Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

On the road again.

I packed this morning, then went into my placement and said goodbye. I'm really sad to be leaving-- the weather's been beautiful, and I well and truly loved my placement. But I'm really looking forward to seeing Derry again. As Bilbo says, the road goes ever ever on. It's time for me to go on with it.

I've got one more quasi-errand to run now, and then it's off to pick up my luggage and get on the bus to L/Derry. I actually managed to fit everything into my backpack and my new bag, with the exception of one pair of shoes and one jumper/sweater; both of which I donated to a hospice shop on my way to my placement. That's a laudable accomplishment, believe me (the packing, not the donating).

The Spanish teacher I've been working with asked me when I'm coming back. "I don't know," I told her, "but hopefully soon. Maybe gradschool." It seems my gradschool search is expanding unbidden beyond the confines of Canada and the lower 48. I can't bring myself to say goodbye to this place, though. I cannot imagine not returning.

Monday, April 30, 2007

End of Term

Well, today ended my academic obligations for the semester. Everything's turned in, all classes are done with, and my last mandatory day at placement is over. I'll be going back tomorrow anyway, but I don't technically have to be there tomorrow-- I'm just going because it's awesome.

I'll be spending the next week enjoying my time here as much as possible-- chances are I'll be traveling somewhere cool next weekend just for the giggles of it-- before my return to the states.

I doubt this will be my last post about it though. I kinda want to do some kind of nifty wrap-up of the experience (as if that's even possible). I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this blog after I get home. I might integrate all of the posts into my lj archives and then just let this go defunct, but who knows? Maybe I'll find a use for it.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Papers and placement

So I'm posting from the informal education centre*, and placement is still going well. I spend my mornings helping out in the foreign language wing, preparing students for their GCSEs-- a series of tests they take at sixteen to determine their levels in a veriety of subjects. For thos familiar with Harry Potter, GCSEs are the real-world version of OWLS. Students with good scores in enough subjects generally stay on and do A-levels, and then go to uni from there.

I come down here to the IEC* for lunch, and then generally spend the rest of my day down here, making worksheets, running errands, and sitting in with small group sessions. They're kind enough to let me at the computer during my lunch break, which has been very helpful this past week because I've been running about like mad trying to get my schoolwork finished.

My deadline is tomorrow, and I've got all but two things in-- a self-critique and a 2,000 word paper. I expect it's going to be a long night, but everything should get done (don't try this at home, kids! Annalee is a trained paper-writing ninja who can pull all-nighters on a single litre of coke).

So yes, that's life here. The programme ends next Wednesday, and I fly home the following Monday. I'm not sure how I'll be spending my between-time yet, but if I stay in Belfast, I might do a few extra days at my placement. No really, it's that awesome.

*In case anyone's wondering: not it's real name. I'm avoiding identifying details about the school.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

A Long Goodbye

This last weekend was our last visit to the Corrymeela Reconciliation centre. I don't know if I'll ever again lay eyes on the Rathlin Island lighthouses, or stand on that cliffside Corrymeela path overlooking Ballycastle's lights, but I would surely like to. I would like to see that star-filled sky again, and hear the odd accoustics of the Croi during worship. I'll miss that place.

Two weeks from now, I'll be back in the states. Back in Washington, DC. The city whose equal I never imagined finding until I set foot in Belfast for the first time. The city that I love. Home, if it still is that.

A cab driver told me I'm 'practically a local' the other day. I practically feel like one. I'm excited to be seeing my family again. I'm looking forward to getting together with friends, being around geeks, meeting the new addition to the household, and visiting my brother's new apartment. But I have no real desire to leave Northern Ireland. I feel the way that I feel at the end of the summer, when I have to leave home for Earlham. Like I'm going towards people that I love, but away from the places that are home to me.

Our last weekend in Ballycastle, now my last week at placement, then my last few days here, and then my last trek through the Belfast City Airport... these next two weeks are going to be a series of lasts, finals, and goodbyes. One long goodbye.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this blog when I go back. But then, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with myself, either.

Friday, April 20, 2007

oh noes.

