Belfast Bound

Today we went to mass at the Chapel Road church where we attended service when we lived in Derry. Then to Mr. Bigger’s. His wife died a few years ago and I visit him when I’m in town. Then back to Belfast, where preparations are underway for the 11th, when bonfires are burnt all over Northern Ireland, and the 12th, when the Loyal Orange Order marching bands take to the streets. All in honour of good old King Billy, aka William of Orange, who defeated the exiled Catholic King of England, James II. I grabbed a quick photo of this bonfire in a car park obstructing the bike lane into the city, maybe two miles from our house.

I’m appalled by these bonfires on so many levels. Note the man unloading a mattress from his van, which will either be burnt with other discarded furniture as part of the celebration, or provide a place for drunk people to rest. Some of the bonfires are draped with Irish flags (the loyalists behind these events are enemies of the Republic of Ireland), with election posters of Sinn Fein politicians (representing nationalists)--one bonfire this year had an effigy of Martin McGuiness, the recently deceased leader of Sinn Fein. It is ugly, triumphalist, tribal, medieval fanaticism and it costs the taxpayers a pretty penny to have the fire brigade standing by, dousing nearby houses with water to keep them from burning down. Nearby houses are boarded up every year to prevent windows from breaking. Pure madness. The angry white men behind this say it represents their culture. Which is, in essence, a terrible admission.
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