What I want to know is, who decided that those youths didn't take up their posters and placards out of their knowledge and experience? Who says they are politically and socially awake enough to know when they're getting a bum deal and want to do something about it? Who decided that since they're doing something unpopular and controversial, they must have been put up to it?

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't see much of this demonizing happening outside of Northern Ireland. Granted, I'm sure that there are some truths in the assertion that young people who didn't live through the Troubles have no real concept of what they're getting into, and may not have any experiences behind the slogans they're shouting. Some even allege that members of so-called 'dissident (don't even get me started on how that word has become a dirty word) groups actually use young people to stir up riots and attack police, and then take over when things get ugly. This is, after all, what the ever-so-wise media is saying about the three-day riots in Ardoyne surrounding the Twelfth of July.

So now, not only are young people often painted as hoods who are up to no good, who only hang around and get drunk, anything they might do as far as political action has been taken away from them as well. It's hard to find the line in NI in anything, and I'm sure this is no different. How do we tell which of these young people are demonstrating because they have a firm belief in something, and how many are rioting as a 'recreation' or because they're being provoked by older members of the community with memories of the Troubles? Many people say it doesn't matter, simply because so many young people have no first hand experience of the Troubles or the Civil Rights movement, therefore they have no idea what they're really shouting about, they're just shouting because of all the stories they've heard their parents and grandparents tell about shouting. Can that really be true?

In the United States last November, Barack Obama was elected president largely on the back of the votes of young people. As a young voter, I remember some (mostly Republican) people telling me that my views (and therefore my vote) was misguided on certain issues because I wasn't old enough to have those experiences or to know any better, and when I was middle-aged, I would understand why voting this way was such a dumb thing to do.

Now, pardon me, but I can see just as well as anyone that some things in this country - health care, education, foreign policy, war - are royally screwed up. So I think differently than a middle-aged person does. Yes. I don't have as many experiences as them. Yes. That makes my vote stupider and less educated? Nuh-uh. (Although, funny enough, while working on a campaign at work this year to lower the UK's voting age to 16, I came across an article that instead argued that the voting age should be RAISED to 35...)

My point is this: Young people have views. Legitimate views. Some of them come from experience. Some of them come from our parents. Some of them come from our own minds and consciences. Put it this way. A good friend of mine was a staunch Republican when we met freshman year at the University of Minnesota. About a year later, he was a converted Democratic (though a moderate one). This past summer, he went all over the country as a canvasser for Barack Obama. His parents are still Republicans.

Maybe young people in NI are more influenced by their parents than by experiences. Maybe they're influenced by education. But maybe, just maybe, they are able to see how sucky things really still are in a lot of places, and it makes them mad. It should.

And here's the thing: Just because a view goes against the prevailing wisdom of the government, doesn't make it wrong. Especially if it comes from someone under the age of 25. Hell, sometimes I think it's just because we're the only ones with enough energy to get really, really pissed off.

And that makes us really, really motivated.

After all, if youth are the future - why are you complaining about what we want to do with it?

written by  ebienelson on August 27, 2009 from Thiensville, United States
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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While the communities in the north of Ireland struggle to come to terms with these senseless acts of violence, and renew efforts to work on meaningful solutions, a new element has entered the mix.

Paramilitaries have long used journalists in order to take responsibility for a particular act or operation or to pass on messages, counting on the protection of being a journalistic source. This protection, obviously extended to other confidential sources beyond paramilitaries, whether it be policemen, soldiers, or others within society who wish to remain anonymous for whatever reason, allows journalists to expose, to examine, and to shed light on matters that would otherwise likely be hidden from the public eye. In many of the crime shows on American TV, the journalist is almost always made out to be a weasel protecting a scumbag drug dealer form police prosecution just to continue getting information or a 'big story.' Here in the north of Ireland, the ones often being 'protected' by journalistic confidentiality are members of the remaining paramilitary groups (and make no mistake, they're there - just because the BBC says someone was shot in a "paramilitary-style" attack does not mean it was a real paramilitary). This is precisely the case right now.

The journalist who received the confirmation from the Real IRA that it was responsible for the shooting deaths of two soldiers in County Antrim in March is being taken to court in an attempt to force her to give up her sources. She is of course fighting this - she says she will go to jail rather than reveal her source - and journalists from around the world are rallying behind her, as well they should.

