PC brigade are stifling proper debate on racism

Sunday Tribune 15 November

It was the image of the week. Alan O'Brien's face contorted with rage as he pierced the air with his finger and berated Pat Kenny on The Frontline. "Six hundred thousand pounds!" he roared, confusing currencies in his condemnation of Kenny's wages.
His outburst was so forceful, unexpected and prolonged that it had a surreal quality to it. At first I thought it was a comedy interlude. It soon became apparent, however, that this was no parody. O'Brien was as stable as the price of trophy houses in south Dublin.
The following day it was revealed that O'Brien was a former psychiatric patient. A "nutter" as the red tops put it. On Wednesday, the headlines screamed that the "nutter" was also a "racist". He was once convicted for incitement to racial hatred after verbally abusing foreigners on Grafton Street.
Commentators justified calling this mentally ill man a "nut" by counterbalancing it with the PC word "racist". You can get away with most things if you call someone a racist.
O'Brien says he's not racist: "I'm a white b****rd myself." He may have a point. The fact that he's a 'nut' weakens the racist tag. Being mad, he's not responsible for what he says, is he? I don't know if he's really a racist, although the words he used on Grafton Street certainly were.
Is the mayor of Limerick a racist? Last week, FG's Kevin Kiely was called one for saying that newly-arrived EU nationals should be deported if they haven't found a job within three months. This would stop them "abusing" the dole. The howls of "racist" were deafening. Is it racist to suggest we stop dole fraud?
Is Judge Aingeal Ní Chondúin a racist? Two weeks ago, comments she made in the Children's Court were criticised for reinforcing racial stereotypes. She said the Roma community seemed to raise their children to steal. At the time she was dealing with a Roma teenager who admitted theft. Is it racist to suggest that Romas raise their children to steal when there is evidence that some do?
There have been no satisfactory answers to any of the above questions, because there has been no debate about them. Just the predictable PC scramble to be heard crying "racist".
The opportunity to engage in a meaningful discussion about these issues has been squandered again. Ní Chondúin's remarks were ill-judged because they were too general. An entire community can't be bred to thievery. A proportion can, though, ie, a majority or minority. Many condemned her, but no one was brave enough to analyse what she said.
Ní Chondúin is an expert on children and crime. No one asked how many Romas she deals with in her court. Are we being overrun by Roma thieves? Or is it just a matter of one or two? Anyone who believes that no Roma children steal is as ignorant as Mayor Kiely.
Like the judge's comments, Kiely's were condemned but not analysed. There's a warped logic to what he believes. Our dole bill is crippling and some non-nationals are scamming the system. Last July, the Department of Social Welfare revealed that from a sample number of non-nationals claiming benefits, 11% were not living here. Kiely is right: cheats, like Roma thieves, do exist.
While the PC brigade branded him a racist, no one attempted to educate Kiely and people like him. To dispassionately point out that the authorities are pursuing dole fraudsters. To allay fears that all foreigners are potential cheats. To explain that the EU is trying to help us deal with unemployment among non-nationals. Last month, it granted us €600,000 a year from the EU Return Fund to help hard-up immigrants return home – if they want to.
When his party colleague, Leo Varadkar, suggested something similar last April he, too, was called a racist.
When you shout the word 'racist' without stopping to examine what's being said, you blur the lines between incitement and honest social commentary. There was a fine example of the 'race' word being used out of context in Joe Duffy's Irish Mail on Sunday column last week, calling a negative description of Ballyfermot, by an author, "racist rubbish". Racist? Are the people of Ballyfermot a new ethnic group?
This kind of kneejerking is dangerous. It stifles debate through fear. Fear breeds resentment. Resentment breeds racism.
Subconsciously, we might also be afraid of debating racism because this would be an admission that some Irish people are racist. We never colonised anyone – the Irish can't be racist, can we?
By making PC noises and not discussing the problems that come with racial integration, we are ignoring a time bomb. The country is boiling with anger: public sector v private, both sectors v the government. Who will the mob turn on next?
The budget is weeks away and the Christmas social-welfare bonus is being axed. It doesn't take a genius to see how this could create further tensions.
It's critical that we discuss all sides of the integration issue. People like Kiely must be made see how their generalisations are wrong. Not just told they're wrong.
Kiely must be made understand that his half-baked notions are far more dangerous than the racist ravings of Alan O'Brien on Grafton Street. People sometimes heed politicians. No one heeds nutcases.
Unless they're ranting about Pat Kenny, of course.

