'Bricks instead of beer' Stark images from NI photographer tell story of the Ballymena riots

VIOLENCE ERUPTED IN localities across Northern Ireland following a peaceful protest in Ballymena over an alleged sexual assault against a young girl this week.

Derry photographer Tyler Collins got on his motorbike and headed first for Coleraine, and then to Ballymena, to document the first night of the riots. He writes about his experience here. 

What I witnessed in Ballymena was absolute madness. Not because of what it claimed to be, but because of what it truly was. This was not a protest about illegal immigration, housing, or even justice for a young girl who had been allegedly sexually assaulted. It was pure thuggery. It was racism. It was chaos for chaos’ sake.

Before the events unfolded, social media was full of different narratives. Some were calling for justice over what had happened to the girl in Ballymena. Others were spreading claims about Roma people being ‘a problem’ in the town, saying nothing had been done about them.

There were frustrations over housing, rising rents, and the government spending millions per day on immigrants while locals struggled. These issues were being stirred together, sometimes out of genuine anger, sometimes fear, and in other cases just for the sake of joining the noise.

What I saw on the ground had nothing to do with any of that. Not the girl. Not immigration. Not justice.

'Postcards from the Front Line'.

I had planned to photograph the event, not for media or profit, but because I believe in documenting stories. On the way to Ballymena, I heard about a protest in Coleraine and decided to stop there. A man stood in the road and told me I could not pass. I asked what it was about. “Because of the wee girl in Ballymena,” he said.

At first, it looked like people genuinely wanted justice. But that feeling didn’t last. It turned quickly into something else. Something darker.

By definition, a protest is a public act of objection or dissent aimed at change. What I saw was not that. It had no clear message. No signs. No chants. No demands. Just destruction. Just people out for trouble, dressed up in the language of outrage.

In Ballymena, a few hundred people had gathered. Most were young, early teens to early twenties. Some watched. Some shouted abuse at the police. People were drinking openly. The smell of weed hung in the air. It did not feel like protest. It felt like a Saturday night that had gone wrong. Drunken energy, looking for release.

And then it came.

'Riot Tourists, Ballymena.' The photographer got permission from two men who were just watching events unfold to take take their photos.

Bricks. Bottles. Fireworks. Petrol bombs. Paint. The air filled with explosions and shouts. One man took multiple hits from what looked like rubber bullets. He kept going. He seemed proud of it.

A girl stood nearby in shorts and a T-shirt, shouting directions like it was a game. “Throw it to the right. There’s a gap.” This wasn’t grief or solidarity. This was entertainment.

The police responded with water cannons. Riot control. Standard protocol. Nothing felt shocking. It felt expected. Practised.

'A Spark Between Us, Ballymena'.

As I stood watching, a deep unease settled in me. Not just from the violence, but from the performance of it all. This wasn’t panic or collective outrage. It was a crowd eager to act out. The girl at the centre of it was not mentioned once. Not her name. Not a sign. Not a chant. She was not the reason. She was the excuse.

That is what disturbed me most. Her pain had been turned into a prop, then cast aside the moment the first brick was thrown.

'Grace in the Chaos, Ballymena'. (Grace, pictured here, was a spectator who left her home to see the commotion on the street, not to partake.)

And maybe that is what we have become. A culture addicted to noise. A people more comfortable with outrage than with truth. There might have been some who believed they were standing for something. But most were chasing drama. They came for a fight, not a cause.

It was all there in their phones. TikTok live streams. Selfies. Shouts. Not a single question asked. Just reactions. Just adrenaline. No space for reflection or reality.

'Flashpoint, Ballymena'.

This wasn’t righteous anger. It was opportunism. A tragedy hijacked. The alleged victim forgotten. No justice. Just noise.

In the end, that’s what it was for most of them. A night out. A bit’a craic. Bricks instead of beer. Sirens instead of songs. It was disgusting. And it was deliberate.

What do they think they are achieving? A few hundred people smashing windows and throwing petrol bombs will not fix anything. It just obscures the real issue. It turns grief into spectacle. It turns pain into content.

And the worst part is, we should know better.

'Through the Haze, Ballymena'.

This is Northern Ireland. We have lived through what happens when violence takes hold. We know that it does not fix things. It does not bring justice. It only deepens wounds.

What changed this place was not firebombs. It was dialogue. People sitting across tables and speaking hard truths. That brought peace. That brought progress.

So when I see young people turning back to chaos, I cannot help but ask. Have we learned nothing?

If this is how we respond to tragedy, we are not helping. We are just throwing fuel on the fire.

'The Stand-Off, Coleraine'.