August 4, 2024 - 8:00am

Belfast

Having moved to Northern Ireland last year, I’d expected the often violent anti-immigration protests currently roiling the Republic to cross the border this summer. But I didn’t expect the new febrile mood to come via England.

Belfast’s Saturday protests, in support of the parallel English riots, began with a series of blockades across major traffic routes into the city-centre, significantly concentrated on Loyalist, or ethnic British areas of the city. Judging by preceding Facebook activity, this was an action heavily dominated by Ulster Protestants, yet with an entirely new attempt to engage local Catholics.

Yet in the city-centre itself, where anti-immigration crowds, separated from their opponents at City Hall by armoured PSNI Landrovers, confronted pro-migration activists, perhaps the most striking element was the number of Irish tricolours being waved beside Union and Ulster flags, carried not by local Catholics — who were in attendance — but by protestors who had travelled up from the Republic.

“This is the best thing that ever happened in this country,” one protestor from Drogheda, in the Republic, draped in an Irish tricolour told me, “Now we can come together against the real enemy.” Indeed, protestors from the Republic, at the front of the crowd, were by far the most vigorous and aggressive in confronting the counter-protestors on the other side of police lines, themselves seemingly mostly drawn from Northern Ireland’s Catholic community. “Look at youse all,” one Dubliner, standing in front of a “Coolock Says No” banner, shouted at the pro-migration protestors, who were waving Palestinian, LGBTQ+ and trade union flags, “you don’t even have one fucking tricolour, no Union Jack, nothing from this island.”

On the other side of the Landrovers, trade union leader Mick Lynch, flown in from London, gave the pro-migration protestors a speech arguing for international socialism, as the crowd on his side chanted “Nazi scum, off our streets.” Organisers from the Irish Republican Socialist Party, previously the political wing of the INLA, watched their opponents waving tricolours with disdain.

Eventually, the anti-migration protestors moved off, heading in an unexpectedly large file towards an Islamic Cultural Centre — a mosque by another name, though not described as such due to local sensitivities — in a formerly Protestant district of South Belfast, currently undergoing rapid demographic change due to dispersal of migrants from the mainland.

With the mosque closed off by PSNI riot police and armoured vehicles, the protestors followed a ski-masked Dubliner, who apparently did not know the city, into random South Belfast side streets. Rocks and bottles were thrown at alleged migrant hotels, as some protestors attempted to batter down the glass doors with pavement tables. In Belfast’s Holylands area, a student district, the hitherto unimaginable sight of protestors waving Union Flags, a tricolour and the Israeli flag side by side, dancing to happy hardcore, occurred before police dispersed the gathering. In the Lower Ormeau Road, local (ethnic Irish) nationalists, some mixed-race, angrily confronted the marchers, calling the police “dirty rat fucks” and “scumbags” for permitting the protest to wend its way to their area.

“I don’t know why they were allowed to make it to our side of town,” Fionulla McComb, a local activist for a pro-Palestinian group, Mothers Against Genocide, told me. When asked about Southern attendance, she added “There are organisers within working class communities spreading poison among them, they don’t understand who the real enemy is,” before berating a weary-looking policeman in a riot helmet, as the PSNI separated the opposing sides. The previously non-sectarian mood of the protest withered as anti-migration protestors chanted “UFF” and “UDA” — the acronyms for proscribed Loyalist terrorist groups — at their Catholic opponents, before melting away as Ulster’s fickle weather put paid to the confrontation.

As it stands, Northern Ireland’s traditional ethnic conflict, and the Left-wing organisational power of the country’s Nationalist community, still defines the country’s political order. If England’s disorder — or that of the Republic — continues to make ground in Northern Ireland, it will intersect with this dynamic in unique, and perhaps unexpected, ways: cross-border splits within Irish nationalism are possible, as are strange new alliances.


Aris Roussinos is an UnHerd columnist and a former war reporter.

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