the morning of celebrating the great independence of the USA from England, I awoke in Derry. The early morning light made the Great Wall outside the window glow with gloom. The gentle tapping of the rain added ambiance. I felt. I felt things that i never have felt before. I felt the history of oppression of my people. Right in my face. Museum and information one after another all crammed into one full day. I went to sleep around 8:30 pm the night before, and woke up around 3 am. I was exhausted, but could hardly sleep. I awoke on a day celebrating independence for my home country, in a place where my people came from, and do not have the privilege to do the same.
With love and solidarity, let us remember those who are oppressed when we celebrate independence.