It was like Belfast during the worst days of the Troubles. "I, I, IRA!" the
protestors roared as they hurled a barrage of bricks, bottles, and fireworks
at gardai.
O'Connell Street was a battlefield. Makeshift barricades were erected at
various points. Several fires were blazing and the crowd was screaming for
blood.
If anything, they hated the gardai more than they hated the loyalist
marchers. "Come on ye Black and Tan bastards!" they roared. "Redcoat scum!"
and "SS RUC!" Every time a garda was hit by a missile, there was massive
cheering.
The gardai were hopelessly amateurish and incompetent in comparison to the
police in the North. They were completely unprepared and, even in the heat
of the rioting, didn't manage to seal off side-streets.
The rioting was a mainly working-class, male affair. What was surprising,
though, was that plenty of respectable looking citizens not engaged in
violence nevertheless appeared sympathetic to the rioters.
"The government was only asking for trouble allowing the Orangemen down
here. We could never let them pass the GPO," said one man.
"Where's McDowell now?" a protestor yelled. The loathing of the Justice
Minister was unanimous. Many of the rioters, like their Northern
counterparts in years gone by, wore Celtic tops and trainers, with scarves
pulled over their faces to hide their identity.
The 'trendier' rioters wore PLO scarves. Even injured protestors, with blood
pouring down their faces, continued to riot.
Posters with the names of those killed by loyalist paramilitaries lay in the
gutter, discarded as the rioters ran for cover before another attack on
gardai. The covers of water mains were detached and water poured everywhere.
The pavement, at various points, was spattered in blood.
The roadworks on O'Connell Street meant a ready supply of missiles. It
seemed inconceivable gardai hadn't realised in advance this would lead to
disaster for them.
A young man wearing a 'Remember the hunger-strike' t-shirt broke up huge
rocks. "Give us more ammo!" a rioter shouted to him.
Every now and then, pink flares were thrown, lighting up the sky. Someone
started signing Sean South of Garryowen and soon everyone was singing it.
"Tiocfaidh ar la!" rang out every few minutes.
There was a strongly sectarian football element. "If you hate the Orange
bastards, clap your hands!" was chanted. Then, they sang The Fields of
Athenry.
Sirens rang out all over the place. Fire engines and ambulances arrived. The
windows of several businesses were smashed. 'Business as usual' read the
sign in the window of Ann Summers but even that pretence was abandoned.
"We are, we are, we are the IRA!" sang the crowd. A Spanish man working in
Dublin said he fully supported the rioters. "I'm told you have West Brits in
your country," he said, and his Irish friend nodded in agreement.
At the GPO, the protestors decided sitting down on the road was temporarily
better than rioting. The anthem of peaceful protest, 'We shall not, we shall
not be moved', was now adopted.
A motorcycle was set on fire. "Somebody should be selling hot-dogs," said
one man as youths gathered in front of the blaze. Another man didn't think
Dublin resembled the North at all: "It's not like Belfast, it's more like
Baghdad."
