The following is an article I wrote shortly after this year's July 12th Orange Order parades in Belfast. I'd hoped it might be of interest to a newspaper, magazine or some other publication but sadly it provoked very little interest. Still, it seems a shame to consign it to the dustbin of failed journalism in its entirety so I've decided to reproduce it here...
The boys can only be four or five but already they’re confident with the colourful striped batons that must be nearly half their size, throwing them high into the air and catching them with ease. Some of the more confident ones even try a few nifty tricks, one passing the stick between his legs whilst another twirls it around his neck. The adoring crowds clap and cheer, delighted by the children’s antics; some of them lining both sides of the road are even wearing clothes of the same matching red, white and blue of the twirling batons.
This is Belfast, and the youngsters are taking part in this year’s July 12th Orange Order parade, an annual celebration of the victory of Protestant King William III over the Catholic James II at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. Marching flute bands from all over the United Kingdom and even some from the Irish Republic flock to Northern Ireland to take part; at this year’s main event in the Ulster capital some 80 bands are in attendance, around a quarter of those from Scotland. The annual event also attracts thousands of spectators, taking over much of the city and swamping the centre of town in a sea of orange flags.
And it is a spectacle to behold; the bands, all immaculately turned out in matching uniforms unique to their district, belt out an array of popular tunes with drums and flutes; some even have accordions, whilst all proudly carrying banners proclaiming allegiance to the United Kingdom and the religious ideals of the Protestant faith. The musicians in period World War I ‘Tommy’ army uniforms and the all-female band in pink draw particular applause.
But for many years the parades have been a deeply controversial event, regarded by many in Northern Ireland’s nationalist community as little more than provocative and unashamed triumphalism. Unionists, on the other hand, have traditionally considered these marches to be a legitimate expression of their political and cultural heritage. Some of the more contentious routes have even led to open violence, most famously in the annual confrontation at Drumcree church in the Armagh town of Portadown which directly led to the creation of the Parades Commission. It is the job of the Commission to oversee any disputed parade and judge whether it should be allowed to proceed.
Yet it would appear that the times they are a-changing. The organisers of the parades in Belfast rebranded the event as ‘Orangefest’ back in 2007 and have put their collective energies into promoting it as a fun and friendly family day out, replete with child-friendly frivolities such as face-painting, juggling, stilt-walking and bouncy castles. And this year has been no different; Orangemen have mounted an extensive public relations campaign with bright, attractive banners erected across the city centre, promotional leaflets pushed through letterboxes and shops and adverts in local newspapers and magazines.
The reason for the changes – not all of which are greeted with equal enthusiasm among the Order’s membership – is a relatively simple one. “We think the rebranding of the Twelfth is vital – we are saying we can be modern,” explains Orangefest development officer Billy Mawhinny. “How can we brand ourselves without being perceived by people as just another Orange trick, another Orange con? We can’t call it Orangeman’s Day or anything like that, because it sounds too exclusionary, so we came up with Orangefest.”
Whatever one’s political views it’s clear that their efforts seem to be making a difference; whereas once the centre of Belfast would be transformed into a ghost town where shops would refuse to open, businesses are now throwing their doors open to cash in on passing trade. And would seem that even some tourists are being tempted to watch what the Northern Ireland Tourist Board describes as “the perfect occasion to appreciate aspects of Ulster's rich heritage and culture.”
Not everyone is convinced however, least of all Lonely Planet. In their latest guide to Ireland they advise that “For the foreseeable future it’s probably best to ensure your visit to Northern Ireland doesn’t coincide with the climax of the Orange marching season on 12 July”, a standpoint which will no doubt infuriate those who have been at pains to transform the celebrations into a much more inclusive event accessible to all. LP, on the other hand, argues that the potential for enflamed sectarian tensions make the parades unsafe to attend. So whose point of view is right?
The night before the parades is given over to fire; huge bonfires light up the night sky, whilst fireworks whiz and bang overhead in a riot of colour. It’s a warm evening, and I’m attending one such conflagration in the ultra-Loyalist Sandy Row, on the southern edges of Belfast city centre. The crowd is large, numbering in the hundreds and possibly even thousands. Music is blaring from massive speakers and the drink is flowing, helped no doubt in part by the World Cup final that took place only a few hours before. In a small patch of rough ground a huge pile of wooden pallets towers above the surrounding buildings, carefully constructed and topped with an Irish tricolour. Members of the Northern Ireland Fire Service are on stand-by in case of an emergency.