dkenny@tribune.ie

November 15, 2009

Someone in RTE should really talk to Joe

Sunday Tribune 8 November

I did something last week that I'm ashamed of. I emailed a radio show. I don't usually contact talk shows or write strongly-worded letters to the Times, but my irritation got the better of me.
On Wednesday, Joe Duffy unleashed the hounds on Jim Connolly, author of The Culchie's Guide to Dublin – a book which pokes fun at the capital. Unlike most of the people who ranted on Liveline, I have a copy. In it, Connolly describes Ballyfermot as a crime-ridden dump. Joe is from Ballyfermot. He was "outraged" and ripped Connolly asunder. As his listeners fought over Connolly's body parts, Joe wanted to know where he lived, despite this being flagged in the opening pages.
"Where are you from, Jim?"
"South Dublin."
"Where in south Dublin?"
"Dalkey." Dalkey. This was outrageous: a Dalkey snob demeaning the plain people of Ballyfermot. Joe finished him off by quoting the book's favourable description of Dalkey's, apparently, crime-free status. Cue a barrage of stereotyping about 'southsiders' from his listeners.
For the record, I'm from Dalkey and I know Connolly. I'm not defending him. He set out to be politically incorrect and can suffer the consequences. I'm not endorsing his book either – primarily because it's in competition with a similar book I wrote 10 years ago.
However, I will say that I have less of a problem with Connolly's offensive description of Ballyfermot than I do with Liveline's reaction to it. The outcry illustrated how we are being manipulated by people, like Duffy, peddling victimhood.
Siptu's Jack O'Connor is another victim­hood peddlar. On last Monday's Frontline, he accused Pat Kenny of owning a 'trophy' Dalkey home. Whether Kenny is overpaid or not, this was a cheap shot aimed at the union gallery. It was meant to reinforce Siptu's 'them-and-us' philosophy. The hypocrisy behind the jibe is ex­traordinary. O'Connor also earns a handsome salary – €124,000. That's what the state will have to pay to keep 12 of his members on the dole for a year. And that's where he's leading them, by fostering divisions between the public and private sectors.
Instead of behaving in the national interest, Siptu has been promoting a victimhood culture. The public sector feel victimised by the private because they have to take cuts and levies. The private sector feel victimised because they are paying for the public sector. And so it goes on, until we reach the obvious conclusion: a state of economic civil war.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines are people like Duffy, apparently observing but in reality egging the protagonists on, like he did last Wednesday. He accused Connolly of reinforcing stereotypes – and then hypocritically encouraged his listeners to do just that. Connolly was attacked not just for his comments, but also his address. According to Liveline's world view, all Dalkey-southsiders are spoilt, out-of-touch, snobs. Ironically, this is the same portrayal Connolly's book uses. Joe didn't mention this.
The reality is that the majority of Dalkey southsiders are decent, honest people – just like the residents of Ballyfermot. A small number are wealthy like Pat Kenny, but most are levied middle- and lower-in­come earners. Some are losing their houses and some have been made redundant.
Liveline has done a lot of praiseworthy work over the years. This was all about Joe though. His home had been insulted and so two days were spent denouncing something that merited three minutes, but probably should have been ignored.
This wasn't Tommy Tiernanesque. This wasn't the Lonely Planet guide insulting some national institution. This wasn't going to affect tourism in Ballyfermot. This was published in a book called The Culchie's Guide. How could this justify all the national airtime? Answer: ratings.
Duffy – like O'Connor – benefits from dividing society. Duffy wants ratings, so he pits one 'victimised' part of Dublin against an 'affluent' one. O'Connor causes disunity because he needs to justify his salary.
The perpetrators of the economic crime against us are Fianna Fáil and the bankers – not our beleaguered fellow citizens. Our energies should be focused on installing a new government – one which will get us working again – not fighting among ourselves. Unity is the only way out of this mess. We must not be manipulated by people like O'Connor and Duffy.
I mentioned earlier that 10 years ago I wrote a guide to Dublin. It made Connolly's book look PC. ('Summerhill Fair is where Dubs buy back their stolen handbags'/Southsiders are 'limp-wristed nincompoops'). Everything in it was deliberately untrue and, by Joe's standards, grossly offensive.
However, Dubliners got the joke and it became a bestseller. The difference between its reception and Connolly's is easy to explain – we didn't take ourselves so bloody seriously back then. This is what I wrote in my email to Joe. He didn't reply.
I'm sending you a copy of that book, Joe. It's going to annoy you and you might give it two days of free publicity like you did with Connolly's. You can email any complaints to the address below. I promise to respond.
'Talk to Joe' is the catchphrase. Yes, someone in authority in RTE should talk to Joe alright.

dkenny@tribune.ie

November 8, 2009

No piece of cake

Sunday Tribune 8 November

It's reputation as a haven for the elderly is just not fair. Dave Kenny had an action-packed, thrill-seeking holiday in Madeira, and not a zimmer frame in sight
David Kenny in Madeira


Madeira: land of the zimmer frame. God's waiting room, where pensioners sunbathe in their overcoats. Madeira, like the sticky bottle of wine named after it, sweet, old-fashioned, lingering in the back of the cupboard. Why would any youngish person want to spend their winter holiday in a place that shares its name with their granny's favourite cake?
This question troubled me as we touched down in Funchal. Along with "Isn't it strange that 'Mad' and 'Fun' are the first syllables of the island and its capital's names?"
At first view, Funchal looked a bit too built up. As if the buildings, housing 100,000, were designed on a standing-room-only basis. This didn't augur well. We checked in after dark and hoped the morning would show the city in a better light.
It did. As the sun rose, Madeira threw off its house coat and hair net and introduced itself properly. This is a beautiful, vertiginous island of soaring peaks and lush valleys. Of sheer green-thatched cliffs lapped by sapphire waters. For showiness alone, it's easy to see why the Portuguese claimed it 600 years ago.
Over the years it has built up a reputation as a pensioner's paradise – which it certainly is. However, what most don't realise is that it's also an adventure-seeker's playground. Madeira – which is sunny all year round – can be as adrenaline-fuelled as it is sedate. If it was a movie, it would be Cocoon.
Where do you start? The best way to experience Madeira is to alternate lazing by the pool (it's currently 25ºC) with excursions. These range from wine-tasting to clifftop paragliding. A morning whale-watching with a marine biologist costs €45 a head but is worth much more for the thrill of watching dolphins break the surface – like missiles from an underwater bunker – or a whale spouting 200m away from your boat.
How's your head for heights? A trip up to the Funchal parish of Monte – 800m above sea level – is a must. Four to a cable car, we ascended for 15 minutes, passing quietly over terracotta rooftops as the sea receded behind us and a wispy coils of mist beckoned us into the greenery at the summit. The trip costs €10 single or €14 return. Don't buy a return ticket. Instead, walk a few yards from the station – and skitter down the hill in a basket. Seriously, if you're happy to risk being mangled by a passing schoolbus, you have to try this. The basket toboggans seat two and are steered by men dressed as gondoliers who manipulate the wooden running boards with their rubber soles. It takes about 10 minutes of twisting and shrieking to get to the bottom where a hawker will offer you a photo of you displaying your tonsils for a tenner. I captioned mine 'Chicken in a Basket'.
Speaking of food, Madeira is festooned with excellent restaurants, such as Riso (from €30) which specialises in rice dishes and is partly al fresco, overhanging a lido and with great sea views. Espada (Black Scabbardfish) risotto with bananas may sound disgusting, but you'll ask for seconds.
O Jango is a superb fish restaurant in downtown Funchal, where you can choose your dinner date from a wide selection – John Dory, cod, espada etc – on ice near the kitchen. The grilled swordfish was the best I've ever had. Another island speciality is skewered, barbecued beef, hung at the table with a saucer to catch the juices – which are delicious mopped up with sweet potato bread.
Eating great food and fooling around in baskets was all very well, but the highlight of our trip was a 'levada' trek in the picturesque Laurisilva National Park. Back in the 1500s, the locals began constructing aquaducts (levadas) to bring water downhill to the farms. There are 2,170km of them clinging to the sides of towering, laurel-clad mountains. (I'm getting vertigo typing this.) At one point I found myself walking along a crumbly ledge, 25 inches wide, with nothing between me and infinity other than a 'fence' that looked like a washing line. If, like me, you're a gibbering coward, arrange for a walk with a guide through one of the less challenging routes.
In the afternoon, amble about the tiled streets of Funchal. Passing under the shade of the jacaranda trees, head for the market in the old quarter, where there is a vast array of tropical flowers on display.
Contrary to what you may have heard, Madeiran nightlife doesn't end with a cup of Horlicks at 9pm. Party-loving Madeirans let off steam at clubs like Vespa, Marginal, Café do Teatro and Chega de Saudade. The best advice is just to follow the crowd and explore the side of Madeira your granny never told you about.
Madeira is not what I expected. It's quirky, beautiful and good value for money. The Madeirans themselves are one of the best reasons for visiting. They're dignified, warm and – surprisingly, given the tourist demographic – very young. Forty percent of them are under 25.
Madeira/Funchal was Mad/Fun. I will definitely be returning – well before I need a zimmer frame.

