The tragic other Ireland

If Shakespeare had to write a play with Belfast as its main protagonist, it would be one of his tragedies.

Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing tragic about Belfast today. It is the city’s history — its meteoric rise and fall within the span of a century that lends the capital of Northern Ireland its tragic aura. It is the story of its rise as the shipbuilding and linen-making capital of the world at the end of the 19th century, its decline during the three-decade long political bombing of ‘The Troubles’ and now its brave move to reinvent itself as a city of the future (by fashioning itself after every other city of the future) that makes me look at Belfast that way.

It was in Belfast’s dockyards where the ill-fated Titanic was constructed in 1909-12. Three decades later, during World War II, Belfast was the UK’s second-most bombed city after London because the Germans wanted to halt production in its shipyards that hugely aided Allied efforts. In one night alone, 1,000 people died in German bombing.

The bombings didn’t stop there. About 25 years later, political conflict, referred to locally as ‘The Troubles’ started in Northern Ireland and its largest city, Belfast, bore the brunt of it for nearly 30 years. On one side were Catholic nationalists or those who wanted Belfast and Northern Ireland to join the Republic of Ireland. On the other side of this divide were Protestant Unionists who wanted Northern Ireland to remain with the United Kingdom.

In 1998, the warring groups signed the Good Friday agreement that has kept the peace except for sporadic incidents of violence.
During a whirlwind tour, one can clearly see it still bears marks of a city divided. An 18-foot high wall made of reinforced concrete, topped with corrugated sheets and barbed wire runs for five miles, dividing Catholic and Protestant communities, eerily reminiscent of the hateful wall that divided Berlin. Locals call it the peace wall because it “keeps the peace,” says our guide. In a city where minor incidents like football-related violence can lead to major flare-ups, the wall is essential to keeping warring groups on their side of the fence. Its many gates, manned by CCTV cameras, are shut at night and at the signs of the slightest trouble.

At Falls Road, where the Catholic community is dominant, a section of the wall is covered with murals dedicated to worldwide movements against oppression. A portrait of Marxist revolutionary Che Guvera (who has Irish ancestry) stares down at you as a Palestinian flag flutters from a pole beside the road.

You will never see a Union Jack in Falls Road, says our guide. Similarly, you will be foolish to carry an Irish flag on Shankill Road, the Protestant enclave. “The only thing Irish about this road,” chuckles our guide, “is its name.”

Rosie Smith, a friend who grew up in Belfast during The Troubles recalls it was part of daily life. “We didn’t live in constant fear of being bombed but The Troubles manifested themselves for me in the form of inconveniences. The train to and from school would frequently be delayed by bomb scares. When we went shopping, you’d have your bag searched every time you went into a shop.”
During the quickie tour, the names our guide rattles off are a blur. The most bombed bank, a school that still has bullet marks in its walls, an apartment block taken over by the IRA — are all testaments to Belfast’s difficult past.

That said, Belfast is trying hard to rid itself of this troubled history by reinventing itself as a city of opportunity and growth. The Titanic quarter, where shipbuilding firm Harland and Wolff built some of the world’s largest liners, is dominated by construction cranes and shiny new apartment blocks. The shed, where the Titanic was painted, now houses a studio owned by Hollywood star Tom Hanks in which HBO’s mega series Game of Thrones is being filmed.

Ironically, it is the Titanic that is one of the attractions Belfast is trying to capitalise on. 2012 marks the centenary of the luxury liner’s maiden voyage and tragic end four days later. Sign on for the Titanic Walking Tour to visit the dusty corridors of the once-grand offices of Harland and Wolff. Our Titanic walk guide Ed tells us how shipyard workers only got a seven-minute break all day. Supervisors called ‘minute men’ would time these breaks and make a note of whoever exceeded the limit. Penalties included pay cuts and even termination. 100 years later, conditions at the Maruti plant in Gurgaon seem strangely similar. Workers on the Maruti assembly line have gone on strike several times in the past few months to protest against similar 7-minute toilet-cum-tea breaks!

During the tour, you are also taken to the boardroom where White Star Line chairman Bruce Ismay insisted that passengers walking onboard for the first time would be alarmed to see its many lifeboats and ordered that they be reduced. In the movie, Ismay is shown to have escaped the sinking ship by getting onto a lifeboat by disguising himself as a woman.

Speaking of disguises, I see Belfast’s attempts to reinvent itself akin to efforts of an industrious older brother trying to compete with the more exciting but somewhat spoilt younger brother (Dublin). I’m more than ready to drink to the success of that!