A Good Run is Better Than a Bad Stand: Marching Day (Orangemen's Day)

Today, our whole day wrapped around Marching Day (or Orangemen's Day)- a national holiday here in the North celebrating Prince William of Orange's victory over King James II at the Battle of the Boyne in the late 1600's. There are Orange Orders all over N. Ireland- and Scotland, England, even some in the US. On July 12th every year, many of the orders march in commemoration of the victory. We planned to go to the march over in Ballycastle, just about 20 minutes away.

The Orange Order is Protestant and Loyalist, so these annual marches have been very weighted in the past. As I said yesterday, they have been associated with a flareup of violence between the Protestants/Catholics and Loyalists/Nationalists, and the marches themselves have gotten violent at times, especially when the Orangemen marched through Catholic neighborhoods.

I was apprehensive about going to this march, especially given the bit of violence in Belfast recently. I wasn't worried about violence itself, so much as intruding as a tourist on something that might be emotionally weighted for people. But I also really wanted to go- this march was an event that was clearly an important part of the culture up here. And we discovered that this parade, with 44 orders marching, happened only every 5 years, making it an even rarer opportunity.

Our neighbors assured us it was more of a celebration now, so we decided to go. And it did feel lighthearted for the most part, with people sitting in chairs, waving to friends and family as they marched past, and vendors selling ice cream and cotton candy.

The only indication we had that there was a deeper, darker history to these parades came at the very end. I noticed, throughout the parade, a young man (who was hanging with a rough looking crowd that was actually very good natured) running to an island in the middle of the street to occasionally snap photos. Near the very end, the group started cheering, clearly for someone they knew marching past. He started to run out to snap another photo, but before he took more than two steps into the street, a big guy in the parade grabbed him and none too gently swung him around, pushing him back onto the sidewalk. The kid was clearly very startled and said something, though he didn't look angry when he said it. But immediately three other very large guys stepped out of the parade and rushed over, surrounding this poor guy, while his friends looked on. I don't know what they said, but I can imagine. He looked very taken aback and I didn't blame him. Those guys towering over him looked like they were about to pummel him. Instead they turned around and began marching again.

It was a reminder that everything wasn't as innocent as it seemed, and that people were still carrying the memory of violence with them. It seemed pretty likely to me, though obviously I could be completely wrong, that the guys who stepped out of the parade assumed the kid was a heckler, looking to make trouble, as had happened in the the past.

I had relaxed during the parade, happily snapping photos of everyone going past. But I suddenly felt unsure of myself again.

Nevertheless, parades are better for nothing else than people watching. So that's enough writing for tonight. Below are just some photos I took of the people in, and at, the parade.