Freedom of the press is an essential piece of a democracy. Without it we are liable to become a state in which the media is merely a mouthpiece for various political interests - indeed in the U.S., it is arguable that we are already halfway there. If this journalist gives up her source, what does that say about the integrity of the media in the UK? Or any democracy, for that matter? Are all our democratic, rights-based principles a big show that we use to bully other countries, a big golden stick we wave? Why is it that we campaign on behalf of those in third world countries whose rights are being abused if not disregarded completely, and yet we are the quickest to take away the rights of our own people for their own 'protection'? In the name of 'justice?' It is a slippery slope, and one we must be extremely wary of starting down.

On a side note, I am simultaneously discussing with my mother on Skype the change in the Irish-American community. We were one of the most vocal supporters of the Irish all along, and yet we walk about saying 'that's all over, over there now.' I know that from the outside, it DOES look like it's all over - but it's not. I want to encourage the Irish American community to educate themselves, to maybe pay a little more attention, to ask more questions, not to talk the 'party line' for granted. If we supported Ireland so vociferously, I would like to think that it was for a reason, and I would also like to believe that that reason still exists. People with family from Ireland owe them that much, I think. Perhaps investigating things, you won't agree with me - and that's fine. But it saddens me that so many people don't understand how difficult it still is here, how every word and every step has to be calculated. That's not a post-conflict society, it's a post-violence society. It's a step, but it's not the whole 9 yards. It's not about religion, it's about politics. The Irish American community needs to become aware again.

written by  ebienelson on June 15, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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But misinterpretations of language can extend well beyond seemingly innocent things like pants vs. panties vs. underwear vs. trousers. Any word can be bent to mean what the speaker intends. A word that to one person stands for something good and worthwhile for another signifies the extreme depth of evil and darkness. People can shout the same words at each other, each meaning something different, until two communities living side by side no longer understand one another, if they ever did.

Human rights. I had always thought it would be difficult to find someone in the Western world who could look me in the eye and with a straight face tell me that human rights weren't something positive, something everyone could agree upon, a good place to start when no other political solutions seem viable. But today, I learned that there are some people that believe the idea of human rights doesn't apply to them - not only does it not apply to them, but they see the spread of the value put on human rights as an affront and a threat to everything they believe in.

I've always thought of human rights as meant to be universal - they're not to be applied only to on group or another. One group claiming their human rights does not necessarily disenfranchise another from theirs. It's not like pie, where there's an infinite number of slices, and if you shout loud enough Grandma might give you a bigger piece than your little cousin. It's not like the policeman has to hit a certain amount of people, so if he doesn't hit your neighbor because your neighbor complains about his human rights being violated, the policeman's not going to come and hit you to fill his quota. So why, if one group of people is drawing attention to the fact that they are forced to live in squalor, demanding that their fundamental human rights are met, can you not stand up and do the same?

written by  ebienelson on April 30, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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All of this made me think of my new group up in Skegoneill, which is also in North Belfast. We had our second meeting this past Monday, where we began to talk about issues that mattered in their community. Their youth leader mentioned graffiti, and how some of it could be considered art but a lot of it was just sectarian slurs scribbled over the side of someone's home. They said that it was especially odd and unnecessary in their area, as many of the residents would come from mixed families. However, they also told me there have been a lot of attacks recently at the roundabout at the top of the street. Apparently, Skegoneill is an interface area as well. The roundabout at the top of Skegoneill Avenue is a flashpoint where Skegoneill meets Glandore, and there has also been talk about building a new 'peace line' on the other side next to a new housing development. They would be, as one young person put it, "in a wee corner."

They offered to take me up to the roundabout and show me around the different graffiti sites they were talking about. As we walked up the sidestreet from the community center to the main road, we came upon a group of young guys, and the youth leader spoke to one of them, calling him Chris (obviously I've changed his name). Chris was the name of the guy they had been telling me about who'd gotten attacked by a group from 'the other side' a few weeks back. He still had some bruises on his cheeks and forehead, and he showed the youth leader the progress on the scar on the base of his neck. The exchange went something like this:

Theresa (name also changed): Ach Chris, how are ya?
Chris: Not too bad, better.
Theresa: Let me see.
Chris: Ah it's getting much better in the back (turns his head to show her). It was about 20 of 'em, just jumped me, like.
Theresa: Aye, you've got to be careful.
Chris: Aye, we got 'em back this weekend, so we did. Was 20 of us this time an only 'bout 4 of them.

I'm sure you can imagine how difficult it was for me at this point not to allow the shock and horror in my mind to appear on my face. I'm not even sure I succeeded. It was so flippant, a part of normal social interaction... but if I thought that was disturbing, there was more to come.

