When I decided to visit Dublin, I knew I had to make the trip to Northern Ireland and Belfast. The “Troubles” were a consistent backdrop in the news during my college years. I became more aware as I also learned about my own vague Irish, Scottish, and British ancestry. I had been amazed that peace ever came to this part of the world after decades of what seemed like endless violence.
I still look at it as an optimistic marker that even in the most bitter circumstances, peace is possible.
I took the two-hour train ride from Dublin to Belfast to save time and money. Catching a taxi at the station was a lesson in modern geopolitics. The first driver wanted British pounds, not Euros or even credit cards (ostensibly to avoid paying taxes)—a reminder that I was no longer in the EU.
A local driver kindly helped me find a colleague who took cards. My new driver turned out to be an Afghan refugee with a strong British accent. As he drove me to my accommodation, he pointed toward West Belfast and told me that, by comparison, Afghanistan was currently safer because the Taliban (though he didn’t approve of them or their methods) had at least brought security, whereas parts of Belfast still had armed militant groups. It surprised me.
The next day, I made my way to West Belfast to see the Cupar Way Peace Wall and visit the Shankill Cemetery on the Shankill Road. I wanted to see the cemetery because it was ground zero for mass graves during the potato famine which probably spurred at least some of my ancestors to immigrate to the USA.
I fully confess that I do not fully understand the deep battle lines and history of the Troubles—between those who wanted a united Ireland free of imperialism and those who wanted to remain part of the UK. I know just enough to be dangerous. But here are a few basic observations from my eerie, gloomy visit on that late afternoon and evening of Sunday, July 5, 2026.
The Peace Wall network separates two distinct working-class neighborhoods: the Loyalist Shankill Road (Protestant, covered in Union Jacks and Ulster Flags and Banners) and the Republican Falls Road (Catholic and home to those who had wanted home rule). The gates between them open during the day and lock at night. I arrived late when only one gate was left open.
The wall itself is covered in messages of reconciliation and hopes for peace from visitors worldwide.
But as you pass through the gates, the tone of the locally produced murals contrast with each side completely.
The Republican (Catholic) side features signs for global human rights struggles, like Palestine, and civil rights icons like Rosa Parks.
On the Loyalist (Protestant) side, where I spent most of my visit because of time constraints, the tone is slightly more partisan, focused on British heritage and even on pro-Israel and pro-Netanyahu signs.
Once I arrived on Shankill Road, the murals felt more aggressive in tone as they seemed to focus on lost “martyrs”, past grievances, and even odes to current militia. I really regret not being able to spend time on the Republican side to offer a comparison. I intend to do so on my next visit.
One extravagant mural on the Shankill side focused on 250 years of U.S. history, tracking the Scotch-Irish influence on American presidents—including Andrew Jackson and Andrew Johnson from my home state of Tennessee. I was standing there looking at Jackson’s and Johnson’s complicated and, I might even say, shameful legacies, along with polar opposites Carter and Nixon. Then a local guide touring an American family offered to take my picture. I was just an average tourists gawking at another’s culture and troubles.
Because I got a late start, the Shankill Cemetery was closed. I snapped a few pics from outside the gates and then I ducked into a local pub to grab a Guinness and watch the World Cup. I was the only traveler there, and I couldn’t help but notice some retrospective Confederate imagery hanging near the bar. Yikes!
Yet, despite the aggressive paramilitary murals of men with guns outside, the locals (mostly old-timers) were friendly, if not a bit aloof. And the street itself featured surprising diversity, like a Ghanaian gift shop and Asian restaurants. Again, I’d like to see the area on Monday-Friday, when shops are open and more people are on the streets.
On my 30-minute or so walk back to my room at Ulster University where I’d rented a room, I took the long way to pass the area where anti-immigration riots broke out on June 9, 2026. One young “Brown” man (as in NOT Caucasian) passed by me with a defiant stride and an almost smirking look. I thought to myself, “He thinks I’m a local and this is his way of saying, ‘I’m not afraid.’” But who knows what’s in the mind of a person on the street? Perhaps he thought, “Go home, tourists; we’re tired of gawkers here,” but given recent events, I couldn’t help but theorize otherwise.
He’s the local, I’m the visitor. He belonged more than me.
The deserted, gray streets and approaching twilight gave the whole thing an eerie feeling. I passed by one housing complex paying homage to the militant youth and draped in British flag imagery. A bit much, I thought.
I was hesitant to take photos because it felt like people were peeking out their curtains at me as I passed by, but again, probably an overactive imagination (earlier, I had imagined a brown van was surveilling me).
I stopped for food at a Turkish kebab place, where a local man tried to talk to me about the match on TV. But I understood naught. His Belfast accent was too strong for this American but even his young son kept saying “huh?” to him. Ironically, the Turkish proprietor understood him well, and I again couldn’t help but wonder what each of them thought of the “protest” turned riot just weeks before, since they would have been on opposing sides of the fault line.
My main takeaway is that I need to return once I’m better informed. I don’t mean for my raw photos and off-the-cuff observations to appear to take any side or judge anyone—I just observed and tried to take it all in as honestly as possible. I had few expectations going in, so these are raw observations unfiltered by partisanship and a host of preconceived notions. But I now have at least a little more fully formed opinions that are still a work in progress, so I’ll keep them to myself. For now.
As Mark Twain said: “Tis best to not speak at all and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”
You can view all the photos HERE.
Postscript: Interestingly, my cyberstalker from back home, Margaret E. is originally from somewhere in Ireland (presumably not Northern Ireland). After I posted a recent video, my Threads account was flooded with nasty, bot-like comments. It made me reflect on the region’s history of conflict and how easily digital spaces can be weaponized today—as demonstrated by the “protests” turned “riots” in Belfast a few weeks before, which were reportedly inflamed by faraway White Nationalist groups and possibly the Kremlin. These are all themes I further explored in other destinations as my trip continued.
