On the 12th of July, back in 1690, the Protestant William of Orange defeated the Catholic King James in the Battle of the Boyne, and for many, it continues to be a symbol of Protestant pride and culture — and dominance over Catholicism. Needless to say, the battle’s memory is divisive, and many might rather forget.

Nonetheless, every year “the Twelfth” is commemorated in Northern Ireland with nationwide parades (starting after Easter but culminating on the Twelfth) and bonfires the night before. Many Protestants say the Twelfth is a celebration of their cultural history, but for other parts of the community (certainly Catholics), it’s an annual reminder and agitator of the communal divisions that still haunts this place. The symbols of celebration are often sectarian – such as the placement of Irish flags or a Papal effigy in the celebration fires – and the parade routes of the Protestant fraternities sometimes find their way into Catholic neighborhoods, occasionally sparking conflict.

On the news this year, officials were hinting at the possibility of marketing the Twelfth as some sort of tourist attraction. Certainly Twelfth-related riots are increasingly rare, and two years gone are the soldiers policing contentious parade routes under the mounted weapons of armored vehicles; however, folks traveling to gawk at a spectacle still steeped in tension may continue to seem a bit… uncomfortable, to say the least.

Having spent the previous evening indoors with the wife and not with some colleagues braving crowds for photos in Belfast, I arose on the morning of the Twelfth this year, forgetting which day I was greeting, and was somewhat surprised, when driving some folks that morning to the airport, to find myself driving at 2 miles per hour down a small country lane, directly into an oncoming parade. We’d been directed to that road by police advising us on how to avoid the parades scattered between the country villages, and to no one’s delight, instead turned up in the midst of one. It was an awkward situation: bowler-hatted Orangemen and a full flute band flowing over my bonnet and dousing us with percussion and knitted brows. I was driving through the bulk of them on a very skinny road, fighting a nervous smile. People were gracious, splitting at our bow and letting us through, and we were eventually on our way.

We weren’t out on the street this year to snap any photos for you, but some of our friends were. I would highly recommend you check out some of the sweet shots a colleague of ours (Heather) took of the bonfires and decorations from the Shankill in West Belfast a few nights ago and posted on her blog.

Thanks to Heather Clark at hebsclark.blogspot.com for use of the photo.