Bleeding Ireland and Black America
Fall Road is deserted. Only a few dirt-caked, barefoot, Irishmen can be
seen shivering in the adjacent park. We walk past the Catholic neighborhoods
knowing, at any moment, buildings might explode and automatic weapon fire could
lacerate the air on every side of us. Belfast is charming, apart from the harsh
reality of guerrilla warfare and terrorism being common occurrences. For the
first time, throughout my three month tour of seventeen different European
countries, I feel truly threatened. The tension carries itself into a nearby pub
where an old man asks “Are you jus daft? Or do ya have relatives here?” His
words hinted at my grandfather\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s blunt, yet kindly, expression concerning his
birthplace in N. Ireland, “If you haven\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'t been there yet, don\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'t go there.”
I can remember the lyrics of a Naughty by Nature song blaring over my
car radio, “If you have......
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Approximate Pages: 18 (260 words per double-spaced page) |