(Crider) See for Yourself

After traversing substantial portions of Dublin on foot and enduring a bus tour through Belfast, however interminable it seemed, I have been introduced (a month is not nearly long enough to become familiar) to the differences between Northern Ireland and its larger neighbour to the South. Likewise, I have encountered several characteristics that are consistent through either territory. In comparing Belfast and Dublin, one could refer to subjects such as political turmoil, industrial impact, and the overall attitude of locals towards foreigners. One could bring up how much more one city has to offer for tourists than the other, or shed light on the lingering signs of a troubled past that the citizens still have to live with, whether it be bullet impressions on the Post Office and various statues on Dublin's Upper O'Connell Street or the more than thirteen miles of "peace" walls separating Belfast's Catholic and Protestant neighbourhoods. Beyond the pure aesthetics of these compilations of stone, metal, and wire mesh exist the true windows into the opposing psyches of Belfast and Dublin’s people: art. Discussing politics with locals would yield different responses depending on the sympathies included, and one must always be wary of poking a delicate spot when approaching such issues. Walk around for a while and the various opinions so prominent among Irish populations will be evident on walls and buildings without the stigma of offending someone with ignorant remarks. Oscar Wilde once stated that “Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.”  Feeling, often poignant and personal, pervades much of the art that I have seen in either city.

Belfast is famous for the murals that add colour and conflict alike to otherwise stagnant streets (that is when Orangemen are not parading down the union jack- infested avenues). Mostly portrayals of the key events, people, and temperaments of the “Troubles,” these murals, depending on what side of the peace wall they inhabit, capture the ideals and concerns of both parties.  Murals on the Protestant side of the wall tend to express brutally Loyalist convictions, suggesting that the area would still prefer a Belfast in which Catholics are held at arm’s length.  Predominantly of Unionist sentiment, they depict militant subjects donning balaclavas and semi-automatic rifles, Martin Luther pinning his 95 theses on the Church doors, or Oliver Cromwell commemorated for his persecution of Catholics.  Considering the intimidating subject matter featured on so many of the murals, the Shankill district was aptly named.  Falls Road, on the other hand, runs through eastern Belfast with stark contrast to its opposing streets to the West.  It still contains murals that honour fallen men and women, martyred for their respective cause, but contrary to the Shankill district, they are sprawled across buildings in such a sombre manner that practically begs for conflict to cease.  Victims of state-sponsored oppression gape from the bricks at passers-by, their faces forlorn but not aggressive.  Even the portrait of Bobby Sands, who died during the 1981 Hunger Strike after 66 days of refusing food, displays a smiling and seemingly hopeful man, accompanied by the phrases “Everyone, Republican or otherwise, has their own particular role to play” and “…Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.”

Riding through the different parts of Belfast, I recalled that the militant violence of Protestant extremists over the years has been matched by IRA campaigns.  Seeing the subjects of Nationalist murals, their eyes often infused with vulnerability and their faces rarely concealed by balaclavas, it was difficult not to be partial to the Republican cause, which, as demonstrated by the Bobby Sands mural and so many others, strove for a unified Ireland.  Decades after the first instalments of peace walls in 1969, opinions are still being voiced along the entire length of corrugated steel and concrete.  Art seems to be encouraged on the walls.  Though signs ask that the images remain unadulterated by writing, tourists and locals alike can be seen scribbling their responses, poetic or tacky, over them.  From the bus window, I gazed as a young boy turned towards his mother, perhaps clarifying how to spell a word.  Further towards the left, an elderly couple began to transcribe their own thoughts.  I was disappointed that my camera could not zoom far enough onto the wall to confirm whether their writing was profound.

Dublin has its fair share of remarkable street art as well.  Entire alleyways and walls are adorned with creative expression that one cannot simply find in a museum.  While I am sure that political and religious murals can be found around the city, my ventures into the graffiti shrouded streets have not subjected me to blatantly Right or Left subject matter.  Unlike most of the murals found in Belfast, they appear to have been created purely for the sake of art, and if they do possess underlying statements on historic events and personal outlooks, they are subtle.  As far as pleas for solidarity go, I have encountered the Ketchup bottle adjacent to the River Liffey with “Labelz are for jars not for people” superimposed on the front.  Among my favourite works is a simple black and white painting of a fallen angel cowering against a wall with her knees tucked close to her chest.  While saddening, it is alluring all the same and when viewing it I could not help but wonder what horrific scene her eyes were diverted to, what she was hiding from.