Damien D

This week I’ve been trying to get a 40-page paper edited for my Polish professor pal at Queen’s (deadline extension agreed). I’ve been trying to vote in the US midterms, which the US does not make easy at all. You fill out a form for a ballot, print the form, sign it, scan it, email it back. They send you a ballot with literally two pages of instructions on how to fill out and send the ballot. Anyway, we got that sorted. I’ve been trying to get my quarter-end files done for T Rowe. I’ve been trying to prepare for a conference where I’ll be speaking next week. And I’ve been watching with horror as Brett Kavanaugh advances to the Supreme Court. I sent Sen. Manchin from WVa. an email with my thoughts on Kavanaugh’s complete unsuitability for the court. For all the bloody good that did.

And at some point you say, F* it, it’s Friday, and you get on a bus and go to Derry. Which I did. This year marks 50 years since a peaceful civil rights march in Derry was set on by truncheon-wielding RUC men and B Specials who boxed the marchers in from either end on Duke Street, where my mom used to have her hair done. The RUC were vicious and Altnagelvin Hospital (near the house where I moved a few years after this happened) was teeming with the wounded. The goal of the civil rights march was equal access to public housing, equal voting rights, the end of the Special Powers Act, the dissolution of the B Specials, and other sensible demands. The very strange thing about Northern Irish history is that those demands were all met within a year or two.

However, the brutality of the police and the British military at the civil rights march and a few months later at Bloody Sunday in Derry, and a few weeks earlier in Ballymurphy meant the political struggle for equal rights was eclipsed by a violent reaction to police brutality and British “occupation.” The Brits came in to protect the Catholics from sectarian policing by the Protestant RUC. However the some of the British forces were worse than the native security forces.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Tonight I had dinner at Walled City Brewery on the waterside with a view across the Foyle of the city side. This is the view through my window at dinner of what was probably once the marching grounds at the former Ebrington Barracks. The peace bridge is barely visible through the trees.

There’s something poetic about having a veggie meal in a brew pub in a building that used to house British soldiers, while I looked across at a peace bridge over less-troubled water.
After dinner I went to a concert featuring maybe four or five musicians singing songs from the civil rights era. The absolute highlight was Damien Dempsey, from Dublin, singing The Wind that Shakes the Barley, written about the 1798 rebellion against English rule. He reminds me of Billy Bragg--passionate, powerful, socially conscious. And of Richard Thompson--he’s a balladeer but with just a powerful delivery. Highlight #2 was a member of a Derry band called Best Boy Grip, Eoin O’Callaghan, by himself on piano. Gorgeous performance.
The weekend is off to a good start!
10-5