The Invisible Belfast

Realizing Northern Ireland's traumatic history.

Walking through the streets of Belfast, Northern Ireland, my mind unraveled what it feels like to enter a thin place. In thin places, the veil between this world and the other world is delicate and fine, the past and present intermingling and fading together. As I admired string lights illuminating streets and stunning architecture, I thought: How could a place this lovely be characterized by anything other than breathtaking elegance? Amidst an enchanted trance, history called out to me, begging me to discover what can no longer be seen.

It was not until I went on a walking tour which highlighted the city’s history that I was struck by a sudden reality: Belfast is the great deceiver. Belfast deludes tourists with a peaceful, glossy veneer. Glass buildings, beautiful landscapes, and smiling locals cloak the thirty-year period of extreme sectarian violence between Catholics and Protestants known as The Troubles (1968-1998). While it may seem as if The Troubles were caused by religious differences, this is not the full story. Protestant Unionists wished to remain part of the United Kingdom while Catholic Nationalists wanted to become part of the Republic of Ireland. Due to this territorial war, Protestants and Catholics became immediate enemies—anyone of the opposing religion could become a target of severe violence.

However, within the city today, no monuments attest to the 3,600 people who were killed—most of whom were innocent civilians—during the various riots and attacks. No mention of the fact that it was customary for citizens to be searched thirteen times a day (or more) when traveling between city streets. No remains of the security gates which lined every major street and which were placed in front of buildings and bars. No acknowledgment of the captivating fear which once spread like a virus throughout an entire city.

Only echoes of these brutal memories flow in and out of the thriving, charming city streets. Swirling past newcomers, the hauntings of Belfast remain visible only to those who experienced the trauma themselves, or to those who venture beyond the limits of city centre. A few miles from downtown Belfast, communities inhabited strictly by Protestants bump up against strictly Catholic streets. Within these separate but compressed communities, murals expel the masquerade of city centre. Used as propaganda during The Troubles, numerous paintings called for action. In Protestant neighborhoods, murals commemorated the relationship with the United Kingdom and often depicted the British Flag, Unionists, and sometimes the King. Big, block letters state “You are now entering Loyalist Sandyrow” in one of the most famous Protestant murals. Above, a British flag. On the other hand, murals in Catholic neighborhoods proudly displayed the Irish flag as well as Nationalists who lost their lives fighting for separation from the United Kingdom. Perhaps the most famous mural in Catholic territory is of Bobby Sands, a member of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) who died during a hunger strike after being sent to prison.

"Swirling past newcomers, the hauntings of Belfast remain visible only to those who experienced the trauma themselves, or to those who venture beyond the limits of city centre."

In the late 1990s, after a ceasefire from the IRA, peace talks began and eventually resulted in the Belfast Agreement, or as it is commonly known, the Good Friday Agreement. This agreement recognized that the majority of citizens in Northern Ireland wished to remain part of the United Kingdom, but it also recognized that a large portion of citizens also wish to bring about a united Ireland. The agreement set up a power-sharing assembly to govern Northern Ireland, and left the future status of the territory open—if there is ever a majority of citizens who wish to become part of the Republic of Ireland, they can vote to do so. Ever since, it is clear that the citizens of Belfast are trying their best to move forward—there are now various cross-community events and activities, and new murals representing peace are being created within neighborhoods. Thankfully, the violence between Protestants and Catholics has largely ended. Speaking on the numerous bombs that once detonated during the Troubles, the tour guide even said, “You know things are finally good in Belfast when there are glass buildings.”

But the healing process is far from over. There is a fragility in Belfast that can only be discovered and mended through careful and conscious efforts. One anecdote from the tour that stood out very clearly to me was about how citizens in Northern Ireland can easily identify whether a person is Protestant or Catholic. Not only can you discover someone’s religious association through something as basic as a name (for example, a Northern Irish Catholic would hardly ever have the name William, due to the association with King William), but you can also discover religious association through the act of speech. Because Catholics learn Gaelic in school and Protestants do not, the letter ‘h’ is pronounced differently between the two groups. Our tour guide, who grew up Protestant, said that whenever he hears the Gaelic pronunciation he immediately, and almost involuntarily, thinks Catholic. Twenty years after the Troubles have ended, this demonstrates an ever-present divide between the two groups.

While there are numerous efforts being made to visually demonstrate reconciliation, there is no visible sign of a healing process. Peace murals will not bring back loved ones. Glass buildings cannot eradicate feeling threatened by others. Even after my short stay in the city, I can’t shake the feeling that there is an invisible Belfast. A Belfast that is not cloaked by glass buildings, beautiful landscapes, and smiling locals, but one characterized by the invisible conscious disunity between citizens and the intangible remnants of fear.