Race, Religion, and Reconciliation: A Comparative dialogue

We're finally in South Africa! Before we begin our posts in this new setting, I decided to offer a summary of our experiences in Northern Ireland. Between bus trips and hotel rooms, I found time to pen words that capture--in part--the magnitude of our stay. I'll also post new material on my personal blog site, which can be found at http://www.derrickdonald.com/. Enjoy!

LESSONS FROM NORTHERN IRELAND

Nothing remained hidden from the Tunisian sun as warm sunlight bathed the landscape. Mosques stood manifestly in the eastern sky as a young Muslim girl, Sahla, leapt playfully from African soil. Trailing the path of destiny, she would someday bid farewell to the familiar skies of her homeland. Northern Ireland, a nation under British rule with an oft celebrated Christian heritage, became her second home. Memories of towering mosques and the distinct intonations of Islamic prayers contrasted greatly with this new land. Yet, historical conflicts and lingering rifts hideously blight the beauty of its predominately Christian architecture. In the shadows of crosses, Protestants—who were chiefly of English or Scottish descent—and native Irish Catholics spilled their blood in a violent struggle for power.

On October 5, 1968, in the city of Derry, Northern Ireland, nearly five hundred Irish Catholic citizens gathered peacefully in public protest. The population of Derry, unlike the nation it resided in, was predominately Irish Catholic. However, British Protestants, whose population constituted the minority, had long gerrymandered electoral constituencies within the city and, hence, maintained majority rule. Subject to unrepresentative governance that impaired equal access to jobs and housing, Irish Catholics marched in protest of injustice. On that cold and fateful October day, as unsuspecting protesters followed their course, the local police force tightly held their clubs. In the moments following, the marching crowd of men, women, and children were mercilessly beaten. As bleeding wounds stained their garments, riots ensued. Consequently, the “Troubles” began.

Nearly forty years after this haunting march for civil rights, Sahla and I stood in the city of Belfast, Northern Ireland. Chilled by cold wind gusts, we awaited the start of the Orange parade—a celebratory march featuring a number of Protestant fraternal lodges loyal to the British crown. The parade marks the defeat of King James II—a Catholic—by Prince William of Orange—a Protestant—at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. As the parade slowly began, I watched as children gleefully waved British flags. Reflecting on the disturbing history of the Troubles, which lasted nearly thirty years, I was grieved within—knowing that this violent period claimed the lives of over three thousand adults and children. Only hours before the parade began, a young man was beaten unconscious with an iron bar by a drunken mob of British loyalists. Yet another act of violence occurred during the Orange parade as a marching band member physically assaulted a nearby civilian.

Although the Troubles ended in 1998 with the Good Friday Agreement, unrest persists—as signified by the parade violence earlier this month. The Troubles began with protests for equality but ended with hopes—brewing within the hearts of the evolving Irish community—for liberation from British rule. I would later meet a former member of the Irish Republican Army, a violent paramilitary organization that fought British rule through armed resistance. As he led Sahla and I through a graveyard with the buried remains of many who died during the Troubles, I strongly questioned the use of violence as a means of attainment. Yet, I considered his story. With unsettled emotion, he described his eighteen months of political imprisonment. Hastily stripped of his garments on the first day of internment, only a metal chain bearing a Catholic pendant remained on his bare flesh. When the British soldiers before him raucously demanded its removal, his nervous hands failed to unclasp it. Impatiently, the soldiers ripped the chain from his neck and struck him until he lay bare on the cold floor.

A rainbow appeared in the cloudy sky above the historic graveyard several minutes after our conversation ended. While soft rain drizzled, I contemplated his account, bloodguilt, and eventual departure from faith. His story, though personal, is common to many in nations with the visible bruises of conflict. Violence and war, I suppose, strips all of us. In every conflict, there are consequences—humanitarian, environmental, and economic. As global citizens, it remains our great aim, whenever possible, to work through our inevitable differences in pursuit of peaceful resolutions. John Hume, a Nobel Peace Prize recipient who has been instrumental in the peace process of Northern Ireland, mirrored this reality. Hume, whom Sahla and I met only days ago, once said, “Difference is of the essence of humanity. Difference… should therefore never be the source of hatred or conflict. The answer to difference is to respect it. Therein lies a most fundamental principle of peace...” In speaking with him, I perceived that Hume untiringly believes that a borderless peace that transcends racial, religious, and ideological differences is within reach. Yet I wondered if Hume—or even I—would witness the dawn of such a great day. Upon noticing my depth of thought, Sahla asked me, “How long does it take for the olive tree to grow?” I searched my soul for an answer, pondering Christian parables central to the faith that I found in my years on Mississippi soil. Though I searched within, I found no answer. With a smile, she answered, “Two generations. One generation plants the seed. The next reaps the harvest. Plant the seed.” Across our differences, with hope, we agreed.

Derrick Douglas Donald is a graduate student at the University of Mississippi, where he is completing doctoral studies in medicinal chemistry.