Opinion: The legacy of Northern Ireland's watchtowers, helicopters and informants can be seen in recent tensions and unrest around immigration
In early June 2025, Ballymena became the centre of attention after anti-immigration unrest erupted. Sparked by online rumours, the situation escalated into arson attacks and violent confrontations. While explanations point to economic and social strain, the roots run deeper.
Part of the story lies in Northern Ireland’s long relationship with surveillance. During the Troubles, surveillance was woven into daily life and was more than a state tactic. Watchtowers, helicopters, and informants made vigilance a survival skill. Entire communities were cast as potential threats. This culture of suspicion affected how people spoke, moved and related to each other, leaving psychological imprints that persist long after physical surveillance structures were dismantled.
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From RTÉ Archives, Brendan Wright reports for RTÉ News on the British Army dismantling the watchtower in Crossmaglen, Co Armagh in 2000
Although the Good Friday Agreement ended much of the formal security presence, the social habits bred under surveillance of watchfulness, boundary-drawing and mistrust have endured. Today, in a climate of economic uncertainty and political instability, these old instincts resurface in new forms. The psychological residue of years spent under observation has not faded. It manifests in daily interactions, collective anxieties and a persistent sense of needing to 'know' who people are and where they stand.
Social media has replaced the surveillance towers. WhatsApp groups and Facebook pages now function as digital watchposts where rumours flourish. In tightly knit communities like Ballymena, stories of asylum seekers allegedly receiving special treatment or causing trouble spread quickly because they tap into historical fears about the 'outsider.'
This reaction isn’t unique to Northern Ireland, but its intensity here is shaped by a past in which communities were trained to defend themselves from perceived threats. In towns shaped by years of conflict, difference is often still equated with danger. The new targets may be Syrian refugees or Roma families, but the dynamic remains the same: protect the known, question the unfamiliar. These reflexes may be understandable given the history, but can be dangerous when applied in modern, multicultural settings. Migrants are often treated with suspicion not because of their actions, but because of inherited habits of defence.
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From RTÉ Radio 1's Drivetime, Barry Lenihan reports on the violence and unrest in Ballymena
The protests in Ballymena, a primarily Protestant town are symptoms of deeper unrest. Community members, facing unemployment and underinvestment, may feel left behind by broader political and economic shifts. In such contexts, the arrival of newcomers can be misinterpreted as a threat to limited resources or identity.
Surveillance culture has also blurred the lines between public vigilance and social policing. In the absence of formal authority, individuals become self-appointed gatekeepers and take to photographing, reporting, and sometimes confronting those they deem outsiders. The result is a form of community-led exclusion that echoes the worst aspects of the surveillance state.
Understanding this dynamic isn't about justifying violence or hostility, but about recognising how trauma and mistrust from the past shape present-day behaviour. Communities that lived for decades under observation don’t unlearn those habits easily. In many cases, they haven’t been given the tools or support to do so. Healing from this deeply embedded culture of suspicion requires more than peace agreements or economic investment. It demands sustained cultural and emotional work to acknowledge trauma and actively build new norms of trust.
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From RTÉ 's Behind the Story podcast, what are the online forces at play behind the Ballymena riots?
Yet not all responses have been negative. Many in Ballymena and elsewhere have welcomed migrants and built connections. Grassroots efforts have shown that mutual understanding is possible when people are brought together in meaningful ways through schools, sports and community initiatives.
Moving forward requires more than condemnation of bad behaviour. It calls for honest dialogue about how surveillance warped community dynamics, how economic neglect fuels resentment, and how misinformation thrives where trust is low.
Healing involves acknowledging that pain, fear and anxiety often have roots in lived experiences. People in towns like Ballymena aren’t inherently intolerant, but they are navigating the aftershocks of a conflict that taught them to be cautious and insular. Recognising this historical lens is crucial if we are to de-escalate tensions and build cohesive communities. Without it, we risk misinterpreting fear as prejudice and overlooking the deeper causes of social unrest.
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From RTÉ Archives, Jim Dougal reports for RTÉ News in 1990 on confidential documents identifying IRA suspects which were put on public display in Belfast
We need policies that support both host communities and newcomers, but also ways to talk about fear without weaponising it. This includes education that addresses historical trauma; political rhetoric that avoids scapegoating and leadership that champions inclusion not division. These approaches help rebuild the social fabric that surveillance tore apart. They create space for curiosity over fear, and for compassion over control.
Ballymena isn’t broken, but its legacy continues to shape how people interpret the world around them. That legacy includes walls, checkpoints and whispered suspicions, but it also includes resilience, community strength and the potential for transformation.
If the Troubles taught us anything, it's that division thrives when people are dehumanised
If the Troubles taught us anything, it’s that division thrives when people are dehumanised. Surveillance taught communities to treat others as potential threats. Overcoming that legacy starts with seeing newcomers as neighbours not intruders, and deserving of both welcome and space.
Only by reckoning with the past can Northern Ireland fully embrace the future. That reckoning begins with understanding how deeply surveillance has shaped not just our institutions, but also our instincts - and what it will take to unlearn them.
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The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ
