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Newsweek Editors

By Newsweek Editors

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On a cold November evening in Belfast, an eclectic group of students, writers and politicians gathers for a book party near Queen's University. Two old hands in the Northern Ireland peace process discuss the latest developments. But the hottest buzz in the room isn't politics. It's excited talk about a new cultural magazine, an upcoming music festival and the latest cool bar. Indeed, the title of the book being feted says it all: "Ireland: From Bombs to Boom" by local author Henry McDonald.

Since the groundbreaking 1998 Good Friday Agreement, peace has come to Northern Ireland by fits and starts. The Northern Ireland Assembly, symbol of the New Ulster, has been suspended for two years. Last week negotiators for the leading political parties, Sinn Fein and the Democratic Unionist Party, seemed on the cusp of an agreement that could reopen it. Yet even as the politicos dither, one thing can be said: the time of Troubles is truly over. The surest evidence? Belfast itself.

Once almost inconceivable, signs of a civic renaissance abound. The last decade has seen a rush of foreign investment and urban renewal. A new generation of artists, designers, musicians, producers and writers has risen out of the rubble of sectarian strife to invigorate a city that was a war zone. "Just as the peace process reinforces cultural changes, cultural changes reinforce the peace process," says Queen's University professor Richard English. As he tells it, a new Belfast is being born and "etching itself into people's imaginations." The Troubles, begun in the late 1960s, have been supplanted by the Changes, all for the good and seemingly irreversible.

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Begin with the economy. Unemployment recently fell to a historic low of 4.2 percent. Drawn by Northern Ireland's young, well-educated work force and low-priced office space, foreign investment has grown by nearly half over the last six years. Large multinationals--Caterpillar and the packaging company Chesapeake among them--are buying up Belfast businesses. New software companies and call centers are sprouting like mushrooms. Last month Citigroup, the world's largest financial-services company, unveiled plans for a new technology center, scheduled to open by spring. The city skyline is a jigsaw of cranes and new high-rise offices. The racket of drilling and riveting throughout town herald more growth to come. Not so long ago, Belfast's Europa Hotel was the most frequently bombed building in Europe; today it's thriving, joined by a new generation of boutique hotels, from the hip Ten Square to the fashionable Malmaison.

There's also a newly vibrant cultural scene. The city's Arts Council has doled out over 24 million pounds in lottery money over the last decade, including 9 million pounds for an extension to the Grand Opera House. Millions of pounds have been pouring into Cathedral Quarter, a warren of galleries and studios that is becoming Belfast's creative heartland. Prime Minister Tony Blair has a huge stake in the success of the peace process, both in the political sphere and in daily life. Government funds for municipal projects have thus been ample. Ten years ago, to cite but one example, the city's River Lagan was a stagnant mess: exposed mud flats reeked of toxic chemicals; its banks were strewn with trash. Today, state-of-the-art lock and aeration systems keep the river flowing smoothly--and cleanly. Hiking and cycling trails line the waterfront. Sleek, modern buildings, made largely of glass, exude a new confidence that bombing days are over.

Young Britons, increasingly, see Belfast as a trendy short-break destination. More than 1 million visitors came last year, up from a mere 200,000 during the Troubles. Belfast artists are making waves abroad. "There is a type of energy in this city that comes out of a vibrant cultural tradition and a growing mix of cultures," says Stella Hall, director of the Belfast Festival. The Irish designer Chris Murray recently launched the clothing label Apache, whose political playfulness--with anti-war slogans and the like--has taken on cult status across Europe. The theatrical production company Ransom's first show, "Hurricane," has traveled from Belfast to London's West End and then to off-Broadway. David Holmes, a leading soundtrack producer ("Ocean's Eleven"), and Snow Patrol, an emerging rock band, are both Belfast born and bred.

Northern Ireland hasn't seen such good times since World War II, when there was a thaw in Roman Catholic-Protestant relations. The rebirth of the IRA and Unionist paramilitaries during the early 1960s put an end to that. Bombings and bloodshed plunged the economy into decline. Only after the 1994 ceasefire did the city begin to revive. With a new generation of "ceasefire children" growing up with the New Belfast as their reality, this momentum is unlikely to slow, let alone stop.

That's not to say that Belfasters have let down their guard entirely. Twenty-six misnamed "peace walls" of brick or corrugated steel gates still separate Catholic and Protestant communities. And while the IRA and Unionist factions have (mostly) laid down their arms, the paramilitaries have turned themselves into mafialike gangs, running drug rings and black markets in everything from cigarettes to booze to DVD players. Still, it's hard to understate the dramatic change. Belfast author Glenn Patterson remembers how, 20 years ago, the city center was a "ghost town," sealed off by barbed wire and police lines to prevent bombings. Now it's home to some 260 bars and restaurants where young professionals gather after work. During the summer, along the city's once dangerous streets, socialites sip cappuccinos at cafe tables that spill across the sidewalks. The drinking hole where Patterson used to negotiate security checkpoints is now a chic nightspot. "There's no turning back," he says. Northern Ireland's divisions may not be dead--but no longer do they rule.

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