One reveller, a burly Scot by the name of John, tells me what it is that makes the so-called ‘11th Night’ so special. “It’s all about having a good time and celebrating our culture. We get a lot of people who tell us that we shouldn’t celebrate who we are, but that’s wrong. The Nats get to celebrate their culture, so why not us as well?” And would a Nationalist be welcome? “No,” comes the flat reply.
And as if to make the point a cheer goes up from the crowd as the huge fire engulfs the Republican emblems adorning the pile’s summit. The heat from the flames is so hot that the fire-fighters have to spray their water hoses on nearby buildings to stop them catching light; the nearest houses have had their windows bordered up to stop them from shattering.
Similar fires take place all across Northern Ireland, some - like that in Sandy Row – taking place in pre-arranged locations with visible support from the local authorities. Others are more ad-hoc affairs, built on wasteland or even in the street using wood, rubbish, old furniture and anything else that will burn; one acrid cloud of black smoke billowing above the Donegal Road was from a street fire strewn with car tyres. Youngsters often play unchecked around the burning debris.
And everywhere there are flags; of Northern Ireland, of the United Kingdom, and a few dedicated both to the Orange Order and to various paramilitary organisations. They hang from lampposts, they adorn buildings and they even serve as items of clothing. Football tops are also a common sight, almost exclusively those of Glasgow-based Rangers or local Unionist favourites Linfield. There is no doubting the political affiliations of those who come to watch the bonfires.
Parade day itself is a much more civilised affair, at least in the centre of Belfast. Formalities commence with the solemn laying of a wreath at the city hall’s war memorial by leading members of the Orange Order, followed by a minute silence and the Last Post played by a lone bugler. When this is completed, it’s time for the bands to take centre stage, and they do so with much aplomb as they wind their way through the city toward a massive meeting field along with hundreds of Order members and bandsmen and women. Several hours later they march their way back again, many no doubt exhausted but having enjoyed a day out with friends and comrades alike.
But trouble often dogs Orange parades, and this year was no different. Pre-arranged nationalist rioting in the North and West of the city was at its worst for years; several police officers were shot and many more injured. Northern Ireland’s Chief Constable has said that the cost of policing the ‘interface’ areas - where Protestant and Catholic neighbourhoods meet and where trouble is usually concentrated – will run into “millions.” Particularly worrying is the number of children that were also involved, some thought to be as young as eight. One Ardoyne priest described it as “a bit like a Euro Disney theme park for rioting. It was ludicrous.”
And yet these disturbances were concentrated in a handful of districts far from the normal tourist track or the parades themselves; to even the casual observer in the city centre it was notable just how peaceful – if a little noisy – the marches were in comparison.
Instead it’s not dissident Republican violence that poses the greatest likelihood of spoiling a day out at the parades but rather the danger of the over-exuberant crowds that follow them. Throughout my weekend in Northern Ireland the signs of excessive alcohol consumption were all-too-common; rather than the good natured fun of, say, Guy Fawkes night, the atmosphere surrounding the 11th fires felt distinctly menacing. That an anti-Irish theme still made itself felt – witness the burning of Irish flags - means that the whole affair still has at least one eye looking towards the past even as the other nervously eyes the future.
But one can’t also help thinking that for many of the festivities surrounding the marching season this reputation is undeserved. Wanting to celebrate a distinct culture unique to this corner of Ireland is no more bigoted than the nationalists living within Northern Ireland who seek to celebrate theirs, and the more controversial commentator might also note the eager readiness with which people can frequently take offence in this far-flung corner of the United Kingdom. The term ‘recreational rioting’ was not coined in Ulster for nothing.
Yet it’s still something of an understatement to say that the Orange Order parades continue to suffer an image problem. Whilst ongoing efforts to stamp out the naked sectarianism of the past and bring the whole caboodle kicking and screaming into the 21st century are to be applauded it’s going to take a lot more yet to persuade everyone that they are both completely reformed and safe to attend. For those of a nervous disposition Lonely Planet’s advice to steer well clear is - for now - probably sound.






















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