For more than two decades, the sprawling 350-acre site of the former Maze Long Kesh prison near Lisburn has stood as one of Northern Ireland’s most contentious and underutilized public assets. Once infamous as a high-security jail for both loyalist and republican paramilitary prisoners during the Troubles—and the scene of the 1981 hunger strikes that claimed the lives of 10 inmates—the Maze’s future remains mired in political deadlock and bitter debate, with little sign of resolution.
Since the restoration of Stormont’s devolved government in 2024, the impasse has only deepened. According to a BBC investigation, fewer than half of the 20 formal requests to visit or use the Maze site have been approved by the Executive Office (TEO), which is jointly led by Sinn Féin’s Michelle O’Neill and the Democratic Unionist Party’s (DUP) Emma Little-Pengelly. Only eight permissions have been granted, while 12—mostly from media organizations, academic researchers, and event organizers—were denied. The TEO maintains that applications outside the terms of existing leases or license agreements are considered “on a case-by-case basis.”
This cautious approach has frustrated many, including author and photographer Rebecca Brownlie, who has spent years chronicling derelict buildings across Northern Ireland. “It’s frustrating because I’m going through the right channels,” Brownlie told the BBC, describing how her repeated requests to gain access to the prison were “ignored.” The lack of response, she said, felt like “hitting a wall.” The situation is made even more galling, Brownlie noted, by reports that young people had previously broken into the disused jail to record TikTok videos, prompting a security review. “That makes it more frustrating when my requests through the formal processes have been stonewalled,” she added.
The Maze’s history is as complex as its present. The prison, which closed in 2000, was the site of the infamous 1981 hunger strikes, a watershed moment in the Troubles that continues to cast a long shadow over Northern Irish politics. Most of the buildings were demolished after closure, but several structures—including parts of the H-Blocks and the prison hospital where Bobby Sands died—were retained and designated as listed buildings due to their historical significance. According to the News Letter, H-Block 6 was notably involved in the 1983 “dirty protest” and the dramatic mass escape of 38 inmates, during which a prison officer was shot.
Yet, the legacy of the Maze has proved a formidable barrier to redevelopment. In 2013, the DUP’s then-leader Peter Robinson blocked a plan to build a peace centre on the site, following pressure from unionist and victims’ groups who feared it would become “a shrine to terrorism.” The plan’s collapse marked the beginning of a political standoff that has left the site in limbo for 12 years, stalling a £300 million regeneration scheme that was once touted as a transformative economic opportunity for the region.
Some parts of the site have found new life. The Balmoral Show, Northern Ireland’s largest agricultural event, is held there annually, and the Air Ambulance charity and Ulster Aviation Society have established operations on the grounds. But the wider vision—one that could, according to the Maze Long Kesh Development Corporation (MLKDC), bring in up to £800 million in investment and create as many as 14,000 jobs—remains unrealized.
MLKDC, established in 2011 to oversee the site’s redevelopment, has itself become a casualty of the political stalemate. Its chief executive told a Stormont committee in March that the corporation’s role has been “essentially limited to health and safety.” Recently published board minutes reveal growing internal frustration, with members questioning the very “purpose of it continuing to exist” as a non-departmental public body. A new six-member board was appointed in November 2023 for a five-year term, but two members have already resigned and the organization has gone more than a year without a permanent chairperson. “This did not represent good governance and was not what they had signed up for,” board members noted in April.
The deadlock has drawn sharp criticism from across the political spectrum. Alliance Party assembly member David Honeyford described the site’s economic potential as a “wasted opportunity” and accused Sinn Féin and the DUP of failing to show political leadership. “The Sinn Féin-DUP vetoes need to stop, and we need to get on with delivering the site and the benefits of it for Lagan Valley and for the wider Northern Ireland,” Honeyford told the BBC. He called for the full site to be opened immediately, declaring, “It’s an absolute disgrace and a wasted opportunity that the site remains unused—just as wasteland—and that people are having to come and ask for permission to go there. That needs to end.”
On the other side, the Traditional Unionist Voice (TUV) has a different solution: clear the remaining prison buildings altogether. North Antrim MLA Timothy Gaston said, “Yes, let’s unlock the potential of the Maze site but let’s do so by bulldozing the problem—the prison buildings.” TUV leader Jim Allister, in a 2007 speech cited by News Letter, criticized the decision to list the prison structures, arguing that they failed the usual criteria of architectural interest and were instead preserved for their historical associations—an outcome he linked to Sinn Féin/IRA influence. Allister pointed out that the original request for listing came from Paul Butler, a Sinn Féin figure and former Maze inmate, which he called “bizarre.”
Victims’ groups and some unionists remain deeply opposed to any move that would open the remaining buildings to the public, fearing that the site would become a monument to republican violence. “Little wonder that the original request for listing came from Sinn Féin/IRA’s Paul Butler—a man who served time in the Maze for killing an RUC officer!” Allister remarked. Meanwhile, those advocating for preservation argue that the Maze is a vital part of Northern Ireland’s history, however painful, and should be accessible for education and reflection. Brownlie, echoing this view, said, “It should be opened up as a museum for people like myself or anyone interested in the history to go and visit.”
For now, the Executive Office remains non-committal, stating only that it “recognises the valuable work of the MLKDC and the huge potential of the site” and that “options for the way forward with the site, including further appointments to the board, are under consideration.” With the political stalemate showing little sign of breaking, and the Maze’s future as contested as its past, the prospect of meaningful regeneration—or even public access—remains a distant hope for many.
As the debate rages on, the Maze stands as a stark reminder of Northern Ireland’s unresolved history, and the enduring challenges of building consensus in a society still wrestling with the legacy of conflict.