Getting there

Topflight has just introduced Madeira to its Winter Sun Programme, in partnership with SATA Airlines, with direct Sunday flights to Funchal.
Dave Kenny stayed at the Tivoli Marina Hotel, which boasts top-class facilities and a courtesy bus into Funchal. www.topflight.ie
Weeks of 22 and 29 November

Dublin-Madeira

4* B&B from €499.50

Includes flights, transfers and seven nights' accommodation. Taxes not included.

The native liquor

A trip to Madeira isn't complete without a tour of a winery. The Old Blandy Wine Lodge is based in the heart of Funchal and runs visits and tastings. The Blandys are the only family of all the founders of the Madeira wine trade to still own their original wine company. They've been at it since 1811 and the lodge reeks of history. Madeira is a fortified wine, brown in colour and is used as an aperitif or, in higher alcohol doses, a digestif. Don't get the two mixed up.
A bottle of Rainwater Dry/Medium will set you back €6.90 while a single vintage 1993 costs €34. Whatever you buy will have to go in your suitcase, so quality over quantity is probably the best policy.
www.blandys.com

November 8, 2009

Ahern's God-damned blasphemy law no use in recession

Sunday Tribune, 1 November

Picture this: you're tottering home from the pub in Ennis, when you're overwhelmed by a call of nature. You run down a sidestreet and relieve yourself. Suddenly there's a loud buzzing, an electrifying flash and your nether regions light up like a Christmas tree. The owner of the shop you're peeing on – in this case Custy's music store – has installed an electric fence to stop people like you interfering with his property.
Conclusion? You won't do that again in a hurry.
It's a basic principle: your actions have consequences. The same applies for inaction too. Justice minister Dermot Ahern is today facing the consequences of his inactions. The latest CSO figures show that aggravated burglaries have increased by 51% this year and that 'ordinary' burglaries rose by 27% between July and September.
Shocking figures aren't they? Well actually, no, they're not. It's another basic principle: recession means that money goes down and crime goes up. Ahern has been expecting these figures.
Here's another figure Ahern is aware of: 25% of all serious crime is committed by people on bail (CSO, 2008). Prison overcrowding leads to more people on bail. This leads to more crime. Ahern admitted as much on 8 April when he told reporters that he couldn't tighten the bail laws because of overcrowding. There wasn't enough room to keep potentially dangerous suspects behind bars.
So what exactly has he done about overcrowding? Has he forced through the construction of Thornton Hall prison? You know the answer to that. In total, €40m has been spent on the project, with the government paying well over the odds for the site. Instead of turning the sod there, Ahern has been planting shrubs. The latest bill for Thornton Hall is €18,000 for gardening. Its maintenance has cost us €440,000 so far. Instead of a prison we have a well-groomed parkland.
Meanwhile, there's a burglar downstairs who should be behind bars. Get angry about it – but not too angry, if you don't want to get sued. Ahern won't amend the laws to allow homeowners to tackle burglars without being liable for injuries they receive. Or shop-owners. How soon before Custy's of Ennis is sued by some crotch-clutching moron?
The most credible long-term attempt by Ahern to deal with overcrowding was the introduction of the Fines Bill 2009. This allows for alternatives to custodial sentences for loan defaulters. In the past year, almost 300 people were jailed over unpaid debts. As more people lose their homes, more will go to court. More overcrowding, more bailings, more crime. Guess what? Like Thornton Hall, the bill is still at the talking stage. Ahern's detestable Blasphemy Bill made it into law before something that will alleviate needless suffering.
Along with these unfortunate prisoners, the jails will also have to accommodate a new brand of criminal – the Recession Burglar. A rising crime rate means more people heading to jail. With the traditional Christmas burglary spree coming, the situation can only worsen, putting more pressure on the system.
The Department of Justice is operating a revolving door which is spinning out of control. Last year, anyone serving under 20 months in Mountjoy's Dóchas unit was released to make space for more serious offenders. During the summer, overcrowding led to a huge increase in the number of offenders on temporary release. On 29 May, 14.65% of the prison population were at temporary liberty, compared to 8.75% in January.
Recidivist criminals have murdered while on bail. Last April, days after Ahern announced his Fines Bill, Gerard Barry was convicted of the rape and murder of Swiss teenager Manuela Riedo. He had been out on bail.
Ahern says that new beds recently provided across the service will deal with current overcrowding. As crime figures rise, they will not be enough.
Thornton Hall will not be ready for years, therefore other solutions are needed. One is the immediate implementation of the Fines Bill. Another is the reopening of the prisons closed by Michael McDowell. Their gates were shut because he expected Thornton Hall to be operational by now.
We must protect society and show compassion to prisoners. This can only be achieved with a functioning system, where custodial sentences are respected and inmates' rights are protected.
Jail must not be hell on earth – but it should be a deterrent. Wrongdoers – as the man urinating against Custy's shop discovered – must know that there are consequences to their actions.
Finally, there might be another way of dealing with Thornton Hall. It's a classic toxic asset, bought for too much money by the state. (See where I'm going with this?) Perhaps Nama has the answer. Maybe it can get it built by giving it away to a developer as a 'bonus buy'. "We'll even throw in this fully landscaped, rural idyll, with permission for a 1,400 bed guest house and several bars… on the windows."
If we continue to just plant flowers on it, we'll reap the whirlwind. In the meantime, Ahern must deliver credible alternatives to deal with the crime upsurge.
On a brighter note, there's one positive revelation in the new CSO figures. There's been no rise in the number of aggravated blasphemies. Nice work there, minister.