Ok, I owe you guys one heck of a post about my placement and all the awesome things I'm doing there.

Unfortunately, I got buried under an unexpected pile of urgent work last night, and it will take me several days to climb out from under it.

So: I'm away at a residential this weekend. I'll probably be working a lot while I'm there. Hopefully by the time I'm back, I'll have time to write a real post. I should also have some pictures (we're going to Stormont today, and meeting the DUP).

Enjoy your weekends, everyone.

Saturday, March 31, 2007

Goodbyes and Hellos

It was raining the day we moved to the Walled City. Our bus pulled into a gated drive in front of a huge, Gothic building, and through the tinted windows I could see a carpark at the bottom of a hill. We were called off the bus in pairs as our host families arrived. I stared out the window as the others got up and left.

We had already been on a walking tour of the walls, but I'd never seen that part of the city before. Magee Campus. My campus. What was it like? Would I be happy there? Would my host mom be nice? I stared out the window as the others got up and left, trying to get some sense of this foreign place that was suddenly home.

I remember getting lost, our second day, when we tried to walk into town. We took a wrong turn and ended up in Rosemount. Rosemount, where I'd later go for tin whistle class: up the hill and then thread between the townhouses; mind the puddles on the footpath; don't let the alleys spook you.

In my memory, I can see the carpark on the hill the way it appears at night, when I'm walking back from the computer lab in the wee hours of the morning. I can see the bridge lights above the River Foyle, and the yellow glow against the pale stones of the gothic architecture. That first look, through tinted bus windows to a grey afternoon, is a blur.

It was sunny when we got to the bus this morning. Our host mother drove my roommate and I down Northland Road to campus-- the same route I walk every day. She hugged us goodbye after we loaded our luggage. Around us everyone was chattering about their vacations. And then we were on the bus and on our way. The last drive out of Derry was swallowed up with more vacation chatter. Mark showed me his bike route through Scotland. I talked about the armoury in Leeds.

Two hours later, we were driving into Belfast. We passed under the overpass with the wierd murals of silhouettes on geometric shapes, but it was already familiar to me from visits and travel. Nothing terribly foreign about a city centre I've already explored. I'm already at home here.

It was sunny when we unloaded our luggage and stacked it up in the Corrymeela House foyer. They gave us tea and biscuits while our host families arrived. And then I was off again. My host mother and I discussed CSI and bus passes as we drove along the road that will be my new daily commute. She settled me into the house--lovely, large, and quiet-- and headed off to work.

Hi there, Belfast. Here I am.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Things I learn from airports

A few fun facts I picked up today:

-Buses in England are as wonky as ones in Northern Ireland. Sometimes, they'll decide to just remove themselves from existance for half an hour or more. During rush hour.

-A late bus can make you miss your train. A missed train can make you miss your flight. And no matter what anyone tells you about where the flybe desk at Manchester airport is, you should ignore them. They're probably lying to you because they think it's funny when people run around the entire airport.

-Flybe does not do standby. They also don't let people check in for flights when they still have time to run for it. They'd much preferr charging you eighty quid for a new flight. Sixty four, if you spend a lot of time bargaining and don't mind a 6-hour layover.

-Manchester Airport has a prayer room. It's quiet, non-denominational, and the chaplaincy doesn't mind if you basically spend the whole day there. And it's pretty empty, except for the occasional Muslim who comes in to do prayers (between flights or on their work breaks).

One of these things made me happy. The others decidedly did not. I'll let you figure out which was which.

So today's challenge in the struggle to walk cheerfully over the earth was perspective. On the first count, reminding myself that it wasn't the end of the world, and even if it was pretty much theft on flybe's part, at least I had the sixty quid for them to steal. The second was remembering not to take it out on airline staff, because it wasn't their fault. It was partially the fault of the airport staff who lied to me (twice) about which terminal flybe was in, and partially the fault of the lady who told me the doors were closing in seven minutes when I knew for a fact it was fifteen, but it was not the fault of the ticket counter lady who told me they don't do standby. She can't be held responsible for her company's (idiotic) policies.

