A Dispatch from Ireland. First part
God has an uncanny way of sending me to the hinterlands of geopolitical significance in moments of conflict. When the World Trade Center and Pentagon were hit I was in Eugene, Oregon. By the time the U.S. bombing and ground campaign got underway in early October in Afghanistan, I had safely settled in Limerick, Ireland, next to the thoroughly benign Shannon River. Naturally, as a student of conflict, this was at first a bit disgruntling.
Over the days and weeks that have followed, however, I’ve discovered that in times of war, the periphery of conflict can be just as revealing as the center—especially, if the periphery you happen to inhabit is a small European country with a legacy of international neutrality and internal strife.
I arrive at the University of Limerick just one week after “911.” Irish sentiment on the ground, at least initially, is sympathetic. Professors offer condolences. Fellow classmates want to know if I knew anybody hurt in the attacks. “It’s a horrible thing that happened,” every taxi driver from Dublin to Belfast tells me. At the Northern Ireland Assembly, former IRA leader and now Northern Ireland Education Minister, Martin McGuinness, declares that what happened was, “totally diabolical, absolutely wrong.”
But as the U.S. response unfolds, public opinion, at least from my vantage point, begins to turn. In a local hardware store, I overhear a prim pensioner tell the salesclerk, “If those Yanks think one of our boys is going to die in Afghanistan, they’ve got another thing coming.”
The director of the Peace and Development Studies program at my university reduces the conflict to a matter of perception. “Who’s right?” He questions us. “In our nice, capitalist West, he’s [Osama bin Laden] a terrorist, but in much of the world, he’s a hero.” He challenges the legitimacy of the U.S. retaliation; he worries about the plight of the Afghan people.
Many of my fellow classmates echo his sentiments. Several see U.S. support for Israeli “terrorism” as the root of the conflict. They say the U.S. is being hypocritical when it supports the tactics of Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, then takes up arms against the Taliban. War, they assert, must be avoided at all costs. The answer: negotiation.
How do you negotiate with a man who has declared war on America and the government that supports him, I wonder aloud? Nobody seems to care. Even the professor shrugs off my question.
My classmates’ reactions were not the exception, however. Student activism, at least among the most visible elements here, is hardly in the U.S. corner. Around the student center, bulletin boards are crowded with notices decrying U.S. refueling rights at Shannon Air Base and advertising rallies in favor of the ever popular, but proverbially elusive, “Peace.” Other fliers highlight Afghani suffering, or ominously urge students to learn more about “Bush’s War.”
The other day in the cafeteria a young man approached me and asked me if I would sign an anti-war petition. “Absolutely not,” I replied, making no attempt to mask my accent. He retreated quickly, even apologetically, but around his table, a cluster grew. There was seemingly no lack of willing signatories that afternoon.
To be abroad implies a degree of isolation, but to be abroad in time of war can be downright suffocating. In class, I’m no longer one of many, but rather “The American.” I suffer through snide, anti-U.S. comments and stifle the desire to scream. In search of solace, I turn to the internet. I’ve become addicted to the on-line versions of CNN and the Washington Post. Anything to stay connected with my country, my people. Countries are like relatives, I’ve learned. It’s one thing to bash your own, but quite another to have someone else do it.