A Canadian couple we met on this trip heard we would be traveling to Belfast and highly recommended the Black Taxi tour of the city. “It will give you a good perspective of the Troubles.” I was especially interested in taking in Belfast’s experience after learning a bit about Derry’s. I expected murals and other artifacts of the riots and violence that rocked Belfast in the late 20th century. What I didn’t expect was a wall.
A three-mile “peace” wall, no less. 45 feet high in some places and topped by razor wire and other sharp objects. Heavy iron gates, manned by video surveillance, are opened during the day. But at night, when there is a greater propensity for violence, they are locked tight as a prison cell. Over the years they have reduced the number of gates from 20-something to two. Tighter security or tighter control?
The wall cuts through the heart of West Belfast. Nationalists live on the south side. Unionists on the north. (I’ve stopped calling them Catholics and Protestants because, as our Black Taxi guide told us, this issue has nothing to do with religion.)
Nationalists identify with civil rights causes around the world. 
Unfortunately, civil unrest here led to violence. 
Memories of happier days in West Belfast. 
Nationalists sympathize with other states’ struggles for independence. 
Bobby Sands, an icon for Nationalist Ireland. 
King Billy, an icon for Unionists.
The wall was first built in 1969 after the outbreak of violence during civil rights protests. It was only meant to stand for six months. Okay, I get that. But because the wall was effective in reducing the number of conflicts at the time, they built it longer, taller, and more permanent. That I don’t get. And since the Good Friday peace agreement in 1998, which I thought was working of its own accord—albeit tenuously—the wall has been fortified further. There is talk from the Northern Ireland Executive of taking the wall down by 2023, but the locals are not optimistic. It continues to grow in length as West Belfast expands toward the mountains.
I can’t believe there’s a wall! In all my reading, nothing was said about it. No one has mentioned it. I was shocked. I barely noticed the murals. I couldn’t focus on what our guide was telling us. I couldn’t think of what questions to ask.
Peace wall—a political oxymoron. In Derry, a peace bridge celebrates a peace agreement with art that bridges—geographically, if not yet ideologically—two parts of the city. It’s open, it’s accessible, it’s optimistic. A wall, no matter what word you tack in front of it, promotes nothing but segregation and alienation.
We talked to a guy here in Belfast who told us that when he was growing up in the 70s, all the schools were either Catholic or Protestant. You didn’t get to know kids from the other side of the wall in the intimacy of a classroom. You certainly didn’t attend church with them. And you didn’t play with them on the streets or sports fields. The lesson learned was: They’re different; stay away from them. The first step toward peace, he said, is to start living with them side by side, get to know them, and come to accept them. Only then can the wall come down.
It will take generations to accept the differences and forget the hate. Peace won’t come from politicians on a certain date; it can only come from within in its own time.
