Welcome to Belfast

From the living room window we can see smoke rising against the night sky. Helicopters provide constant background noise, reminding us of the violence happening less than a quarter-mile away. There have been riots each of the past two nights, after a Loyalist/ Unionist/ Protestant march was rerouted on Saturday, and there was a confrontation with police (see the BBC for more info). Dozens of cars--even a bus--have been hijacked and set ablaze to block key motorways. Paramilitary gangs took advantage of the riots to fire live rounds at the police from the crowds. Of course the situation is more complicated-- the march was only a precipating event, a spark to ignite anger stemming from deeper grievances, both personal or communal. There is so much history behind every sign and symbol, so much that I don't understand. Many locals admit that they don't quite understand either.

Our quiet neighborhood sits in stark contrast to the flooded streets only a short walk away, where police and rioters face off with bricks and plastic bullets. Only last weekend, the streets were flooded by a different phenomena--the sidewalks of the city center full to the brim with shoppers and young couples, Catholic and Protestant alike, enjoying a sunny Saturday afternoon. Now half the city is shut down. I never saw this coming, which shows just little I know about these people and their reality. There is hatred and frustration just beneath the surface of this society--one scratch and it is exposed. The worst part about it all is that I can do nothing about the violence, but sit here in the living room and watch things unfold on tv.