Locked Out

A small rusted lock. A very large fence topped with vicious razorwire, looms ominous in the early-afternoon sunshine. Welcome to the Orwellian-named Peace Wall that splits much of Belfast into enemy camps. Even more ominous, this section of the fence severs Percy Street, scene of the bloody battle that launched the Irish Troubles in August 1969.
Now, almost 43 years later, the war is over, the Brit troops long departed, the bombs defused, the weapons destroyed. But the wall stands. Rusty locks and razorwire taunt the city and its people.
When will it come down? Never, if the decision is left to politicians, who refuse to countenance responsibility for any career-ending bloodshed that may follow its demolition. Seems the only answer to an untenable future lies in the Berlin Option - fed-up citizens making their own contribution to history . . .