On the Ground at the Garvaghy Standoff  

The last march that successfully made it down the road was in 1997. A British Army and RUC joint operation the following year kept the Orange Order and its supporters at bay, with violent standoffs continuing every year until a lull in the early 2000s.  

Garvaghy is a small, Catholic enclave in Portadown, a predominantly Protestant town. The Drumcree Dispute, as the conflict is known, resulted in the deaths of 21 people between 1996 and 1999, most of them from the Catholic community, and murdered by Unionists or British security forces. Perhaps the most notorious of these killings was that of the Quinn children. Brothers Jason (9), Mark (10), and Richard (11) tragically lost their lives to a UVF firebomb attack on their home in 1998.  

Despite the obvious antagonistic nature of their march, Loyalists have relentlessly insisted on their perceived right to parade down Garvaghy Road, with the Parades Commission (established in 1998 to manage the Drumcree Dispute and other contentious marching locations) annually refusing to grant permission for it. In August 2026, this determination was successfully challenged at the High Court on the grounds of a procedural error, allowing the Orange Order to resubmit its application.  

On Friday, 25^th September, to my surprise, and to the surprise of every resident I would later speak to, the Parades Commission permitted a restricted Orange Order march down Garvaghy Road the coming Sunday. The following is a report from the ground at Garvaghy and Drumcree following this news.  

Saturday 26^th  September

Dublin City Centre (12 – 2 pm): 

Three protests had been planned across the capital. Sinn Féin organised at the GPO at noon; Fronta Poblachtach called for an emergency four o’clock picket at the Dublin and Wicklow Orange Lodge; and Éirígí mobilised outside the British Embassy an hour later.  

I was still stunned by the Parades Commission’s logic, as I scrambled to get to the GPO to speak with Sinn Féin TD for Dublin South-Central, Aengus Ó Snodaigh. He described the decision as “madness” and called on the Dáil to “stand up and say a hell of a lot more than ‘we are concerned’”. I was curious as to whether he thought the developing situation had the potential to become a setback to his party’s recent inroads toward Irish reunification. However, Ó Snodaigh seemed to hold little concern in that regard, describing the matter as “the dying sting of an Orange wasp,” which he believed most “level-headed people” would agree with. 

I had planned to hang around for all the protests before heading to Portadown, but with a security alert on the Lurgan train line and rumours of police preparing to move into Garvaghy, I was conscious of it possibly becoming difficult to access the area, so I promptly booked a train at Connolly. It was around this time that the Garvaghy Road Residents’ Coalition (GRRC) obtained a High Court injunction temporarily blocking the march. 

“I was conscious of it possibly becoming difficult to access the area, so I promptly booked a train at Connolly. It was around this time that the Garvaghy Road Residents’ Coalition (GRRC) obtained a High Court injunction temporarily blocking the march.”

Garvaghy Road/Ashgrove Road (4 – 9 pm): 

From the train station to Garvaghy, I saw no police. Small groups of people lingered on the road, a palpable tension amongst them. I was there no longer than ten minutes before a resident asked if I had somewhere to stay for the night. The woman, in her seventies, had lived on the road for more than forty years. She had an air of concern about her, but not fear, as such, and certainly not panic; it was obvious this was not her first rodeo. She seemed proud and assured by the numbers of people turning up to support her community, bright-faced as she told me of the cars coming from all over the island, the tents set up on the pitch at Tír na nÓg GAA, and the crowds gathering at the community centre on Ashgrove Road. It was also clear that she trusted and had confidence in Breandán Mac Cionnaith, the GRRC spokesperson. 

“The woman, in her seventies, had lived on the road for more than forty years. She had an air of concern about her, but not fear, as such, and certainly not panic; it was obvious this was not her first rodeo. “

It was this elderly woman who first told me that the GRRC’s legal team was set to block the march beyond the temporary injunction, though I had no way of confirming it; colleagues at the courts in Belfast were in the dark, waiting impatiently for meagre advancements in proceedings to present themselves. Garvaghy was in an analogous situation; speculation was rife.  

Eventually, at around half past eight, the tip-off was all but confirmed. Word came through that, as it stood, the march would not go ahead at all. Cars beeped into the late evening, along with rebel songs and cheers of joy and jubilation. Mothers held their children close. Fathers picked them up and swung them. The Court of Appeal was to sit at half past nine, but the word was that it looked unlikely an appeal would be granted. Common sense, it seemed, would prevail.  

“Cars beeped into the late evening, along with rebel songs and cheers of joy and jubilation. Mothers held their children close. Fathers picked them up and swung them.”

Ashgrove Road (11 pm – 12.30 am): 

There was a fierce buzz around Garvaghy heading toward midnight. The crowds had grown to quadruple figures, united in the hope that no Orange feet would march on Garvaghy Road, and united too in a readiness to stop such a thing, whatever the cost. 

“The crowds had grown to quadruple figures, united in the hope that no Orange feet would march on Garvaghy Road, and united too in a readiness to stop such a thing, whatever the cost.”