Being able to sit in a quiet room for a while made it much easier to calm down, to the point where I was actually able to smile and appreciate the flight when it finally departed (at 5:30; my original one was at ten past eleven). I love flying, really. Airports and airlines notsomuch, but flying itself is pretty cool.

So today's lessons from airports:

-Way really does open, even if sometimes it does it extremely inconveniently, and I should be thankful when it happens, even if I'm pissed off that it shouldn't have had to. Because just when it seems like it's just my day to be mocked by the almighty, I get a prayer room.

-Flybe still loses at life. While there may be that of God in every person, I'm fairly certain the inverse is true of corporations. Especially airlines.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Paper Writing and errata

I just finished up a paper on Johan Galtung's definitions of peace. I'd post it here for sharing purposes, but it's 2,300 words long and I think the eljay subscribers might kill me in my sleep. So, on the off chance than anyone actually wants to read 2,300 words of me babbling about peace research and peace as more than the absence of violence, email me and I'll send it to you.

In other news, the weather's taken a turn for the nice these past few days. This has raised my spirits considerably. I'm really going to miss L/Derry when we relocate, but I'm also really looking forward to Belfast, so life is good in general. And Thornton's (a chocolate shop) is going to be the death of me. The yummy, yummy death of me (they're selling ice cream now. How is that ok!?).

It turns out that Ireland Yearly Meeting is being held in a few weeks in Lisburne, so hopefully I'll be able to go and hang out with Irish Quakers. That would be really awesome, and I'm very much looking forward to it.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Back from Dublin, where the Quakers are awesome

So I'm back from Dublin.

I went to Friends' Meeting there yesterday, which was fabulous. There was a query about service and whether we devote enough time to God's work, and most of the messages seemed to relate to that.

I ended up standing to speak about something I heard at the World Gathering. An evangelical Friend was telling me about all the service projects that their church runs, because, they said, the best way to make it clear to others that there are Christians in their community is to act like Christians instead of just talking about it. It was a concept that really resonated with me.

Do I devote enough time to service, though? Not so much, really. I need to do more of that. It's no good to be the sort of 'Christian' who just blogs about their struggle to be more Christian. Blogging is not doing (rather like talking is not writing, but that's another matter entirely). I suppose I'm studying to do peacework, and that's something. But studying is not doing, either. And I feel like there's so much more I should be up to.

There was a woman there named Helen who's organizing logistics for the FWCC Triennial in August. After Meeting, she took me out to lunch and then to a museum where there was a truly awesome costumes exhibit. I really love Quakers. I came back in the evening and had Sara over for the night, which was good times. Now I'm over at a local friend's flat for another sleepover.

This week: paper writing. Lots of paper writing.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

St Patrick's Day, Dublin

Happy St Patrick's Day, everyone.

I personally had a lovely one. I went out before the parade and grabbed breakfast at a little cafe, and then met up with a friend and kept him company while he ate. By the time the parade started I was back at the hostel. I watched from the second floor (first floor, for anyone on this side of the pond, as in 'the one above the ground floor') and managed to get some pretty decent pictures. I won't know if there are any real keepers until I upload them-- sometime in the next few days.

After the parade, I headed over to Trinity College to check out the Book of Kells; a full-color illuminated bible dating back to 800 AD. The exhibit also includes The Long Room; a 60-meter long library room with two floors of stacks and a barrel-vaulted ceiling (put it this way: the Jedi Archives in Star Wars episode II are a direct, futurized and digitized copy). It houses over 200,000 of the library's oldest books; some of which date back to the fifteenth century. There are also a series of fabulous busts, including classic thinkers like aristotle alongside more modern faces such as Shakespeare, Bacon, Locke, and Parnell. There's even one of Johnathan Swift.

I spent the entire afternoon there, and ended up going through the exhibit twice. The first time I got there just ahead of the post-parade swarm, but they ended up catching up to me. There was a big crowd around the book of Kells, and then a fairly loud crowd in the long room. The second time, the place was much emptier. I ended up just sitting in the long room for the better part of an hour, taking in the smell of the books and the beauty of the architecture. Photography wasn't allowed inside, but I suppose that's just as well, because I can't imagine pictures capturing it.

