Mr. Inspector, I Presume

A few weeks after we moved in to our home, we received a yellow packet in the post (their word for mail) informing us that we would soon be subject to an inspection by a representative of city council.  There was no contact information, only an attached form signed by our property agent.  Feeling mildly confused, Dave contacted him, and he informed us of a local ordinance in Northern Ireland pertaining to the inspection of homes to prevent the inhabitants from dwelling in squalor.  An appointment date was set up, and Mr. Inspector arrived.  He started taking measurements of the thickness of walls, noting the double-glazed windows, and noting that we needed to get a lock for our oil tank to protect it from gypsies who would siphon it out.    After my American accent gave me away, I also quickly found out about his love affair with the U.S.  He started chatting like a 15 year old girl about how much he loves The U.S. of A.  Apparently his sister lives in L.A., and he has visited a handful of the states.  However, since I had a native Belfast citizen in my midst, I changed the conversation and started picking his brain about Belfast’s history.  I decided that it would be interesting to hear it straight and unedited from a local.  He told me that he grew up in the heat of The Troubles in a Protestant housing estate, what we in the U.S. would know as the projects.  Further explanation informed me that growing up in a poor Protestant working class neighborhood during this historical period created a normalcy of throwing anything within reach at Catholics or police.  He went on to explain that it wasn’t until he was older and watched some of the riots in which he had been involved covered on television that he realized how much the news media was spinning the truth, which therefore led him to rethink his former actions.  It was interesting when he revealed that calling oneself Protestant or Catholic is just as much a political statement as it is a religious one.  For example, Protestants vote for Protestants and Catholics vote for Catholics, just as in the U.S. most Democrats vote for Democrats and most Republicans vote for Republicans.  An interesting twist where Belfast's voting system did not work recently was when the Union Jack flag was voted down off of city hall.  What was not reported in The States about that decision was the backstory: the majority of Protestants had started to grow impatient and unimpressed with their Protestant representatives for whom they had voted; thus, in the most recent election, a ground swell of Protestants broke rank and voted in a Catholic majority.  The Catholics, who do not like the Union Jack flag, voted within the city council to lower the flag.  In his opinion, Mr. Inspector said, Northern Ireland is a democracy and if people want the Union Jack flag raised back up, they should vote the Protestant majority back in during the next election instead of protesting each Saturday in front of city hall and adding to Belfast’s black eye of sectarian clashes.  Later that day after he left (with a clean note of inspection), and as Dave and I went to get a lock in order to gypsy-proof our oil tank, I commented on how no matter where one lives in the world, there is always some sort of political drama unfolding.  In the U.S., one might think of the current sequestration; in Northern Ireland, a tri-colored flag is causing unrest.  It reminded me that wherever one travels in the world, people are people with problems to work through and victories to celebrate.  Those two things can at least be agreed upon by all political and religious parties.