Sunday Bloody Sunday 50 Years Later

I've just been checking out the news, It's the 50th Anniversary of Bloody Sunday.

I remember that day.

I was 9, living in Dublin and aware of the conflict between the UK and Ireland, euphemistically called "The Troubles;" like it was just a little squabble between friends.

It was a lovely day in the South; deep blue wintery sky, brilliant light that hurt your eyes, and a softening on the wind that foretold the coming of spring. My brother John and I were sent to the newsagents to pick up the Sunday papers and a loaf of bread.

We walked the green that separated our house from the shops, using the diagonal path cut into the earth by hundreds of passing feet. All of a sudden, a man opened his bedroom window. A tricolor dropped out and rolled down the wall, opening up to reveal the bright orange, white and green of the Republic. John and I looked at each other, "There's going to be trouble today."

Later that afternoon, we heard the news. A march in Derry had turned into a bloody massacre. What had started out as a peaceful demonstration, escalated when the demonstrators met British Army forces, who in retaliation for the stones thrown by a small group of protestors, opened fire with rubber bullets, water cannons and gas.

                Source: BBC News

I lost the narrative after that. Somehow things ratcheted up so fast that the military opened fire on the crowd with live ammunition. By the time it was all over, there were 13 dead, with more to die of injuries in the days to come. When you look at the list of casualties, you see the names of young boys and girls, not even out of their teens.

What followed this "Trouble" was a Hardening of the Hearts and an increase in sectarian violence, killings, murders and bombings. No one was left untouched by Bloody Sunday.

I didn't understand the issues back then. I didn't know the "back story," but I did know that there was a great deal of anti-Brit sentiment in Ireland, and that I was seeing things first hand that no child of 9 should see. These experiences left me with deep trauma, just like every other child who lived through those times.

Over the years, my response to my family's time in Ireland was to put it out of my mind and forget. Occasionally something would happen to penetrate my news blackout, like hearing U2's anthem, Bloody Sunday, for the first time or hearing the stunning news that the Good Friday Peace Agreement had been reached. Then one late night recently, an old friend, who lived in Belfast during those days, reached out. Neither of us had talked about what it was like being a Brit in Ireland in those days, but that night was cathartic. Shared memories from a lifetime ago, words gave shape to a trickle of memories and then a flood of half-forgotten things. Afterwards, those memories started to rest easier with me, and occasionally, I talk about happier times, like the one nudged by a movie recently. The one where I'm running down the sand at Dun Laoghaire to get to sea where the waves break on the shoreline so far out.

Fifty years is a life time. The Good Friday Peace has held and for that I am so grateful. But it is a fragile peace. Over the years, I have come to understand both sides' position but one thing I know for certain: prejudice is taught. The other thing I know is that Ireland should be united as one country. Maybe remembering that Bloody Sunday and all that happened that day, will spark the courage to take the next step towards unity.

BBC Marks the 50th Anniversary of Bloody Sunday

Source: BBC News, bbc.co.uk/news or bbc.com/news