We Didn’t Grow Up With This — And We Don’t Want To

The Dunmurry explosion is a stark reminder that the past isn't as distant as it should be.

Last night's explosion in Dunmurry feels like something that shouldn't belong in 2026.

For a lot of people my age, it's not just shocking. It's confusing. We didn't live through checkpoints, car bombs, or the constant tension. That's history to us. Something we learned about in school, or heard bits and pieces about from parents and grandparents. Not something we expected to hear about at 9am on a Sunday?

After spending the night at the scene and then watching it make international headlines, it's hard not to be struck by how surreal it all feels. Seeing the words "car bomb" and "Belfast" together again feels almost impossible like something plucked straight from a history book and penned into existence. You have to pause for a moment and really take it in, sitting with that bitter aftertaste just to fully process that it actually happened. And yet, here we are waking up to news of a car exploding outside a police station in west Belfast.

There's always a risk, in moments like this, that people rush to frame it through old narratives, to attach it to causes, to justify it, or to treat it as part of something bigger. But from where I'm standing, and from the conversations I've seen and had today, that's not how it's landing with people my age at all. But even without all the details, one thing is already clear: nobody wants this. Not now. Not again. That's been the pattern every time. After incidents like the Lurgan car bomb attempt, the response isn't division. It's widespread condemnation.

For my generation, this isn't about politics or old arguments. It's much simpler than that. We've grown up in a version of Northern Ireland that, while not perfect, is stable enough to build a life in. We think about jobs, rent, nights out, and whether we can afford to stay here long-term, not whether something might explode down the road.

That's why something like this hits differently. It feels like a disruption to a normality we've come to rely on, even if that normality is relatively new in the grand scheme of things.

It's also a reminder, a stark one, of a past we didn't choose and don't want to inherit. This isn't even the first time something like this has happened in recent years. Let's go back to 2023 to when the shooting of PSNI officer John Caldwell took place, or the murder of David Black or even the attempted murder on Peader Heffron the reaction was immediate and unified. Not support, not justification, just anger and disbelief.

There's no appetite among young people or the country as a whole for a return to that kind of violence. If anything, there's a quiet but firm rejection of it. You can hear it in conversations, see it in reactions online, feel it in the general disbelief this morning. Whatever message was meant to be sent last night, it doesn't land with us. It just alienates.

Because the reality is, we're not interested in being dragged backwards. We don't want to relive something we never lived through in the first place.

What happened in Dunmurry isn't just an isolated incident, it's a warning sign. Not necessarily of a wider campaign, but of how fragile things can feel when something like this happens. It shakes confidence. It reminds people that peace isn't something you can take entirely for granted.

But if there's one thing that stands out in the reaction so far, it's this: people aren't rallying behind it. They're rejecting it.

And maybe that's the most important difference between now and the past.

This generation doesn't want conflict. It doesn't romanticise it. It doesn't see any value in it. We just want to get on with our lives.

And whatever last night was meant to achieve, it only reinforced that.