dkenny@tribune.ie

November 1, 2009

Enda Kenny, the red squirrel, has finally found his nuts

Sunday Tribune, 25 October

A red squirrel has been spotted in Kilkenny. This is good news: the native red has been almost wiped out by the aggressive grey. Now, after years in decline, it's back, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Enda Kenny is a lot like the red squirrel: in recent times he has been in decline. He too is gingerish and has a tendency to nibble and run away. Last week he finally stuck his teeth into something and called for the abolition of the Seanad.
This is a subject close to my heart. I wrote about it a month ago when senator Ivor Callely crashed his yacht. I wanted to know why we should have to indirectly help pay for its upkeep. The Seanad's meaningless, sponging existence should be put to a referendum. Our politicians must radically overhaul the system.
I received a gracious email from a popular senator who offered to bring me in and show me around (I'll get back to you when the Kevlar vest arrives). I don't know if his 59 colleagues read my attack on them. I don't know if Kenny read it either. I'm certainly not suggesting that he picked up the Sunday Tribune and was moved to tear down the Seanad. Mind you he hasn't convincingly explained why he suddenly shifted from reform to abolition. To hell with it, I'm taking the credit. Give us a shout Enda, I've LOADS more ideas for you.
The proposal scored well with the public but, typically, Kenny fluffed the follow-up. He was dreadful on Prime Time. During that interview he waffled on about a willingness to grasp "radical" solutions through "strong leadership". He reiterated the 'L' word in the Irish Times, name-checking his hero, JFK. "Decisive leadership". The sound of loins being girded was deafening.
The question is: was he talking to his party or us? Recently, I put it to a prominent Fine Gaeler that Kenny would never be taoiseach. The people don't want him, I said. He's too wishy-washy. The reply surprised me. "We'll sell ourselves as a team." There was no contradiction, no indignation, no loyalty. The word "coup" wasn't mentioned, but it was there, skulking in the corner.
Nobody was more shocked by Kenny's announcement than his party – notably the front bench. Was the surprise revelation of his Damascene conversion intended to flush out his enemies? Did he want to gauge loyalty by their reaction to a crotch-shot? Probably – at least as much as he wanted to regain popular ground from Eamon Gilmore.
Like a clutch of other senior politicians last week, Kenny was just throwing David Brent-like leadership shapes. Noel Dempsey acted like he was rehearsing for party leader when he squared up to his backbenchers over his drink-driving law. Brian Cowen was all "bring it on" with the unions over pay cuts. Gilmore told The Week in Politics that Kenny would make a good Tánaiste – ie "I'm your future leader".
What a shower of poseurs. Who do they think they're fooling? It's been a year since the economy fell off the cliff and still nothing has been done to lower down a stretcher. NOTHING. The rest of the world is recovering and we haven't even begun to tackle our banking crisis. We began talking about Nama in April and then the Dáil went on holidays. Last week it made it to the Oireachtas committee stage and, guess what, the Dáil is about to go on leave again. All of our leaders have disgraced themselves with their response to the recession. We should have had something in place months ago.
Real leaders tackle problems, they don't just flex their puny biceps. So, Brian, Enda, Eamon, stop telling us what great leaders you are/will be. We'll decide what you are after the dole queues begin to shorten.
Kenny cocked up on selling us Fine Gael's recovery plan and Nama now appears a fait accompli. To date he has yet to land a blow on this staggering government. Even the stunt of getting George Lee aboard hasn't been effective as he has yet to make his mark. The Seanad proposal hasn't wrong-footed them either – Dempsey has actually backed it.
That said, a good idea is a good idea, regardless of what you think of the instigator. It's already had an effect on our senators who are now begging to be reformed. Stunt or not, Kenny made an impact. A politician who is willing to attack a system that has lost the confidence of the people should be encouraged.
He now needs to move further to show he's commited to reform. He can do this by requesting that those senators who agree with him about the Seanad, for example Frances Fitzgerald, resign to save taxpayers' money. There are 15 Fine Gael senators earning €70k each plus expenses. If the Seanad is powerless as he says (which it is), they won't be missed. This would be a radical move with immediate effect, as opposed to something potentially years down the line.
If he does this, maybe the public will forgive the previous wishy-washiness. He's given us a hint that he may be capable of being a pragmatic leader. He still has some way to go but he's on the right track. Like the Kilkenny red squirrel, he may finally have found his nuts.