And speaking of things pictures can't capture, the Book of Kells itself was incredible. I've seen shots of it, of course, in textbooks and the like. But they simply can't convey the intricate detail, the vividness of the color, or the sheer weight of history behind the book itself. This book, and the smaller one being displayed with it, were created 1200 years ago. I wonder if the scribes who copied it out and the artisits who illuminated it ever imagined that their work would still be around--and on display, at that-- more than a millenium after their deaths.

I wonder what relics of our time, 12oo years from now, will be left over to speak for us?

This evening, I'll probably go out with friends and try to get some good shots of the Dublin St Patrick's Day nightlife. Tomorrow is the UK Mother's Day. I also got some really good news today about my workload that's going to make it a lot easier for me to finish all my papers.

So all in all, a very good day. Tomorrow, I'll be holding a friend back home in the light during Meeting for Worship. I hope everyone has a lovely St Patrick's Day.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

quaker endeavors

So last weekend was the one-year anniversary of Tom Fox's death. For anyone just joining us, I knew Tom through my yearly meeting youth group, and had a lot of respect for him. He aspired to live Christ's teachings with his whole self, and I think he came a lot closer to it than most ever do (though he would probably be the first to correct anyone who suggested that he was perfect, or christ-like).

I think it's the fact that he wasn't perfect that makes him such an inspiration. He was just a man, but he was a good man, and in so being, he became an example. As I said to a friend at lunch today, he was the sort of Christian that I aspire to be.

I'm hoping to attend Friend's meeting later this afternoon. The prayer that I sit with now and will probably sit with then is this: God, help me to respect the divine light that shines through me enough to know that it is its own defender. Help me to let it shine, undimmed by defensiveness, fear, and anger. Help me to set aside those blocks that I have set up in myself that keep me from being the change that I want to see in myself and the world. Help me to be the Christian, and the person, that I aspire to be.


Dublin continues to be awesome. We took a tour today of the jail where the leaders of the Easter Rising were held prior to their executions. It was a shock to hear the tour guide tell such a one-sided story about Irish independance. I suppose I should expect that-- I mean, when we talk about US history, we rarely ever discuss those that stayed loyal to British rule in any significant or positive way. But coming from up north, where people are always so careful to be diplomatic to both sides when talking about history, it was a bit of a culture shock. I got some lovely photos though. I'll upload them later.

Sunday, March 4, 2007

Visiting the Police

I've been feeling a little under the weather these last few days-- achey, tired, and interested in very little that does not start with s and rhyme with 'sleep.' If it seems like I've been neglecting to keep up here, that's why.

In any case...

We visited a police station on Monday. The station itself is on the waterside. On the drive over there, our guide, a very friendly plainclothes officer who's been policing in Northern Ireland for something like fifteen years, gave us an overview of the PSNI's local structure (PSNI stands for Police Service of Northern Ireland). Basically, they go for a two-sided system. The first is 'community policing,' which involves having officers on the beat who really know their area and the people who live there. These officers are supposed to be approachable neighborhood fixtures that everyone knows by name. The second part of their work is more traditional police who respond to calls as they come in-- the sort of policing that I'm used to dealing with back home.

The first thing that stuck me abou the station was the station itself. It's a fairly new, large construction designed to withstand pretty much everything short of nuclear fallout. As we approached, only the guard station and a communications and surveilance tower was visible over the high brick-and-sloping-steel walls. We passed through gigantic blast doors, and then a checkpoint with a barrier, before passing into an open carpark. The building inside was solid and thick-walled, with small windows that only ever open a few inches and thick, blast-resistant exterior doors.

We began our tour in the carpark, with a look at the department's various vehicles. These range from unmarked cars with lights and sirens hidden under the front grilles to armored vans with quarter-inch, spaced-steel plating, with a few 'normal' police vehicles in between (all of which also have light armor, such as bulletproof glass and reenforced exteriors).

