We cannot afford to take peace for granted given the underlying reality of division in Northern Ireland, writes Elaine Byrne
CÚCHULAINN, THE mythical Irish warrior, has the intriguing distinction of being revered by both communities in the North. Fatally wounded defending Ulster during the Cattle Raid of Cooley, Cúchulainn tied himself to a standing stone to give the impression of still being alive. Only when a raven landed on his shoulder did his enemies approach, knowing that he was really dead.
One year on from the historic Ahern-Paisley handshake and 10 years since the Belfast Agreement, how far have things come in Northern Ireland?
President Mary McAleese's speech at the Áras an Uachtaráin garden party to mark the Twelfth of July spoke of how the "context has changed" and of the "growing neighbourliness" between North and South. The Irish Times editorial last Monday was definite: "Northern Ireland is a better place." Statistics released this week highlight record employment figures in the North.
The new housing developments off the Newtownards Road are named after the author CS Lewis, who grew up in the area. Many of the murals now depict scenes from his Narnia books instead of paramilitary folklore. Others commemorate the Titanic, built by ancestors from the neighbouring estates. For the second year in a row, the UVF did not have a paramilitary show of strength at the Eleventh Night bonfires.
As marching seasons go, it was relatively peaceful and without major incident. The army was not deployed and the police presence was discreet. These are positive steps.
Yet recent years have witnessed marked trends to place larger and additional Irish flags on the bonfires. The years since the peace agreement have emphasised rather than diminished symbolic flag burning. Why?
Watching your flag melt at midnight to techno music with 2,000 others was, for this writer, a surreal experience. Standing beside adolescent men playing the flute and singing UVF songs while being filmed by a Japanese television crew was simply bizarre.
The ferocity of the pylon-high, petrol-fuelled, and pallet-stacked "boney" stuffed with tyres meant the Tricolour melted instead of burned. The effigy of the pope was the first to go, then the Gerry Adams election poster and finally the flags of the four provinces and the Starry Plough.
Robbie stood mesmerised by the intensity of the bonfire. Asked why he cheered when the Tricolour went up in flames, he replied: "Our culture is under attack and the peace process has done nothing but undermine it."
This is a deeply insecure people on the defensive. The underbelly question of identity has not gone away. Sections of the North's community feel the need to express their identity in negative terms by defining what they are not. Demographically and economically isolated, the Protestant working class believe politics has abandoned them.
The former police ombudsman, Dame Nuala O'Loan, warned recently that the North was at a critical juncture. "The average peace deal lasts five years. The average conflict resumes after 15 years. It is important not to become complacent about peace," she said.
The Belfast Twelfth of July march - now re-branded as a tourist attraction - was fun. The Orange Order is attempting to reach out to those inside and outside its community and the numbers attending this year's parades were up.
Curiosity got the better of Séamus and he decided to go to his first Orange parade. From the Falls Road, he normally leaves the North for the week of the Twelfth. Despite himself, he enjoyed the colour and spectacle of the day. "A myth builds up around it. Then you go and you ask yourself, is that it?"
Nonetheless, the Orange Order is at a crossroads. Many lodges marched hollow, two abreast on the road, no longer with sufficient brethren to parade in full formation. Others, too old to march, sat in flag-adorned taxis with altered licence plate numbers to reflect the loyal Orange Lodge number. Blood and thunder flute bands predominated in Belfast. Some traditions were absent, such as the silver and pipe bands and the Lambeg drum, while only one accordion band marched.
Drew Nelson, Orange Order grand secretary, called for unity within unionism at the traditional end-of-parade speech. Of the thousands in the field, only about 50 brethren paid heed when he spoke. A man with a bowler hat and sash failed in his attempts to quieten a group of girls during Nelson's speech. A teenager wondered out loud: "Imagine being told in a field this size to keep the noise down - sure no one's listening anyway."
Taking peace for granted is when we listen to what we want to hear. In the North there is an underlying reality of division, disarray and diffidence. In the South, for the most part, we live with the feigned luxury of simply not caring.
It may be well to remember that the legend of Cúchulainn had many different versions; the reality was sometimes difficult to establish.