The fast links of solidarity
Saoirse in Coalisland, County Tyrone held a 40 hour
fast on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for the POWs in
Ireland, England and America. Mary Kelly from the
Caqueta Amazonia Rainforest Campaign joined them.
I went with a young Englishwoman. We brought our own
bedding and slept in her van. Neither of us knew anyone
in Coalisland, and had never been involved actively in
anything ``up North'', so we were both nervous.
We arrived in the town and found the Saoirse caravan,
which was parked opposite the evil-looking heavily
fortified RUC barracks. There were just a few others,
two men and a few lads in their early 20s. We were
welcomed in. Not surprisingly, there was a definite air
of suspicion about who were and why we'd come.
I myself, having been a mother unjustly separated from
one of my sons for several years, was particularly
affected by Roisín McAliskey's case. Also, I've been
living in Colombia, South America for the past five
years in an Irish-English community on our self
sufficient farm in the rapidly disappearing rainforest.
We are trying to protect the rainforest from the First
World's greed for drugs and useless furniture, and the
endless sacrifice of trees to produce unnecessary paper
and packaging in an already over-materialistic worked.
There, the guerrilla movement has promoted laws against
logging and burning of land and forbidden the killing
of animals and are fighting for the rights of a very
poor people against a corrupt US-backed government. In
Colombia, for the first time, I began to think of my
own country and wonder why we had lost our language and
our land to the British. There, I saw how the Spanish
had begun the destruction of tribal life, bringing
``progress'' and bringing their language forbidding the
indigenous dialects to be spoken. I saw the results of
the Spanish Inquisition, done in the name of
Christianity and believing other religions were
``wrong''.
Even though my own grandfather had been a great IRA
leader against the Tans in Connaught in 1914-22, it did
not penetrate my brain that in my own country people
were suffering and being killed, tortured and
imprisoned because they wanted a free country.
Over two days of fasting we got beyond the barriers of
suspicion with our comrades and formed friendships. It
was grim. The RUC called out provocative insults during
the long night of Christmas Eve. The caravan was shaken
by a hurricane that was hitting England. Fire Brigade
sirens screamed off to rescue people trapped under
fallen trees.
On Christmas morning, we lit candles for the POWs, and
we placed posters that said ``We have our Nelson
Mandelas'' on the wire ramparts around the barracks. The
RUC inside gave a round of cynical applause. I found
myself shaking with violent fear, then I said to
myself, ``Hang on. This is my country. Why should I be
afraid?'' That thought dispelled the real horrible fear
of police, army uniforms, guns and loss of freedom -
uniformed men and women who at any moment can use their
power to do what they want.
The atmosphere in the town was black and tense, even
though it was supposed to be Christmas. Friendly
supporters came to chat, give money, have a bit of
craic with us. But people live in a constantly wired-up
state. Young people looked grim and dress mostly in
black. Seven lookout cameras were constantly trained on
the Saoirse caravan and the Main Street.
We were all beginning to feel the stress of not eating.
But it's nothing to fast for two days. We talked about
the hunger strikers who entered it with the possibility
that they might be going to die. Just being there
together, fasting for those hours, we gave our support
to the POWs. With guitar and tin whistle we lifted our
own spirits and sang some heartfelt songs.
When the fast finished we said goodbye to our little
group. My friend and I had been invited to the house of
a sister of a POW where we were treated to a
magnificent vegetarian Christmas dinner. We met all the
extended family of that household, which included two
English people. That helped my English friend feel even
more at ease as, being English, she was worried about
getting a bad reaction. Quite the opposite! We had a
very enjoyable evening, parked the van in their
driveway, and slept.
During those two days, my friend and I felt huge
amounts of fear at varying times. We helped each other
and talked ourselves through the awful paralysing
feeling until we got to new strength. How the people in
the North live with that adrenalin constantly on hold
in their systems is beyond me. I hope all the people in
the South who have healing powers will give freely of
their talents to help the people who have taken the
full brunt of violence for years.
After that fast, violence erupted two days later with
the murder of Billy Wright in Long Kesh. Séamus Dillon,
a bouncer, was then murdered at a disco in Dungannon.
He was the brother of the strong fatherly man who
organised our Christmas fast.
I heard a Loyalist politician say on TV that since the
peace talks were doomed to fail, he felt like going on
a tour of the South. I thought, brilliant! To really
involve us comfortable Southerners by going into the
clubs, communities, churches and schools and forge good
strong links. We can't remain impartial just because
the north is ``up there'' and it's not on our doorstep.
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