Living with Terror

The first time that I went to Belfast I was amazed at the security measures, especially in the airport. It was pre-September 11th and the West was unconcerned by the threats that were all too often common-day occurrences in other countries. Here, random acts of violence, though rare, are of the highest priority.

Everyday when I come into my office I walk through a metal-detector and my bag is scanned for bombs (though I don't really understand how). In shopping malls, it's the same thing. When going to park the car during my frantic clothes-replacing operation, the trunk and glove compartment were searched for bombs.

At the internet café where I wrote one of my articles, I was asked for my passport so that later I could be traced -- in the event that I had used the computer to organise terrorist plots.

My big Bollywood press conference required an x-ray scan of my bag before heading into the 5-star hotel.

While everyone is unfased by the tougher security, I have to admit that I feel a little uneasy. Even if I don't feel any particular threat to my own safety, I am simply not used to being reminded that this is a place where bombs have gone off and machine guns have been fired: because I have so rarely been in such a place.

For the moment, there is no answer -- except for, you know, world peace, or at least peace in the East. So, as I repeat my newly adopted mantra of that which I can't change I simply accept, I pass through the checks with everyone else and try not to think about it too much.