The biggest car he showed us, aformentioned heavily-armored van, is chiefly engaged in riot policing these days. As of our Monday visit, there had been nightly riots along an interface area near the station for the last several days. The van was a little the worse for wear. There was damage to the paint job caused by petrol bombs (people apparantly add sugar to them to make them sticky), bits of garbage still stuck to it, and someone had actually managed to crack the armor over one headlight by chucking-- I don't know what to call it, because 'brick' doesn't really convey the size of the thing. It looked like part of a pillar.

But the most annoying thing, according to our guide, was the paint. People throw paint at the cars ('they must not like our color scheme,' he joked), and it's apparantly really annoying when they manage to get it onto the windshield, as it impairs driving. Everything else, he said, was little more than a nuisance. He pointed out, though, that while the heavily-armored van could go into riots and come out needing no more than a £2 paint job, they keep their more 'normal' vehicles far away from that kind of conflict. Even though they're armored, the damages could quickly ammount to a thousand or more pounds.

What he said upset him most about the rioting was that they're a resource-sinc. The PSNI is responsible for normal policing as well as peacekeeping, and the latter often takes up too much of their resources. While his team was dealing with these riots, an elderly couple had their home invaded. The burglers tied them up and stole pretty much all they had-- which ammounted to £20 and a bus pass. The police got the call, but they had no one to send, because they were busy dealing with teenagers who were using their armored van for target practice.

After the carpark tour, he took us in to the station itself. The blast doors are surprisingly well counterbalanced. They apparantly weigh thousands of pounds a piece, but you wouldn't know it to open them. Inside, we took a tour of the cells and the interrogation rooms, where we met the officer responsible for insuring the rights of 'detained persons' (the phraze 'prisoner' is no longer operative). His full-time job is making sure the police at that station respect the rights of civilians. Every arrest has to be justified to him, and he oversees the welfare of everyone being detained and interrogated there. He answers up the line to the police omsbudsman-- basically internal affairs on crack.

I know there's a lot of well-documented issues with police in Northern Ireland prior to the Good Friday Agreement, but having met the officers and seen the way they conduct their business, I have to say I fully believe the PSNI's claim to being the most accountable police force in the world.

Honestly, based on what I saw, if I had to be in police custody, I'd rather be in custody here than back home-- I think American police could stand to take a page or two from PSNI policy. For instance, one of the rights arrested persons in Northern Ireland have is access to the PSNI protocol book. They're allowed to have it in front of them during all interrogations, and allowed to consult it at any time, so that if they feel that their rights are being infringed upon they can cite it line and verse. I thought that was an extremely good idea.

Another thing that really impressed me about the station was it's committment to diversity, and not just the religious kind. Their female officers, and even their openly gay ones, are considered just a part of the team. The way they speak about and interact with each other made it very clear that this concept of equality wasn't just some notion forced upon them in the interest of political correctness, the way it is in many parts of the states. They're proud of being enlightened about diversity. Talking to them, you get the sense that it's really important to them.

But while the police have made a lot of progress, our guide told us that problems with community relations still exist. One officer at the station, a woman from a staunchly republican area of Belfast, got a phonecall one night telling her that she was 'no longer welcome' in her home neighborhood because of her status as a police officer. Several of their Catholic officers come from the republic itself to work in Northern Ireland, rather than from the local community. Our guide (who I'm declining to name because of these very issues) lamented the shortage of local people that really make 'community policing' work. For his own part, he has policies set up in his own family (like avoiding routines) to keep them safe from paramilitaries.

He ended the tour with a Q&A session, in which he talked about his work with local schoolchildren. It's kind of a DARE program combined with general crime-deterrant education. After that, he drove us back to the cityside and dropped us off at school with his contact information in case we have any further questions. I took a handful of pamphlets with me when I left, and I've been looking them over since. The whole experience was really interesting.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Elections

So campaign posters have been springing up all over the city like crocuses these last few days. Campaigns here in Northern Ireland only run for a few weeks, instead of months on end like we see in the states (the elections, for anyone just joining us, will be on March 7th). I personally think that's a much better plan, because it means officials are spending more time doing their jobs and less time campaigning.