We came to the end of the street (about 20 feet from where we met Chris), crossed it, and stood on a 3-way corner not far from another group of young people standing by a car in front of an apartment building. We hadn't walked far from the community center, maybe 100 yards total, so I wasn't sure why we were stopping.

"This is it here," Theresa said.

There was a small raised circle painted white in the middle of the intersection - the roundabout. Further down the street was Glandore, and then the Antrim Road. Back the way we'd come was Skegoneill, and then the Shore Road. This wee place was, according to Theresa, where youths from the area would come - after, of course, having their drink behind the adjacent apartment building - and shout slurs at each other, and possibly get into physical altercations.

"I live in that building," one of the girls said to me, pointing to the one that Theresa had just referenced as the drinking station. "Top floor."

Me: So, does the violence in the area affect you? Does it make it difficult to get home at night?
Lucy (name changed): Nah. We don't get involved.
Brian (name changed): We just around the back of the building.
Me: Do you think this is a safe area:
Brian: Well, we wouldn't walk down through Glandore, like. They'd jump you.
Me: Is this something you have to deal with everyday?
Lucy: No, not us.
Brian: We just don't go over there, like.

I think my astonishment in this instance came not from the fact that there is weekly violence - viewed as a form of entertainment to some - but the fact that these kids, aged 15, didn't seem to think or see how the violence affected them. That to me, this kind of thing wasn't normal at all, that of course if someone fighting regularly outside your front door forced you to changed your habits, it affected you. But this is normalised here. It's not good - that's not what they're saying. But it's not out of the ordinary. It doesn't put a kink in everyday life.

Except, it does. How could it not?

What I would love is for this group to choose to do their project on the murals or graffiti, or violence. But it seems to me that when we talk about issues, they bring up sectarianism and violence because it's what they think adults and youth workers want to hear. It's what we want them to talk about, what we want them to want to change. And part of me really can't get over the idea that they wouldn't want to change it.

I'm afraid that for some people here, violence has become so normal, so everyday, that it's boring.

written by  ebienelson on April 22, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Why?

Because nearly everyday there have been security alerts in Belfast, ever since the Monday about two weeks ago when they began burning cars and hijacking buses all over North and West Belfast, including off the Suffolk Road, which is just up the road from me. That day, all branches of the number 10 bus line stopped running up the Falls Road into West Belfast. Those of us who live there were left only with the black taxis, as there was no guarantee that privately run taxis would take the risk of driving up the West. I've never seen the line for the taxis so long. It took me nearly a half an hour to get a taxi, and even then I had to take a Glen Road taxi instead of one that goes up the Andytown Road, so I still had to walk a ways from where I was dropped.

Ever since that, there have been helicopters circling over West Belfast, droning on incessantly over the noise of the TV, watching people move, watching people stand still, watching the movements of life in areas of 'dissident' activity. They have not yet passed into the back of consciousness, like they did for people in the Troubles, when the drone of the helicopters became like birds chirping or the wind blowing - white noise in the background of every day. No, I still notice their noise, still feel under the microscope when I look out my living room window to see one hovering almost directly above my apartment. I still wonder who they're looking for - whether they're right that that person lives in my neighborhood; maybe I've seen them? Who are they? Why are you watching them? What gives you the right?

The anti-terror laws in Britain (as well as in the Republic) are some of the most draconian laws in the Western world, and, I would argue, given the recent reports of violence at the G20 protests in London, the United Kingdom is one of the most violent societies in the world. And yes, I know that there is genocide in Africa and car bombs in Iraq and Pakistan. But the violence of the British state against its citizens is shocking, and shockingly covered up. It is normalized. Expected. And yet, when a Downing Street aide writes a nasty rumor-filled email about political rivals, all hell breaks loose and suddenly, the wrath of 'the British people' comes down upon him. Where is the wrath against the beatings of peaceful protestors, the oppressive laws, the strangling of people's voices and the inability and unwillingness of the media to tell true stories? Where?

Whether it's violence with guns and batons or violence of words, society here is filled with it. People who used to believe the same thing are now throwing the full weight of their violence at each other, condemning each other for losing 'the way,' no one listening, everyone shouting, no one loud enough to be heard above the din unless they pick up and gun, and that's why people do it. To be heard. It's so hard to be heard.

