I didn’t imagine I would visit a place on this trip where I gawked at figure after figure of antique taxidermy. But I did. The Natural History Museum in Dublin is both startling and intriguing. Though saying it might be a stretch, the museum is even oddly beautiful. Being from the American South, I’ve seen a lot of animals both alive in nature and mounted on the walls of family and friends. Where I come from, the white-tail deer is the animal that people hunt the most—albeit for the sustenance and not only sport. The food harvested from the animals mounted in the Natural History Museum likely would have been donated to the local towns around where they were killed. Such is still the custom. But I assume many of the animals would have killed solely for sport or culling or displaying.

Don’t get me wrong. Seeing the animals was so interesting. But something about the mass collection of the dead was eerie. Obviously, I’ve never stood so close to animals such as large cats, hippopotamuses, whales, bears, etc, so the moment was educational and eye-opening. But my eyes were opened wider to my place in the world and, more importantly, the place that animals fill in the world. I eat meat. I have for all my life. But in recent years I’ve become more sensitive (if not sensitive, than definitely considerate) to where the meat that I enjoy comes from. People often argue over shared space, claiming that those spaces should be negotiated with manners and kindness.

When I stand face-to-face with a terrifying and beautiful animal such as this hippo, I think about how the space that we should be sharing with the animals around us is often seized or destroyed with little consideration of who would have called that home. Fortunately, over the years, others have become more concerned with the animals’ place in the world, leading to wildlife conservation and ethically-sourced meats and vegetables. But seeing the scores of cases and once-living statues of animals speaks to how they are still denied their rightful place aside humans.

Lorcan Collins, one of the authors of The Easter Rising: A Guide to Dublin in 1916, leads us on a walking tour of Dublin, discussing significant places associated with the rising. We began at a pub just south of the Liffey. Collins has a big personality and a voice to match it. He tells the story of the rising and events leading up to it in a narrative that is intriguing and moving. He includes small anecdotes that relate to the places we inhabit. He takes us to Trinity College and explains the significance of it during the rising. We look across the street at the Parliament building—now converted into the Bank of Ireland.

Next, Collins takes us through the city to north of the Liffey to see bullets holes in a statue on O’Connell Street. By this time, the rain has begun to fall heavy. He talks to us about significant buildings, helping us understand how the rebels would have stood up to the British. We look across the river and imagine young, British soldiers posted high in buildings with sniper rifles, shooting statues in the distance to either sight their guns in or have target practice.
We eventually make our way to the GPO. He takes us inside to tell us some history, again placing us in the middle of the happenings of 1916.

Outside of the GPO, Collins pulls out bullets from his pocket. We all look at indentations in the columns outside. He conjectures what artillery the British would have used. Then, he physically places bullets into the holes. The likelihood of his explanation is undeniable. Through this, he is able to connect the two-dimensional narrative of his book to the three-dimensional spectrum of real life. Hearing the stories and history in the place it happened opens up new possibilities of understanding.

The Kilmainham Gaol sits west of the city, a short bus ride from all the attractions contemporary cosmopolitan life. It’s in a pretty developed area itself, although it seems to be newer development as opposed to the old buildings closer to city centre. Many of those involved in the 1916 Easter Rising were kept at this prison—14 eventually executed here. Two others were executed due to their involvement in the rising elsewhere.

Being in a space where people offered up their life for the cause of freedom weighs heavy. The men executed were the leaders of the rising. They well knew that they would likely not make it through the revolution alive. The west wing includes the cells that those from 1916 would have been held. These cells are old, dark, and narrow, designed to provide adequate ventilation. There isn’t much beautiful about this area except for the actions committed by those who experienced each cell as their last home.

However, some of the prison is beautiful. Intricate architecture surrounds newer cells where later rebels would be housed. This area creates optimal surveillance. Our tour guide told us how that was part of the new system of reformed prison. He said that they strive for silence, supervision, and segregation. The newer cell block provide these means.

Standing in the entrance of this beautiful construction, I notice a group of young students posing for a photo. Some of them are being silly; others are smiling from ear to ear. The scene strikes me as a bizarre juxtaposition—a group of tourists taking a photo in a place where so many people were wrongly imprisoned and where others gave their lives. I am also a tourist, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by jail cells, taking photos to document my experience. The place that this is now is obviously not the place it was in the early twentieth century.