The images from Belfast are haunting. A city, once the crucible of the Troubles, now sees its streets ablaze once more. But the most searing testimony comes not from politicians or pundits, but from the victims. ‘I will never get over watching my home burn,’ one resident said, his words carrying the weight of a man who has seen the thin veneer of civilisation peel away. The demand is clear: tougher policing. Not more dialogue, not another round of empty platitudes about community healing. The people want the state to act, to assert its monopoly on violence, to remind the mob that law is not a suggestion.
We have been here before. The late Roman Empire, for all its sophistication, grew soft on its frontiers. Legions were withdrawn, local militias trusted, and barbarians allowed to roam. The result? A slow, grinding collapse into chaos. Belfast is not Rome, but the parallels are uncomfortable. When the state hesitates to use force, when it coddles rioters with ‘understanding’ and ‘social context,’ it signals weakness. The riot victim does not care about the socioeconomic grievances of the arsonist. He cares that his home is standing. And if the police cannot guarantee that, what is the point of the state?
Yet the liberal intelligentsia will wring their hands. They will speak of ‘root causes’ and ‘cycles of violence.’ They will argue that tougher policing only inflames tensions. This is intellectual decadence dressed as compassion. It is the same logic that allowed the fall of the Western Empire, that turned a blind eye to the Vandals. A society that refuses to defend itself is a society that deserves to perish. But the victims of Belfast are not asking for a police state. They are asking for what every society must have: order. Without order, there is no justice, no progress, no civilisation.
History teaches us that empires die not from external invasion alone but from internal rot. When the police are afraid to act, when judges leniently sentence, when the mob knows it can burn with impunity, the social contract dissolves. The victims of Belfast are the canary in the coal mine. Their cry is not for vengeance. It is for restoration. They want the state to remember its first duty: to protect its citizens from violence. Everything else is a luxury.
So let us stop pretending that rioting is a form of political expression. Let us stop excusing criminality with sociology. Let us do what the Romans failed to do: enforce the law, preserve order, and ensure that no one ever again has to say, ‘I will never get over watching my home burn.’ Because if we do not, we will all become victims of our own hesitation.