I'm finding it a little amusing that Sinn Fein's got all their Irish-language posters up on the waterside and their English ones up in the city centre. That seems a little bit backwards because the waterside area is mostly Protestant. In the end, though, I suppose it doesn't really matter. L/Derry's pretty much an SDLP town, near as I can tell.

It's a very exciting time to be studying the situation here. Northern Ireland has been under direct rule from Westminster since 2002, and as I understand it, they were also under direct rule prior to 1998. What's that mean? Think of the situation DC's in, and you've pretty much got Northern Ireland (though NI does elect members of parliament, which is more than DC can say about congress). Politicians that are not in any way accountable to the people of Northern Ireland get to make decisions about their taxes, their schools, their health care... even the structure of their government. They can choose to start initiatives (like the water tax) that everyone here hates. And why not? Northern Ireland is not their constituency.

If these elections go off without trouble, Northern Ireland is finally looking at a long-term devolved government. No matter which side of the conflict you're on, being able to vote the people who levy your taxes in and out of office has got to be pretty nice. And for me, having a court-side seat as history unfolds is pretty nice too.

I'm going down to Belfast tomorrow for my interview at the integrated school. Everyone wish me luck!

Monday, February 19, 2007

Starstuff

So this weekend was a group retreat at Corrymeela. The weather was lovely the whole time, and we got to take a lovely hike down a waterfall trail. I took a lot of pictures, but as I still have no functioning laptop, I'm afraid they'll have to wait.

I've been feeling a little down because of interpersonal issues I don't want to get into, but things are looking better now. I took a very long walk on Saturday night, and wound up sitting on the side of the road with my back to a sheep field looking up at the night sky. The stars here in Ballycastle are incredible, because you can actually see them. I can usually pick out Orion, but on Saturday I could see his bow. I could see his head. I could see an odd sort of faint streak in the sky that may or may not have been the milky way.

When the universe began, stars were born of gas and dust. That same dust formed planets, and one of those planets formed us. So to paraphraze Marianne Williamson, Who am I not to be intelligent, beautiful, talented, and worthy of respect? I'm starstuff. Other people don't have the power to diminsh the divine light of creation that I have inherited from the universe itself. Unless, of course, I give it to them, and who am I to do that?

I've got a few things to say about the upcoming elections, but I think I'll spare it for another post. I hope the weather Stateside isn't too unbearable.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Bloody Sunday weekend

This weekend is the 35th anniversary of Bloody Sunday. We went down to the Ancient Order of the Hibernians Hall last night (it's a men's club) to watch a documentary about it produced by CBC. Afterwards, a few representetives from the Bloody Sunday Families answered questions.

It was really quite powerful. I thought I knew about Bloody Sunday already from sitting in on rehearsals for Heroes With Their Hands in the Air, but seeing the actual footage and photographs really drives it home. If you look at the evidence and the footage, and hear the eyewitness accounts... it's horrific. Fourteen men died. Most of them were young. My age. Younger. Seventeen, some of them.

An eighteen-year-old woman was run over by an armored personel carrier. A father was shot trying to help his dying son. A man was shot dead with his hands up in the air-- the bullet passed from one armpit to the other without damaging his arms. A few people were killed crawling for cover. One seventeen year old was bleeding out on the pavement with a severed spinal cord when a paratrooper came up and shot him in the back. He died of a punctured lung.

I know this is treated as a political issue, but I don't see how it can be. It's a human rights issue, plain and simple. Innocent people were killed. It was wrong. Whether it was a result of premedetated malice or not, it was wrong.

In the Q&A, one of the family members said that the reason they're still fighting this battle is because they don't want there to be any more bloody sundays. They mentioned a school in Fellujah where American soldiers opened fire on civilians and children. The soldiers there used the same excuse that the paras responsible for Bloody Sunday used: they conjured up a fantasy gun battle; all evidence of which apparantly vanished shortly after it occurred. No bulletholes anywhere near them.

When soldiers are sent to control civilian populations but not trained in how to do it properly, innocent people die. They died on Bloody Sunday. They died in Fellujah. They've died elsewhere. It's a simple fact. I can't see anything political about saying it's wrong, and that it shouldn't happen again.