Politics. Politics is violence.

written by  ebienelson on April 14, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Right now we have an American intern in our office, which, if you remember, was how I first came to Northern Ireland and got involved in Public Achievement. I mentioned in an earlier post how meeting him reminded me of how naive I used to be, how morbidly fascinated by the murals, the sectarian slurs, the legacy of violence. It was then that I first felt like I was beginning to belong here, because I no longer had that constant feeling of being on the outside looking in.

But there are times that I find his naivete quite frustrating, and I want to shake him and tell him to open his eyes. I think this is often what happens when one comes on a program bent on 'neutrality,' which I now believe is incredibly artificial. I've felt this way before. Little comments like "My friends ask me, 'so, how is Ireland?' and I think, 'well I'm not really in Ireland..." or right after the attacks, "Oh, my program director cried talking about how horrible it is, everyone back home is freaking out..." He still lowers his voice and practically whispers words like "Shankill" and "Ian Paisley" and "IRA." As if he's breaking wind in church. Or if by saying one of those words more often or louder than the others, he might somehow betray some inner hidden feeling or opinion that he has been bound not to feel. Like somehow, if you're not staunchly neutral, you couldn't possibly engage with intellectual facts in the 'right' way.

I think the only reason I can make the observations and judgements and feel justified in doing so is because I was there once as well. I whispered words. I chatted up people in pubs about 'the Troubles.' I was wary of coming out too on one side or the other. I avoided areas and people that were too easily recognizable as on one side of the divide; people with whom associating might mean that I actually had a thought, an opinion, or was capable of my own intellectual judgement (which, by the way, I am).

I worry that this whitewashing not only of people's feelings but also of pure fact is putting a muzzle on intelligent and necessary political discussion. Politics should always be under the microscope. Always. The moment we stop talking, discussing, and debating these things, no matter how accepted they may be, is the moment we as democratic human beings sign our own death warrant.

written by  ebienelson on April 9, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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On March 7, the Real IRA, a splinter of the Provisional Irish Republican Army, shot and killed two British soldiers as they retrieved a pizza from a deliveryman outside the Massereene army barracks in Antrim, about 25 minutes northwest of Belfast. Forty-eight hours later, another IRA splinter group, the Continuity IRA, killed a police officer as he responded to a call in Craigavon, a town about 40 minutes southwest of Belfast.

[shameless plug, the preceding summary was excerpted from an article written mostly about me by the lovely Megan Hupp in the St. Patrick's edition of the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel]

Since then, there's been a 'security crackdown,' which in my experience so far has meant getting stopped in a taxi going home up the Falls Road and it getting searched, and having an increased amount of helicopters circling overhead.

It has also meant an increase in the rhetoric of politicians condemning the attack and firmly placing the 'dissidents' not only outside of the peace process - where they place themselves anyway because they don't agree with the direction it's taken - and outside of any kind of dialogue, steadfastly refusing to engage with those with differing opinions on any terms.

Do I agree with the violence? Absolutely not. Do I understand why it happened? Yes. Look, all you have to do to understand is read some of the statements from 'Republican' leaders (read: Sinn Féin, whom these attacks are REALLY indicting, not the Unionists) to understand the kind of dispossession, detachment, frustration, and anger experienced in some segments of the traditional republican populations. There's also talk that there's absolutely no support for these factions within the Republican community - then how do they have safe houses to disappear into afterwards, how did they have the space to plan the attacks?

The current political climate and the normalisation of the separation of the 2 main traditions here created the space for this violence to occur.

Another factor in this is the ombudsman's decision to reintroduce the SAS to Northern Ireland. I haven't the finger-typing power at the end of a long work day to explain the whole thing, but if you're interested, read 'The Dirty War,' by Martin Dillon. Excellent expose of British and IRA tactics during the Troubles; very disturbing. It leads you to wonder where this latest round is heading.

written by  ebienelson on March 23, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Now I understand how different it is living in a small place compared to a big space. It's almost as if the space your lungs can expand to occupy is mirrored by how small the country is (or vice versa). Just thinking about America and rolling fields and big skies makes me unconsciously take deeper breaths, whereas bringing my focus back to Belfast and Northern Ireland, I feel my shoulders slouch in a little bit, as if I'm subtley making room for all the people gathered around me in close proximity.

I feel somewhat claustrophobic here, of late. I miss open spaces, I miss distance, I miss being able to stretch out my hands knowing I won't hit someone. Or a wall. I don't know if that distance makes us more distant as people in America. I think perhaps it does. There is, after all, such a vast distance between myself and someone from Texas, or Seattle. Sure, there plenty of differences here between people from Belfast and people from rural Fermanagh, and even from people from the South. But are they closer in mindset? Are they really one big community? Are we not?

