Bonfires light up the sky in various parts of Northern Ireland each July, many tonight. Some see it as an act of cultural expression, others as a source of cross-community tension that has been associated with flashes of violence.
The 300 or so pyres are associated with loyalist areas that are part of the wider unionist communities and are part of the annual Twelfth of July commemorative celebrations for King William III’s 1690 victory at the Battle of the Boyne. The bonfires are lit on the Eleventh Night, in advance of the parades and street parties held the following day.
Politically contentious and physically imposing, these towering bonfires, often several stories high, raise concerns about the danger to houses and other structures, as well as their environmental impact. They often feature sectarian messaging aimed at nationalist parties and individual politicians, as well as effigies, Catholic religious imagery and tricolours which are placed on the bonfires to be incinerated. However, it’s not only Catholic communities who may feel unsafe or unwelcome as a result of the effigies. This year, an effigy of refugees in a boat on top of the bonfire at Moygashel has been widely condemned as “racist” and “dehumanising”.
Because of these tensions, many families, not just from Catholic backgrounds, but also from migrant communities, leave the North during this period or take their family holidays.
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Despite the unease of many, some within Protestant/loyalist communities regard the bonfires as sources of pride and community closeness.
A recent study I carried out at Queen’s University examined the role of social connection to protect the mental health among adolescent males in Belfast (aged 16-19). Protestant/loyalist young men described to me unexpected aspects of the bonfires which supported strong cohesion in their communities.
Older boys played an important role in mentoring younger ones on how to gather bonfire materials (including wooden pallets, old furniture and tyres) while also imparting knowledge of building techniques. They took pride in becoming mentors and providing guidance for “the young ones”.
“We’ll be friends with people a few years older than us . . . we would have only been about 12 and they would tell us we had to go and get all the collect(ion) for the bonfire, go and get all the wood,” one boy, whom I called Gabriel (not his real name), said.
The boys and young men stayed out all night to “guard their wood” and protect the bonfires from theft or sabotage at the hands of fellow bonfire-builders who may have wanted to use the materials for their own pyres. They were also protecting the materials from boys in nearby Catholic areas who were offended by or afraid of the bonfires.
“It would either be Catholics . . . coming to burn your bonfire, or else another bonfire (group) come and try and steal your pallets . . . So, if your bonfire gets [set alight], you automatically think it was the Catholics, but if your pallets get stolen, it was another bonfire,” said another, Benjamin (not his real name).
Parents supply dinners and older people bring baked goods and juice to help the boys pass their night watch. These interactions were a source of pride for the young men and seen as evidence of the strong sense of “tradition” and “community” in their neighbourhoods. Participants linked the way they were treated as bonfire builders with the more outwardly visible community celebrations like parades and street parties.
Benjamin described how “even when we’re staying out and all, there’s a wee woman who lives directly facing the bonfire, she would . . . well, if we’re out stacking the bonfire, she will come out, big jugs of juice and give us food, sandwiches and all, stuff like that”.
For some, this pride was accompanied by concern that these traditions were under threat and fading away. Modern challenges like lack of housing meant that waste grounds across north Belfast and the Shankill are being developed into new housing estates. The young men spoke candidly about the tension between protecting their cultural heritage, while also acknowledging that the spaces could be used for new homes where they could some day raise their own families.
“Personally, I would agree to put houses, because it’s a big, massive space where our bonfire is. You could get a good couple of houses, so easily 60 houses . . . New people moving in. But most people don’t think like this. But I agree with the houses because there’s a different site [nearby] where you can have a bonfire, but it’s not going to be massive, massive, massive,” said Samuel (not his real name).
Some of the young men proposed a number of creative solutions, including smaller signal fires in lieu of larger structures to preserve culture and tradition, while mitigating health and safety risks and sectarian implications.
Although the boys recognised that Catholic neighbours and people from other communities may feel unsafe or unwelcome during this period, this awareness of the threatening nature of sectarian symbolism did not prompt a deeper inspection of the broader cultural dynamic surrounding the holiday. Nor did it cause them to consider that their Catholic neighbours could feel unsafe for deeper reasons than just the presence of flags.
“It’s just like the others say they don’t want to see them. The Catholics don’t want to see them, but (it) just goes one way, it’s whatever community argues about it . . . now there’s only about two bonfires left in the Shankill, three bonfires,” said Benjamin.
A small number of participants acknowledged the high prevalence of substance use and antisocial behaviours at the celebrations, which contrasts with the simpler events of prior decades. This echoed recent research by Amanda Hall at Reading University investigating the increasing prominence of unsafe and unhealthy behaviours on the Eleventh Night, including the involvement of loyalist paramilitaries, complicating the bonfires’ image as a family event.
But my study revealed a less discussed aspect of bonfire season – that the fires were the visible product of deeper structures creating social cohesion within Protestant/loyalist community life. The Eleventh Night is the culmination of months of collaborative efforts.
This energy and enthusiasm for their local traditions could be harnessed for a range of other activities, as evidenced in the neighbourhood renewal projects taking place across Northern Ireland.
As the region looks to a more inclusive future, rather than focusing only on the controversial and divisive aspects of the fires, it’s worth also considering their importance to one community in fostering social cohesion – through collaboration, mentorship and shared identity.
Dr Amanda Dylina Morse PhD MPH is a social epidemiologist and research fellow within Queen’s Communities and Place (QCAP) at Queen’s University Belfast