My Island

I'm in London as part of my sabbatical and found myself in a time warp last night and this morning watching the news of the riots in my home city, with a friend and colleague caught up in the midst of them, trying to make a difference. I'll leave it to others back home to comment on things on a deeper level. My prayers are with those involved in the original attack that lit the blue touch paper, and those picking up the pieces including the emergency services and those in East Belfast Mission... But this is my initial, emotional response to the whole mess with credit/apologies to Paul Brady.

Four decades ago I sat in a city not my own,

listening tearfully to a song that sang

about the skies of Lebanon burning,

with television pictures of women and children

dying in the street, whilst back home

we were sacrificing our own children and

leaving twisted wreckage on the roads...

carving tomorrow from a tombstone.

Many tomorrows have come and gone,

and too many tombstones erected,

yet that same song is still playing.

I’m sitting here in another city not my own,

reluctant to fly back home, 

to the other island, because

whilst the television I’m watching is flatter,

and the pictures bigger and more vivid,

they still show Lebanon ablaze

and we’re STILL at it in our own place –

Different declared motivations and victims,

but the same tragic plot played out;

Atrocity piled on atrocity to create

a blazing barricade to progress;

Masked men exerting their influence

over communities that feel forgotten,

using any excuse - a flag, an attack,

a misreported incident, to relight the fuse;

Bravely directing young boys

to set fire to their own future -

A visionless void, no lessons learned,

legitimised by politicians leading

onwards to the past, where

the “others” have been banished

and the blame duly displaced.

‍But Hey! Why listen to me

or a wistful musician from decades ago?

Some would say I’m one of those

folks who don’t see the full story,

because I still believe that

peace and love’s not copping out.

It’s not about escaping to another

idealised island to see out the sunset,

but getting back down in the ditches,

facing down the divisive marches,

washing the slogans off the walls,

Repairing the real wreckage

of people’s lives

and singing a new song.

Selah