I can understand how Cailin gets frustrated with living in Belfast and consistently running into people she knows. Just this Saturday I met her and some of her friends at Bar Twelve in Botanic Ave to watch rugby. When I walked in, I saw Rebecca and Claire. Suddenly we realized we all knew each other... we just didn't know it. Belfast is the definition of a 'small world.' Sometimes I really like it, because especially for me, it's safer to know that people know each other, that I have a good chance of all my friends already being friends. I think Tomas likes it too. He literally seems to know almost everyone; we can hardly walk into a place without him knowing someone. And in many ways, I'm looking forward to being known as well, especially in Andytown, so that when I'm waiting for the bus, people don't think they have to let me get on first because they can see I'm a foreigner and assume I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing (I usually do, though).

This weekend we're going to Donegal with Megan. I don't know if it's because I've been working hard and feel like I need a vacation, or really truly am feeling the manifestations of closeness and claustrophobia, but I can't wait to get out of the city. I want to see the countryside. I want to run down a street and not be afraid of being hit by cars, I want to smell fresh air, I want it to be quiet enough to hear my own thoughts.

So maybe Anita's right. Or maybe, it's just about what you're used to. She can't imagine living in a place so big, too big, to really know all of it, and I'm having difficulty living in a place so small.

written by  ebienelson on March 5, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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I don't understand! Who in their right mind thinks that when someone asks for ketchup, they mean on their fish? Why would I want that? I was extremely upset. Not even so much that there was ketchup on my fish (I think I was more upset that my chips were dry) but that I seemed to not know the rules in this place... Tomas acted like 'of course they were gonna put it on your fish, what did you think?' Like there was some kind of secret fish-and-sauce code to whichI hadn't been given the key.

It's really frustrating, even with small things like this, when you don't understand what's going on. Really, it's the small things, the little understandings that make you feel like you belong to a place. This really made me feel like a totally ignorant outsider, in its own small seeming inconsequential way.

The next day, however, I got my first taste of what it's like to be on the inside here. I went with Sean, my line manager, to meet our new HECUA intern, Ben. Sean brought me along since I had been a HECUA intern myself, obviously. So I asked Ben what they were doing, what stuff they had seen, to see if the program was still largely the same. It was so weird, hearing him talk about how they'd been to Derry, and how after our meeting they were going up the Shankill and the Falls to see the murals... it made me remember the time when I was a new HECUA student, the first time I had been to Belfast, how I (and everyone else on the program) had been fascinated by the conflict and its everyday manifestations, and had it on our minds everytime we talked to any one from here. Now I was looking at it with much different eyes, and it was odd to hear him talk about these things that were relatively normal (though obviously not as normal for me as for people who grew up here) and a part of daily life as if they were something to be discovered in a morbidly fascinating museum exhibition.

I mentioned this to Sean after we left Ben, and he said that it was of course different for me now that I was living here - Ben was on the outside looking in, whereas I was now more on the inside, looking out.

I realized that he was right, and it was the first time I'd felt that way since being here.

written by  ebienelson on February 27, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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Today, I experienced another Belfast first. Or rather, a Belfast impossiblity, an urban myth... that's right folks, you didn't think he existed: The Cautious Taxi-Driver.

I swear, we sat at the Kennedy Way roundabout this morning for a whole 3 minutes. That's a whole day in taxi-terms! I mean, I like not being killed by crazy reckless driving as much as the next person, but I almost felt sorry for this guy. Obviously no one sent him the memo about how you apparently have to be near suicidal (or homicidal, I suppose) to be a Belfast black taxi driver. I sense an intervention may be needed here. This guy obviously suffers from some serious confidence and lack-of-a-God-complex issues.

Anyway, back to business. I have groups three days a week, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Tuesday nights are my group in the Westland, a very Protestant conclave surrounded by nationalist communities in North Belfast. It takes place in a community center, and the young people are the youngest Public Achievement has ever worked with, ranging from (by my amateur judgement) 8-12 years old, all girls. Generally, they have been the sweetest and easiest of all my three groups. It's been a lot of fun to work with them. The first session we (Zulema and myself) were there, 3 weeks ago, one girl grabbed my arm as we were leaving and said "I don't want you to go! I like you!" An incredibly sweet introduction to my PA coaching career.