dkenny@tribune.ie

We all have a (toilet) role to play in economic recovery

Sunday Tribune 11 October

History is speckled with great recovery plans: there were the Young and Marshall Plans to get Europe back on its feet after the world wars. There was the Tallaght Strategy plan of the 1980s when Irish party politics was put aside for the good of the country. Then there was… The Blotto
Last April, I suggested that, instead of Nama buying toxic assets and leaving them idle, it should raffle them. We could call it the Building Lotto – or 'Blotto'. Each week, our blindfolded finance minister would pick a toxic deed from the pile in his office. This would then be Blottoed at €25 a ticket. The winner would win a half-finished development, potentially worth millions. If even half of the 80-million-strong diaspora played, that would generate €1bn a draw. 'Blotto! It could be
As crap ideas go, I argued, it was no worse than Nama. I smugly believed it couldn't be surpassed for lateral thinking. Then, last week, a schoolmistress in Cork came up with another plan: the Patch Up The Economy With Bog Roll
Not only has this eclipsed Blotto, it's also undermined my other recovery strategies such as the Adopt A Paddy Scheme. This features TV ads with a forlorn Paddy staring into his pint as the barman shouts: "Drink up, have you no homes to go to?" Paddy glumly shakes his head and the voiceover begins: "Paddy has no home to go to… since the bank repossessed it. For just €200 a day…
Or, the Roots For Your Roots Campaign. For just €10, a tree will be planted for you in Old Erin. Eighty million people multiplied by 10 = €800m. (With that many, they'd have to be bonsai trees.) Or the Be Honorary Mayor of Your Ancestral Town for A Month Scheme (€50) or the Buy a Piece of Irish Muck Scheme (€10). Or the Be Irish campaign. We could set up an agency to discover people's Irish roots, whether they have them or not, invite them over – and hold them for
On Tuesday, the Irish Independent reported that the principal of St John's, Carrigaline has a better idea. She has asked parents to give their children a toilet roll, now and again, for the school. This, she said, is part of a cost-containment plan – a statement which drew howls of righteous indignation from some editorial
Here's the thing though: although it is literally a crap idea, it is a brilliant one. Not only is it an imaginative response to the downturn, it also teaches children the value of generosity, prudence and, of course, bog roll. Michael O'Leary is said to be very impressed. Most of all, it's a new idea and all new ideas should be welcomed. The Carrigaliners have decided that, instead of just griping about money, some lateral thinking is
There were other examples of good lateral thinking last week. Offenders doing community service are to be given the task of removing graffiti from Dublin's buildings. Law-breakers cleaning up after law-breakers and saving money for the council. Why did no one think of this
On Wednesday, it was revealed that we have applied for EU funds to pay for flights home for non-nationals. People who want to leave here, but can't afford to, can soon avail of the scheme. We save on our dole bill. Good lateral
There was also an example of lateral thinking being punished by bureaucracy. Joan Ryan raised €300,000 to buy an exercise machine for disabled people after her daughter was paralysed. She saved the HSE money and now her charity has been hit with a €60k Vat
There was political lateral thinking too. Eamon Gilmore warned Siptu that Labour would not be its puppet in government. He is opposed to it striking. Gilmore was once a radical left-winger. This was a powerful, pragmatic statement. He has changed his mindset. Trade unionists must now do the
Carrigaline's example should be the new bog standard response to the downturn. The '80s had the Tallaght Strategy, this can be our Toilet Strategy: new, positive, pragmatic ideas to deal with our new problems. Community spirit like that shown in Cork won't pay off the billions we owe, but it will improve our quality of life, little by
Fianna Fáil is incapable of following this principle. Its deputies are hotwired to be self-serving. Look no further than Bertie, or John O'Donoghue, or the backbenchers revolting over expenses
It's also incapable of lateral thinking about the economy. Last week, it sat down with the Greens to refine the Nama plan. It's six months since this was first mooted. In that time we have had only two alternatives to it: a National Recovery Bank, championed by Fine Gael, and nationalisation. Six months and nobody has any fresh suggestions. What does that say about the mindset of our politicians? The schoolchildren of Carrigaline are wiping their backsides for them when it comes to dealing with the
The communities of Ireland, from Carrigaline to Killybegs, can lead our so-called leaders by example and start rebuilding, little by little. For my part, I'm posting my money-making schemes, written on loo roll, to Government Buildings this afternoon. Every little helps. Everyone has a (toilet) role to play.

dkenny@tribune.ie

Let's redefine treachery to get Bertie and the bankers

Sunday Tribune, 4 October

"There are llamas loose on the M50." I thought Seán O'Rourke would burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh on the News at One on Thursday. Llamas 'on the lam'. It wasn't quite "there's a moose loose aboot the hoose" but it was close.
Several hours later, the Cab (Criminal Alpacas Bureau) had rounded up the fugitive camelids. The Corpo appropriated them, valued them at €5,000 and the Australian Circus Sydney had to stump up or they were going to be sold on. It was a kind of 'Llama Nama'.
This was a perfect allegory for the week: a circus being held to ransom by clowns.
Down on O'Connell Street, protesting taxi drivers caused traffic misery in a bid to get the regulator's attention. I have a certain amount of sympathy for taximen, but not when they use us as hostages.
On Monday we had representatives of the public sector holding us to ransom over pay – at the ultimate expense of those on welfare. On Tuesday we had a farcical, raucous debate on RTé about Lisbon – both sides blackmailing us with various threats.
Along with this we had the resignation of the Fás board and yet more revelations about our politicians' expenses. 'Mé Féin' was ringmaster at Big Top Ireland and every selfish act it introduced bolstered the proposition that we're not fit to govern ourselves. We've given the country over to solipsistic jerks in the Dáil and on the ranks. Thick-skinned bullies who believe that we are here merely to do their bidding.
By Thursday evening, I had reached saturation point. Self-interest tedium had set in. I was no longer shocked or angry by selfish unions or taximen or TDs – just exasperated. You probably were too. This is a natural response to information overload. It happened with the Troubles in the North. Each report of an atrocity drew less of a response.
When I read that banker Seán FitzPatrick is entitled to free flights with Aer Lingus while having €106m in loans, I filed it under 'Nothing Would Surprise Me Anymore' and moved on.
Then, just as I was unfurling my white flag, up popped P Bartholomew Ahern TD. My knuckles whitened. On Tuesday, Bertie chaired a debate on Lisbon at the UCD Law Society where he declared himself 'neutral'. He wouldn't be taking any questions. (Bertie doesn't like questions.)
The following day, the first signs that the man who blew the boom is successfully reinventing himself appeared. The Indo gave him a soft ride in a playful report about the debate. It didn't question why a disgraced taoiseach would be so warmly welcomed by our future lawyers.
The Irish Times noted that he drew a tiny demo over fees outside the hall, while, inside, the students cheered him to the rafters. These are the same law students who will sign on as soon as they graduate, thanks to Ahern's policies.
How can we have forgotten so soon? Bertie has been hiding in plain sight since cocking up the economy. He has been walking around in his own solipsistic bubble, impervious to our anger. He knew that all he had to do was ride out the storm and eventually he would be home and dry. The public and the media would get tired of being angry with him. He was right.
Bertie brazened his way through a tribunal that nearly had to hold him upside down and shake him for answers. He told us he won money on horses and our jaws clattered on the floor. And here he was, reconstituted as elder statesman, wearing his old Teflon suit and smug grin. In any other country (bar, maybe, Libya) he would be hounded out of public life. In Ireland, he is asked to be an honest broker at debates.
Last week, Brian Lenihan said he was determined to punish those who had undermined the state. John Gormley also said that FitzPatrick would be made to pay back all his loans. A jaded public arched its eyebrow. It doesn't take a genius to see they were playing to the gallery. How can we believe that FitzPatrick will feel the consequences of his actions while Ahern is still giving us two fingers?
If Lenihan is really serious about dealing with economic wrongdoers, he could look to the Treason Act of 1939. This defines treachery in terms of warfare, but could be amended to punish those who, through financial mismanagement or wilful profiteering, threaten the survival of the state.
Such an amendment would make it easier for justice to be applied in the case of fallen politicians and bankers. Under such a definition of treachery Bertie Ahern and his Old Boys Club would be traitors. They should be punished as such.
We can complain about Siptu or taximen, but until we have made Ahern and his ilk accountable for the destruction of our economy, we can't expect them to behave in a more civic-minded fashion. 'Monkey see, monkey do', etc.
I started this column with a play on words about llamas and Nama. Here's another one: what's the difference between Nama and Bertie Ahern?
One deals with loss-making toxic assets – the other is a toxic ass that won't get lost.
Some day we might make him pay. I'm not holding my breath though.

