[STATIC]
[FIRE CRACKLING]
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: We have
a big fire behind us.
There's going to be an even
bigger fire at 12 o'clock.
And we're doing it
for a reason.
This is Belfast, capital city of
Northern Ireland, and long
considered the European
capital of terrorism.
To outsiders, it's a city
defined by the centuries-long
conflict between Catholics and
Protestants, which, reduced to
its simplest parts, pits
nationalist Catholics
demanding unity with Republic
of Ireland against unionist
Protestants who want to remain
part of the United Kingdom.
In 1969, the modern version of
the Troubles, as the conflict
is locally known, kicked off
when British troops were
dispatched to Northern Ireland
to quell a spike
in sectarian violence.
It would turn into a 30 year
troop deployment, a violent
civil war that claimed
3,600 lives.
In 1998, after years of
killings, bombings, hunger
strikes, kneecappings, torture,
and terror, the
political parties of Northern
Ireland and representatives of
both Catholic and Protestant
paramilitary groups signed the
Good Friday Agreement.
Weapons were decommissioned,
paramilitary prisoners were
released, and peace
came to Ulster.
But it's been a tenuous,
brittle peace.
We went to Northern Ireland
during the height of the
marching season, when unionists
bang their drums and
celebrate a centuries-old
Protestant military victory
over a Catholic king.
Tensions were high and, we soon
discovered, while the war
may have ended, the conflict
is far from over.
[CHEERING]
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Our guide to
the Catholic side of the
conflict was Gerry Foster, a
former member of the INLA, a
Catholic paramilitary group
that's a lot like the
better-known IRA, but with more
references to socialism
and Che Guevara.
GERRY FOSTER: I was in prison
for a [INAUDIBLE] bomb,
attacked [INAUDIBLE] party
headquarters, which would have
been the biggest pro-British
party in Ireland at that time.
And their leadership was
having a meeting.
And [INAUDIBLE]
a young lad and planted
a bomb.
The intention was to wipe them
out, to kill them all.
The bomb did go off and did
destroy the building.
But the British were able
to get out of the
building just before--
no one was hurt-- just before
the bomb went off.
There was a feeling
of disappointment.
And now that sounds a bit mad
now-- looking back and you
were disappointed that people
weren't killed.
But I'm talking about how
I felt at that time.
I had that naivete that if we
got rid of the British, the
world would be great.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: This guy with
Gerry is Alistair Little.
Alistair joined the Ulster
Volunteer Force, a Protestant
paramilitary organization,
before he was
old enough to drive.
He was convicted of murder
and spent 13 years in the
notorious H-block of
the Maze Prison.
Upon his release, Alastair,
repentant for the crimes he
committed, teamed up with Gerry,
his former enemy, and
dedicated himself to peace
work between the two
communities.
ALISTAIR LITTLE: When I was a
paramilitary, I didn't care.
I would have done anything.
I'm on record, and it's been
published where I would have
wanted to go onto a bus and take
all the Protestants off
it and kill everybody on.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: So when
you went to jail, it
was for dong what?
For shooting somebody, right?
ALISTAIR LITTLE: Yeah, There's
a number of charges.
But the main charge was going
into a house of a a Catholic
nationalist gang, shooting
them dead.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: In Belfast,
Protestant and Catholic
communities zigzag across
the landscape, often
abutting each other.
If the political murals and
flags don't provide enough of
a guide to neighborhood divides,
the confused visitor
can simply follow the peace
walls, unsightly physical
barriers that, 13 years after
the Good Friday Agreement,
still separate communities
by religion.
ALISTAIR LITTLE: There's more
peace walls exist today than
there was during the conflict.
In the whole of Northern
Ireland, there's over 80 walls
and gates that separate
communities.
GERRY FOSTER: So the gates are
closed, because once it starts
for young people, it
only escalates and
gets worse and worse.
So it's easier now just to
close the gates at night,
leave it at that.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: And
they do close them?
GERRY FOSTER: Yeah.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Yeah.
I mean, these are
really enormous.
Are they to prevent people
from hurling things over?
Petrol bombs?
ALISTAIR LITTLE: Yeah.
They increased the height
of that because
they were still throwing.
GERRY FOSTER: Still throwing.
GERRY FOSTER: Because the past
hasn't really been dealt with
politically, there's still
tensions, there's still fears,
there's still suspicions.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: What's the
kind of mix now between those
two communities?
What is the level of
interaction, whether it's
people dating one
another, kids--
do they see the divide
the way that you guys
did 20 years ago?
ALISTAIR LITTLE: In Belfast,
in the city center, there
would be more of that now
happening among students or
through peace work that's been
done through community groups.
In the housing estate that I
grew up in, in the early years
of the conflict, if a girl had
been going with a Catholic,
they might have been tied to
a lamp post and their heads
sheared or a placard
put around there--
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Has that
actually happened?
ALISTAIR LITTLE: Yeah.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: That's
like Nazi Germany shit.
ALISTAIR LITTLE: Well,
especially in Belfast--
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Shaving
heads and--
ALISTAIR LITTLE: If you'd have
got a Republican girl or a
nationalist girl going with a
soldier, they would have been
tarred and feathered.
So they would have had
tar poured over them.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Let's
be clear about is.
That's not a metaphorical
thing.
You mean literally tarred
and feathered?
ALISTAIR LITTLE: Yeah.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: And
that's happened?
GERRY FOSTER: Yeah.
ALISTAIR LITTLE: Yeah.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: In a small
loyalist enclave nestled
between Catholic neighborhoods
and the Falls Road, we came
across a throng of kids stacking
pallets for the
evening's pre-July 12 bonfire.
Identifying himself as a former
UVF prisoner, Alistair
negotiated our entry
into the area.
ALISTAIR LITTLE: It's a
commemoration of the Battle of
the Boyne in 1690, King William
defeating King James.
So they would have lit beacons
all along the way to send a
message, which was just
a celebration of that.
It's also very symbolic
in terms of identity.
Notice, you can see the flags
that they're burning as the
flags of the Republic of
Ireland, which is seen as the
enemy or foreign state.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: You guys
aren't going to burn
that one, are you?
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: You're going
to burn that one, right?
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN:
Who's this guy?
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: What's
on his head?
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Yeah?
Why does he have a penis
on his head?
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN:
He's a wank dog.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: Fuck a Pope.
Fuck a Pope?
You don't like the Pope?
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN:
Pope's a dick.
All right.
There we go.
For all the Americans out there,
what's the celebration?
Explain it to them.
MICHAEL MOYNIHAN: The kids
over here are sort of
impregnated with all
these phrases.
When you ask them a little more
about them, they don't
seem to know what they're
talking about.
But they do hate the IRA.
They hate Fenians.
One kid said, don't
use "Fenian,"
because it's too nice.
Call them Taigs.
And they really, really cannot
stand Catholics.
And the strange thing about it
is on every side that you see
here, and even right behind
us, are Catholic
neighborhoods.
And they have a sort of
weird siege mentality.
They said people throw petrol
bombs, people throw rocks into
the estate.
So I suppose it's a bit
understandable.
ALISTAIR LITTLE: One of the
difficulties a lot of people
involved in peace work
would encounter--
and many don't understand--
is that they ask young people to
do things that they're not
prepared to do themselves.
If the conflict gives them a
sense of importance, and if it
seems significant as a young
person, if there's a sense of
belonging with each other
because they're involved in
something special, if they
believe that they're standing
up for the community--
all of those things give them
such a sense of identity.
When you're asking people to
give all that up, there's no
adult would give that up.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