Oh, it's all been downhill from there. Not necessarily with this group, though this Tuesday's session was a bit more challenging as Zulema was away in Denmark and naturally the girls picked that night to be rambunctious. How kind of them. But my other groups are a bit more challenging, particularly in St. Gerard's on Wednesday afternoons.

St. Gerard's is a a special-needs school in far-West Belfast, in Whiterock, which is basically straight up the hill from where I live in Andytown. When I say special needs, I generally mean ADD, ADHD, and a few kids with mild autism. We're specifically trying to use more of my personal arts-based strategies with this group, as writing and traditional learning is not their forte. It's been extremely challenging, which I suppose shouldn't come as a surprise. This past Wednesday was our second session with them. It started off pretty well; we played the Name Game that I learned at Homestead Drama with Mrs. McCain (thanks Mac!) which seemd to go over pretty well. Then we broke into smaller groups, and I was leading a group with three boys: Francie, Fra, and Ciaran. Fra is the smallest boy in the class, very sweet, lots of energy, but generally very well engaged in the activites. Ciaran is very quiet, and often has to be "coaxed" (read: forced) by the teachers to participate in activities. We were doing an exercise called the laundry process, in which the young people were looking for pictures and words in magazines that represented something in their community that made them feel angry, sad, bored, or that they wanted to change. It was difficult from the very beginnings. Curse those teachers, we asked them to bring in old magazines, and for some unknown reason, they didn't think to check if these magazines had half-naked pictures of girls in them, which, of course, they did. Now. Imagine trying to get three 13 year-old boys to focus when there's pictures of Britney Spears in a bikini floating around. Almost impossible. Honestly though, Ciaran and Fra weren't so bad. It was Francie. That kid was determined to hijack the entire process, talking over me, asking inane questions about Britney, not listening, saying stupid things to the other boys, etc. You get the picture. It was made even more frustrating by the fact that when really talking to Fra and Ciaran, I could get them to engage somewhat in the activity. Granted, they only thing they would cut out were footballers, which wasn't really the point, but it at least stimulated a conversation about sport, staying fit, and whether there were enough opportunities for them to play sports in their communities. This made it that much harder when Francie would deliberately talk one of them away from me. I tried so hard alternately to engage him, to ignore him, to ask him to stop, and even to ask one of the other coaches for help.

It's extremely discouraging when something like this happens, especially when you've no real experience coaching. It become really hard to remember why you're there, and to remember that most likely this is not about you at all. These are kids from extremely disadvantaged backgrounds who obviously already struggle in school settings. You know that they have issues. You knew ahead of time that it would rough. But it's still hard to prepare yourself for something like this. And then something happened that reminded me not only of why these kids were struggling, but also of how much they needed a opportunity like PA.

Francie had been misbehaving all day. Ciaran was quiet, but manageable. As we were cleaning up the room from our group activity, Ciaran was taken into the corridor by the teacher and absolutely screamed at. Top of the voice, angry gestures and pointing screamed. By his teacher. In front of the entire class, and us. Afterwards Francie was also yelled at quite vociferously. I know that he was being difficult all afternoon - believe me, if anyone experienced that, it was me. But the way he was yelled at really shocked me. It was just so unnecessary and over the top - almost violent. But really, Ciaran is the one I'm worried about. He's already very quiet, and you could just see the anger and frustration in his face after the teacher yelled at him. Personally I didn't witness him doing anything particularly disruptive or awful, so I don't know exactly what the teacher's reasons were. But I'm concerned. Yelling at him isn't helping. I'm afraid he's withdrawing more. Ciaran's teaching isn't helping or educating or nurturing him. She's oppressing him, as far as I can tell. And when I got him to talk about football, I couldn tell there was more there than a withdrawn, misbehaved kid who hated school. He plays on a football team. He really likes to play and training with his team, his friends. He can talk intelligently about these things, if you give him a chance. And this is really what PA is trying to get at, to get young people to feel like they have a say in what happens to them, to give them a chance to talk about what matter to them to help them work through and throw off the different forms of oppression around them (especially my project, which is literally based on the Theatre of the Oppressed).

As much as I get frustrated with young people, which anyone who knows me knows that I do, I want someone like Ciaran to have a chance to not get screamed at. I'm still not convinced that I'm the best person (or even the least bad person) to try and help him do this, but I guess I'm giving it a go.

written by  ebienelson on February 20, 2009 from Belfast, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: "She is the Belle of Belfast City..."
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