24: Here

Today, the U.V.F. (Ulster Volunteer Force) and Red Hand Commandos (different name for the same thing) are said to have totally decommissioned their arms. The U.D.A. (see Red Hand Commandos) also claim to have begun following suit. You can read all about it here.

I never thought I'd see the day, but the same went for the I.R.A.'s 2005 disarmament. Why the guarded tone, then? It's "an historic day.... further testimony to the transformation in Northern Ireland", according to Secretary of State Shaun Woodward [featured BBC article.] Well, as we witnessed in March, paramilitaries Here are not unlike your average Hollywood ghouls; beheading one doesn't mean two won't pop back up in its place.

It's more than that, though. Just yesterday I watched a newly unfurled U.V.F. flag rippling in the breeze, as I walked through neighbouring streets. It, of course, wasn't alone. Moments later I passed a man wearing a U.V.F. shirt. Not a D.I.Y., Primark plain white tee later deformed by a home-made print, a genuine "I'm in the U.V.F" shirt. That this is probably that man's "job" and "uniform" (outside of 501's, a black bomber jacket, and balaclava, of course) appalls me on a level beyond concision.

Watching that clown walk around with impunity in the middle of a sunny Friday afternoon was, at once, infuriating and enlightening; it's our problem in microcosm. Too many people still don't see the abhorrence of their ways. His demeanour was not that of a man finally being dragged into civility along with his cohorts, nor was it a man afraid for his future; rather, it was the same nonchalance exhibited by the sectarian mooncats I went to high school with, the guys who drew Loyalist murals during classes, hummed and drummed Loyalist tunes on the tables with their pens, and used used the terms "Fenian" and "taig" in much the same breath as Nazi - a swagger (or saunter, as we say Here) that said "the more things change...."

Flying your country's flag, or whatever flag you wish, from a pole on the front of your house and flying terrorist - again, terrorist - flags (plural) on streetlights around your area are not the same thing.

I'm not ignorant enough to accuse the police of being ineffectual, but, in these matters, question marks arise as to their conviction. Any such flag spotted or reported to an officer should be removed instantly. The same must also go for murals, no matter which acronym they champion. If we are, indeed, progressing, then there can be no alternative, least of all the shameful "that's just the way it is" attitude so prevalent in society to this day.

I hate the fact that I thought better of reporting this offensive behaviour for fear of the inaction it would likely meet. I hate the fact that, after so long, these issues still annoy me this deeply. But most of all I hate the fact that the good people of Northern Ireland seem consigned to pessimism as long as it's "Us VS. Them" Here.

--

Ian Pratt finds "the bright side" of life increasingly hard to look upon.

One-Shot (08/03/09)

Last night, I stuck two fingers up to my cold by going to see Watchmen with Neil. Under normal circumstances, this post would've been a straightforward gush over the movie, why the wait was worth it, and how me not getting to play Rorschach was, ultimately, for the best. At the very least, it would've been a big thank you to everyone who voted yes in the Sexiest poll. Then I got home and heard the news. I spent a large portion of Friday evening discussing the finer points of "The Irish Question" with Christophe, so the timing couldn't have been worse. A decade with some good work undone in an instant, the cautious optimism held until moments before extinguished, one man's desire to leave his homeland strengthened.

Before Watchmen, we got the trailer for Fifty Dead Men Walking. If you haven't read this, the flick is the biopic of Martin McGartland, an IRA operative turned British informant. Me and Neil made the inevitable jokes about the movie. It was an easy target. The use of 'Alternative Ulster', the bit where the cop said "Where are yiz goin lads?", the treatment of our blood-soaked past as the backdrop for a "pulse-pounding thriller" or whatever the blurbs said. The ability to laugh through despair comes pretty easy to us here.

Time was, yesterday's tragedy would've been behind me pretty quickly. That's what years of unfortunate practice yields. The wound still feels too raw to see things clearly, but I'm less sure, this time. I keep thinking about it, feeling sorry for the families, wishing for the embarrassment and heartache to end. Moreover, I get the impression this level of apathy might extend beyond my door.

I know I go on a bit about home - sometimes with tongue firmly in cheek - but that's what patriots do. I make no apologies for that. One line from last night stands out more than anything regarding the events at Massereene; "An attack on one is an attack on all of us." Some of us would do well to keep that in mind.