 The mix of people also brought some who the GRRC may have preferred were elsewhere; more than a few heads had consumed more than a few too many cans, and whatever else, and many were worryingly eager for conflict. At one stage, a resident who seemed actively involved in the organisation at the community centre chastised myself and colleagues for photographing a young, hooded man with a face covering and a Tricolour. She insisted that he did not reflect the community, and she did not want the press to portray him as an example. 

Around half eleven, yet another legal decision shocked Garvaghy; the Loyalist appeal against the ban had been granted. By midnight, as a final, desperate appeal was launched by the GRRC, residents and supporters were flocking in the hundreds to Garvaghy Road.  

Sunday 27^th  September

Garvaghy Road (1 – 2.30 am): 

While the GRRC’s appeal was still being heard at Laganside, it was clear that the leadership among the protesting crowds had begun to lose hope in the judicial system. There is no British justice, as the saying goes, and the law was no longer looking like a reliable enough tool to keep Orange supremacy out.  

“There is no British justice, as the saying goes, and the law was no longer looking like a reliable enough tool to keep Orange supremacy out. “

Instead, Garvaghy began to mobilise. Protestors were split into three rows: one at the top of the road, to defend it from Drumcree, another at the entrance to Ashgrove Road, to defend the right flank, and one at the back, to defend it from the other side of the bridge at Castle Street. Those who were drunk were sent away; the rest were told to stick together, to link arms and stay tight should the PSNI attempt to force them away. Breandán Mac Cionnaith’s voice could be heard through a speaker, instructing, “Remember, when they do move in … you hold on for grim death,” to cheers of support from the crowds. 

“Remember, when they do move in … you hold on for grim death,” to cheers of support from the crowds.””

Mac Cionnaith was later filmed announcing that two coaches full of supporters had arrived from Belfast, and that another two were on the way from Dungannon. “No idiots,” he said, calling for discipline, “we’ve already confiscated petrol bombs, we’ll do it again … petrol bombs will make our own people disperse, we want them kept on the road.”  

Shortly before half past one, Sinn Féin president Mary Lou McDonald, accompanied by First Minister of the Executive at Stormont, Michelle O’Neill, addressed the crowds. “This is bad stuff,” McDonald acknowledged before calling on supporters to collaborate effectively. “We are all here together for the one reason, because we know that our communities deserve safety and freedom,” she said, “and that there are no second-class citizens in this community.”  

An hour later, it was confirmed that the final legal challenge by the GRRC had failed. The Orange Order was permitted to march down Garvaghy Road. Restrictions included a time slot at half eight in the morning, a maximum limit of thirty-five Orange men, no supporters, no music, and only one banner. For the residents, however, there could be no compromise. Human Rights Monitors were deployed, and instructions were repeated to the three strategic lines. All that was to be done now was to prepare and wait. 

Garvaghy Road (4 – 8.30 am): 

Speculation that the PSNI’s arrival was imminent heated up around four. An hour later, two cars had been tactically parked at a crossing on the road, creating a fourth blockade. Shortly after six, Breandán Mac Cionnaith announced that police would need to clear the road for eight. “That gives us two hours,” his voice again projected through a speakerphone, “remember what we asked you to do; when they come, sit down, grab each other … and when they put you off the road, get back on it again.” 

By seven, reports came in of PSNI sightings at the church in Drumcree and on Ashgrove Road. By quarter past, a surveillance unit was parked at the top of Garvaghy Road, with another Land Rover declaring, “No notice of this protest meeting has been given to the police … it is my duty to warn you that any person organising or taking part in the protest is committing an offence and is liable to arrest and prosecution.”  

“No notice of this protest meeting has been given to the police … it is my duty to warn you that any person organising or taking part in the protest is committing an offence and is liable to arrest and prosecution.”  

The announcement was repeated several times, and each of them was met with thunderous jeers and chants of “SS RUC” from walls of bitterly determined protesters linked by the arms. At one stage, Mac Cionnaith glared at the press and the PSNI, standing before the people he was representing, thousands of them stalwart in the rain; an array of factions within Irish Republicanism united despite decades-old differences, ready to back him, to follow his every word, to put an end, once and for all, to the threat of the Orange Order in Garvaghy. 

As more Land Rovers arrived, two women began to approach the vehicles at the top of the road, visibly traumatised, and holding placards depicting Darren Murray (12) who died after being struck by a car around Garvaghy Road while running away from sectarian abuse in 1996. “We’re doing this for children,” cried out Therese, Darren’s mother, her sister, Claire, adding, “Protestant children, Catholic, mixed-race.” The Land Rovers reversed in response. 

Shortly after eight, Mary Lou McDonald and Michelle O’Neill returned to the crowd, delivering an impromptu press conference. While I was not in the area when this was happening, it is an important moment to note. Here, the First Minister in the six counties, whose party sits on the policing board, was being clearly informed by the PSNI that she was acting illegally by protesting, and it could be argued, organising the protest. Sinn Féin had now stepped away from the British political fold and prioritised Garvaghy over colonial law. This, of course, would become a useful stick for Unionist leadership to beat her with, but it shows us the weight Garvaghy holds within Republicanism and its significance as a red line. 