dkenny@tribune.ie

October 4, 2009

The ram, the bull and the elephant in the room

Sunday Tribune, 27 September

Baltimore is no stranger to buccaneers. In 1631 two boatloads from Algeria sailed into its harbour and kidnapped 100 of its citizens. The locals still talk about the incident. Last July, the town suffered another devastating naval assault which will also be recalled over pints for years to come.
A salty old sea dog from foreign shores (Dublin) allegedly banged his vessel into a yacht and badly damaged a speed boat. He didn't hang around and headed to Sherkin Island (surely not Sherkin his responsibilities?). Later, according to reports last week, Senator Ivor Callely wore what looked like a kimono when gardaí interviewed him about the ramming.
I am still pouring bleach into my mind's eye to get rid of the image.
The most shocking thing about this story was not the chain of events or even the kimono. What really stunned me was the news that Ivor Callely's a senator. A SENATOR. I thought that when he lost his Dáil seat in 2007 he had retired from politics. Now I discover he's been hiding in the Seanad.
Callely was one of the oilier members of Bertie Ahern's club. He resigned as junior transport minister in 2005 after it was discovered that a well-known construction firm had painted his house for free. Then he lost his seat and decided to run for the Seanad. He lost that election too. So, unloved by the public and unwanted for the Seanad, Callely walked away, right? Wrong, Ahern consoled him with one of his 11 discretionary seats in the upper house.
Despite having shown him the door, we are still paying for this two-time loser to have a career. He is the embodiment of political cronyism and self-interest and is another good reason for abolishing the Seanad – an institution that most of us know little about.
Here's a question: how many senators can you name? Four? Five? Here's another: what exactly does the Seanad do? One thing it does exceptionally well is hoover up money.
Since 2007, Ivor and friends have claimed €5.6m in expenses on top of their €70,000 annual salary. That's an average of €47,000 for a part-time job.
You may think that's a waste of money but Seanad leader, Donie Cassidy, doesn't agree. He told a Sunday newspaper that "no one makes any money out of politics and if anybody says they do, I would like to meet them." Senator Cassidy, may I introduce Senator Callely? He has a yacht, you know.
There have been 11 reports on Seanad reform, yet it's still there devouring money. Colm McCarthy said its abolition would save €25m. That's our €25m and most of us don't get a say in who is elected to it. Its membership is decided by the political establishment and two universities. Generally, it is a retirement home for failed politicians and a halfway house for Dáil wannabes. As a national debating parlour, Liveline is 20 times more potent and democratic.
The Seanad has no powers other than to delay bills. Actually that's not true: it has the power to shut itself down when it fancies a round of golf. In May it decided to take a day off so that Donie and Co could go on an outing to Portmarnock. There were 'wigs on the green' over that.
Some genuinely gifted people have graced the Seanad – Mary Robinson, Feargal Quinn, David Norris, or Camp David as I like to call him. They don't, however, justify its existence. It's not even like we have any great historic ties to it either: it's only been around for 72 years. Common sense says that, considering our finances, we should scrap it. It also says that if our senators were interested in the state's welfare, they would debate the Seanad's worth, conclude it's worthless and vote to abolish it. As the Seanad is powerless, the result wouldn't be binding, but the process would give them something to do between golf outings.
What a banana republic. There are hundreds of thousands on the dole and we are paying people like 'Ram' Callely to do a meaningless job. We're paying for the upkeep of his yacht.
We live in a country where John 'Bull' O'Donoghue can waste hundreds of thousands of euros and only half apologise. Where a disgraced Fás chief can walk away with a golden handshake. Where those bankers who have betrayed our country are not behind bars for treason.
Our politicians have, grudgingly, taken token pay cuts. If they want to show real solidarity with their fellow citizens they should put the Seanad's fate to a referendum. There's a painful budget coming up and heeding An Bord Snip's thoughts about this club might soften the blow. It would show a willingness to come up with some new thinking.
Admiral Callely, for his part, believes in "new thinking". He says so on his website.
"I truly believe, together, with a redoubling of our commitment and effort, and with new thinking, we will see these tough times through and restore our country to more prosperous times. I invite you to join me in [sic] this journey…"
Join you on your journey, Callely? With you at the helm? Not bloody likely.

dkenny@tribune.ie

Nostalgia makes the hero infallible. It also masks his failures

Sunday Tribune 6 September

I was nine when my father brought me to his office for the first time. My stomach was in a knot as we drove up Nutley Lane. I was the luckiest boy in the world. Some kids' dads worked in paperclip warehouses or counted traffic cones for a living – mine worked in RTÉ .
My cheeks burned as I met people "from the telly" that afternoon. Professionally unsmiling newsreaders smiled at me and shook my hand. I discovered they even had legs or, in the case of towering Charles Mitchell, stilts. Snow-capped Don Cockburn wore bicycle clips as he saluted us from the shadow of the radio mast. Maurice O'Doherty's magnificent deadpan face creased into a grin as he traded affectionate insults with my father.
Then there was the Wanderly Wagon. It stole the show. We turned a corner and it practically "yahooed!!" at us, all showy bright paint, parked beside the slick glass TV building. Judge and O'Brien's caravan was taking a break from its adventures and I was allowed to touch it.
"Is Judge inside there?"
"He's probably in the canteen having his tea."
Over 30 years later I can still recall the excitement of seeing Wanderly Wagon glistening in the sun. Moments like those bind fathers and sons.
Last week, 1974's Safe Cross Code TV ad, featuring the Wanderlies, was relaunched. All together now: "One, look for a safe place. Two, don't hurry…" I was brought back to sunny summer holidays in Laytown. It never rains in your memories, nostalgia is a great umbrella.
Last week, the boy in the ad was 'outed' as Fianna Fáil TD, Chris Andrews. That's handy: when times are rough in the Dáil he can start singing and all will be forgiven in a swell of nostalgia.
On Thursday, his cousin Ryan Tubridy dipped into the past too. He told how Gay Byrne had advised him about the Late Late. The nostalgia chord was struck. Is he the new Gaybo? We were told that the original theme tune was returning, revamped. Nostalgia as a sales tool – if you forget that Gay's show was insufferable at times. Just because we associate something with our youth doesn't mean it was any good.
The same could be said of Oasis, who have announced their split. Last week I played 'Don't Look Back in Anger' in honour of my 20s. Memories of the '90s, and the Tiger party kicking off, came tumbling back. Nostalgia. Only the party is over and now we have Nama to cure our hangover.
As I moshed about in my past, another generation recalled theirs, watching Ted Kennedy's funeral. Poor Teddy. Bereaved brother, raconteur, peacemaker – he came good in the end. Nostalgia can make heroes of us all. Even if we have a dead girl in our car, or years wasted philandering.
Another American hero returned last week to re-run news reels in our heads. Ali, still handsome but almost entombed by disease, came to meet his cousins. "Float like a butterfly…" I remember crying when he lost to Leon Spinks in 1978.
Nostalgia makes gods out of heroes, despite their flaws. Ali nearly destroyed arch-enemy Joe Frazier with his cruel "Uncle Tom" taunts. He nearly broke his own wife too, when he flaunted his new girlfriend on TV in Manila while she watched at home. A hero with feet of clay. Cassius Clay.
Nostalgia is the opiate of the masses in post-boom Ireland. Instead of facing the present, we're constantly looking back. This is because the past is a Nama-free country. There are no repossessions when you live in a Wanderly Wagon or parking fines on our Safe Cross Code roads. There are no greasy politicians like John O'Donoghue, just prodigal statesmen like Teddy. There are only heroes, like Ali.
We turn to our childhood because it's preferable to being a grown-up at the moment. We want someone older and wiser to make things better. That's why so many people listened to Garret FitzGerald when he backed Nama last week. He represents an heroic age, spent battling recession and CJ Haughey. Garret is part Ali, Teddy and cuddly Wanderly Judge. Most of all, Garret is the nation's grandad. "If Garret says Nama is okay, then…"
Nostalgia makes the hero infallible. It also masks his failures. Garret made one of the greatest unforced errors in political history. He brought down his government by trying to tax children's shoes in 1981.
Nostalgia makes us forget the Messiah is human. Maybe that's a good thing, though. Maybe, by blinkering us, nostalgia helps us fulfil a human desire to start trusting again. Maybe a leap of faith with Garret is what we need – we're potentially knackered any way you look at it.
When I was 11, I was tall enough to finally see over the half door of the Wanderly Wagon. I climbed up, trembling with excitement. My dad watched my heart crash through the floor. There was no Judge, no O'Brien. There wasn't even a table and chairs. Just bare wood. Wanderly Wagon was a shell, an illusion.
Thirty years on, Safe Cross Judge is back on TV, teaching a future politician how to cross the road. Thirty years on, Fianna Fáil still has muppet advisers.
Considering the past, that's still one hard illusion to shatter.

dkenny@tribune.ie

September 6, 2009

Want to redeem yourself Harney? That'll be €7m

Sunday Tribune 30 August


Here's a trivia question: which minister was first to impose a smoke ban on Dublin? Micheál Martin or Mary Harney? Here's a clue: it was a no-brainer of a decision.
If you're over 30 you'll remember how thick smog used to choke Dublin's streets on still winter evenings. As a teenager working for the Irish Press; I used to dread those nights when it turned Burgh Quay into a horror movie set. My first 'job' was death-notice messenger, which was macabre enough without added atmosphere. Undertakers would phone in their notices, ask for a copy to be sent to the Indo and I would be flung, jibbering, out the door with a ream of print-outs.
Eight times a night I crossed the Liffey with a list of dead people under my arm, terrified that some nutjob would lunge out of the smog at me. Then, in 1990, Harney banned 'smoking' bituminous coal and the smog vanished forever. It was one of her best achievements.
Nineteen years later, she says she wants to ban sunbeds. Getting rid of something that's bad for you is a "no-brainer", she said last week.
Her old friend, Bertie Ahern, doesn't believe in getting rid of something that's bad for us – namely himself. He's indicated that he will stand again if there is a snap election, to make up FF numbers. To Bertie this is a no-brainer. He's right – only the brainless would think it a good idea to put him back in the Dáil.
Ahern, the man who blew the boom, is proof that all political careers end in failure. The same may be said of Harney. She started out so well though. When she was expelled from Fianna Fáil in 1985 for defying Haughey over the Anglo Irish agreement, many of us thought, 'Here's a woman with integrity.' We saw the formation of the PDs and thought, 'New liberal party with integrity. Looking good,' and then watched as Fianna Fáil slowly enveloped it, like a grubby smog.
The first signs of Harney reverting to FF type came in 2001 when she used a government plane to fly her to the opening of a friend's off-licence in Manorhamilton. (She's since been embroiled in the Fás expenses scandal.) Despite this, many still had high hopes for her when she took over Health in 2004.
Her first move was to set up the HSE. Two years later, the Euro Health Consumer Index ranked our healthcare 26th in Europe – out of 26 countries. In 2008, we were ranked 11 out of 31. So some improvement there, and there are others to be fair. Such as in monitoring of standards and infrastructure. The overhaul of St Vincent's is a good example of the latter in Dublin. Saying that, Loughlinstown is terrifying.
Standards, in general, are getting better in our hospitals. The problem is getting into one. Waiting lists are a disgrace. For instance, don't get a hernia in Tallaght. There is an 11-month wait to get it repaired at Tallaght hospital. By comparison, in Britain, the maximum wait for any procedure is 18 weeks. For suspected cancer it's two.
Wrap your children in cotton wool, too. Last Wednesday, Crumlin said it didn't know when the 25-bed ward and operating theatre there would reopen – it's been closed since May.
Other areas are dreadful too: stroke, mental health, cystic fibrosis care… The HSE is still an overstaffed, incompetent mess and responsibility for this lies with Harney.
Last week, Labour's Jan O'Sullivan said Harney has "lost interest in the job. She hides behind the HSE and doesn't want to engage with people." When she does, her "dictatorial approach backs people into corners" and makes matters worse.
All the signs point to this. Harney's best days are behind her. Her party's dead. Health – the job no one wants – is now a sinecure for her, like Ahern's Dáil seat is one for him. They both share the same breathtaking level of arrogance and self-entitlement.
Occasionally, she ventures out of Fortress HSE and makes a pronouncement. Last week it was about sunbeds. Harney told Lance Armstrong's cancer conference that she was looking into banning them. She was talking rubbish. In 2006 she said she would introduce legislation banning children from using them – and it still hasn't arrived. How long would it take her to bring in an all-out ban? She could do it tomorrow, if she really was interested. Her department, by the way, doesn't even fund any skin cancer awareness campaigns.
Harney made a fool of herself last week. The international reaction to her halting of the €7m cervical-cancer vaccine scheme was mortifying. She is looking for cuts of €800m from the HSE and can't spare €7m to save lives. Up to 80 women a year die from cervical cancer. What is the cost of treating a cancer patient, minister?
All political careers end in failure. Some will remember Harney as the minister who banned smog. All of us will remember her for failing to protect Irish women.
Harney has become an arrogant, cantankerous journeywoman. She's not stupid – she knows she can redeem herself. The only thing standing in her way is pride. And a paltry €7m.
It's a no-brainer, Mary.