Portadown Town Centre/Garvaghy Road (12 – 3.30 pm): 

At noon, I was being driven around Portadown, counting scores of police Land Rovers lying in wait. The time slot that the Orange Order had been allocated to march in had long passed. They had attempted to make their way down from the church at the time but were informed by the PSNI that the march could not be safely facilitated.  

“At noon, I was being driven around Portadown, counting scores of police Land Rovers lying in wait. The time slot that the Orange Order had been allocated to march in had long passed. “

I got word at half past that PSNI negotiators had entered from the top of Garvaghy Road, asking to speak to community representatives. A senior officer was filmed asking Breandán Mac Cionnaith, “Is there anything that I can reasonably say or do for you today to open negotiations or to speak with you about this today?” An emotional Mac Cionnaith snapped back, “No, because you aren’t trusted. No.” 

When I arrived back on the road, I spoke with Aontú party leader, Peadar Tóibín. “Drumcree is synonymous with murder, with intimidation, and with death,” he told me, “Twenty-one people’s lives were taken from them during the original marches. I remember the three Quinn brothers. To think that we could actually reopen this Pandora’s box … is a major mistake. It’s a massive political miscalculation.” 

The rain, which had lashed relentlessly throughout the night and morning, had cleared, and the afternoon was bright. Spirits had picked up among the protestors, some of whom sang rebel songs with their arms around each other. Aside from the negotiators and regular warnings of prosecution, the police had done nothing but gather video evidence, and the Orange Order remained in Drumcree. At half past three, former Sinn Féin president Gerry Adams arrived. His security escorted him to a sort of private safe house Sinn Féin had established close to the community centre. 

Drumcree Church (4 – 8.30 pm): 

When I first arrived at the church in Drumcree, the police presence was minimal. A few Orange Order members lingered outside the church hall, twiddling their thumbs. Nigel Dawson, the Portadown District Master of the Orange Order, said that he wouldn’t speak to the media until he had a better idea of what was going on. It was soon clear that I was more in the know, so to speak, than any of these men, and the lack of activity from them meant it was a waste of my time hanging around. 

At six in the evening, I was considering whether I should go home. Activity in general had slowed down; it did not look like the Loyalists would be down any time soon, and it was clear that the PSNI had no intention of engaging physically with protestors. It looked like a victory for Garvaghy, and a victory for Republicanism. I had been on the ground for twenty-six hours at this point, and I could have done with a rest. Then, however, a colleague at Drumcree told me the Orange Order, this time with around a hundred supporters, was on the move down the hill. 

When I got back there, the parade had been met by a barricade of PSNI Land Rovers and were informed once again that the police could not safely get them down Garvaghy Road. Unionist activist and legal representative for the Orange Order in the Garvaghy Standoff, Jamie Bryson, was among the crowd, looking visibly stressed, pacing while on the phone.  

Nigel Dawson later told me that they were waiting for police to clear the Garvaghy Road so that they could bring him “home”. I found this puzzling; the man sounded like he was waiting for a taxi. This is a turn of phrase used by Unionists a lot regarding the dispute. It is facetious, of course, but it lacks logic, given that the intention is to return to the church after marching to the bottom of the road. I asked Nigel how long he was prepared to wait there. “The last time,” he said, “it was five days.” I privately wondered if that estimation might turn out to be optimistic, given that ‘the last time’ was a long time ago, and two elderly members of the thirty-five permitted Orange men had already gone home. Indeed, the next day, some Orange men had been replaced with younger, fitter Orange boys. 

Before long, several members of the Order were circled around a very angry supporter. I don’t know who this man was, but I would imagine he has some sort of significant standing among the group, judging by the way he chastised the Orange men. He complained that they were having a “cunt” made out of them. “When they mobilised, we should have mobilised,” he spat, referring to the residents and calling them “Republican scum”, before warning, “if we don’t get down that road, you know what will happen.”  

The Situation Today: 

At the time of writing, five days into the standoff, no Loyalist marches have taken place on Garvaghy Road.  

Last night, Breandán Mac Cionnaith revealed that a deal was on the table that he was prepared to accept; Unionist leadership later made it clear at a public rally that it would not be accepted by them. Details of this deal reportedly include the GRRC accepting that they had acted unlawfully by protesting the march, and the Orange Order choosing not to march down the road. 

The PSNI has confirmed they are launching an investigation into the protest, however, it is difficult to imagine any arrests being made while negotiations continue. While there is no longer a blockade on the road, a protesting presence remains.  

The Orange Order remains too at Drumcree, waiting for the PSNI to tell them they can march. Orange men are notoriously stubborn, of course, and Breandán Mac Cionnaith was once described by Tony Blair as someone who “took unreasonableness to an art form.” It is hard, therefore, to see an impasse on the horizon.  

However, despite the developing nature of this story, there are some conclusions to be drawn: Times have changed, Unionism is not the force it used to be, and the state no longer has the same power to solidify its dominance; Neither Garvaghy Road nor its residents will be walked over, nor ever forgotten. As the standoff continues, its community will continue to enjoy grá and solidarity.