dkenny@tribune.ie

August 30, 2009

It's shocking to find a murder story on your doorstep

Sunday Tribune August 23


Thunder rumbled beyond Dalkey quarry as I walked into the village: a storm was threatening to move in from the south. It was almost tacky, like a bad special effect, but matched the gloomy mood about the place on Thursday.
A group of subdued young people in black crowded around a gate. The funeral of Shane Clancy had taken place that morning in the church. The suicidal student murdered Sebastian Creane in Bray last Sunday in a jealous rage over his ex-girlfriend, Jennifer Hannigan. I presumed these young people were mourners. They may have been the young voices extolling Clancy's virtues the previous day on Joe Duffy's Liveline. "He was a great man," said 'Phillip'. "An all-round really nice guy," said 'Jennifer'.
Phil Coulter also came on air to lament tragic Sebastian Creane, the innocent friend of his children. "It's the kind of unreal thing you read about in the papers that always happens to somebody else, but when it comes to your door…" he said.
Headlines become three dimensional when you live in a village. I walked down Castle Street to buy the papers, past The Queen's where Sebastian spent his final hours with teetotaller Clancy on Saturday. As they left at 3am, I was leaving a party nearby. I might have passed them, I thought.
I eat in restaurants within feet of Clancy's house and occasionally drink in The Club, where he and Jennifer worked. He may have packed my shopping during a charity drive in EuroSpar. He lived half a mile from me and knew people I know. Even as a cynical hack, it's shocking to find a murder story on your doorstep.
I fine-combed the papers, wanting to understand Clancy and his crime. There were grainy photos and timeline maps in the Independent. The Irish Times carried the story about him buying knives at 4am on page one. The Daily Mail painted a picture of an enraged stalker – the Evening Herald that of a teetotal charity worker who had gone psychotic. It also carried an interview with a Jesuit who had strident views about the case.
What had started in the village rumour mill as a crazed stabbing, the papers fleshed out as a crime of passion.
Around the country, others pored over the details too, trying to understand. Interest was so great that the murder eclipsed a spate of stabbings on the streets of Mayo. Stabbings don't normally happen in Ballinrobe. Why was Bray more newsworthy?
The reason is that the Mayo attacks happened on the street – where we expect them. The Clancy stabbing, on the other hand, happened in a suburban home and involved a jilted lover from a 'celebrity' village. The story has an obvious, tabloid attraction.
However, once you strip away the voyeuristic aspects, another reason for our fascination with this type of story emerges – fear. This was a 'next-door killing'. We subconsciously fear that something similar could happen beside us or, worse, in our own homes. Therefore, we forensically examine the story to make sense of the crime. What was the reason? We have to have a reason, because if there isn't one, it will haunt us.
Ten years ago, almost to the week, Raonaid Murray was murdered a mile from Dalkey. No motive or killer has been found. Every year her story is republished and every year we read it, hoping for a breakthrough. Until her mystery is solved, there is a killer still living among us. We read hoping for closure.
Whenever the Herald carried a Rachel O'Reilly story at the peak of the interest in her murder, sales increased. Raonaid, the Robert Holohan tragedy in Cork, Siobhan Kearney in Goatstown and the Club Anabel's death of Brian Murphy all did likewise. Sales were boosted by people's need to make sense of the seemingly senseless. If Rachel's husband didn't murder her, who did? Is there a serial killer on the loose? And so on.
Ireland is becoming more violent. We fear confronting car thieves or kids vandalising a Dart carriage. We fear intervening in street fights. Most of all, we fear violence creeping into safe suburbia, as it did with Bray. As readers, we have the closure we need with this case. It wasn't random: we have motive and killer. The families are not so lucky and other questions remain. Why were the warning signs not spotted? Should a young man be able to buy a block of knives at 4am?
In his homily, Dalkey's parish priest spoke of Clancy's psychotic state and prayed for him to be at peace.
Jesuit blogger Fr Fergus O'Donoghue was not so kind. "All the psycho-babble explanations in the world will not take away from the fact that this killing was pure evil," he told the Herald. "Some will want to take comfort in a psychological explanation, but that won't help."
Statements like that won't help Shane Clancy's friends and family either as they deal with their grief. His final acts defined his short life, but branding him evil on the day they buried him is brutal and grossly insensitive. The theological discussion about Clancy's character could have waited until the mourners had gone home and the clay had settled.
I'm sure Joe Duffy would have handled the debate admirably.

dkenny@tribune.ie

August 23, 2009

Baron Wince, Tara and the lords of incompetence

Sunday Tribune 16 August


Tenner for the first person who guesses what 'Carbon Wine', 'Brace In Now!' and 'Bare Cow Inn' have in common. My travelling companions didn't make the connection. One threatened to connect his fist with my gob if I didn't shut up, though.
On Tuesday we headed to Tullamore for a lads' night out with a friend who has swapped the Liffey for Offaly (he's a 'Liffo'). I spent the journey shouting out stupid anagrams of people's names to irritate the other passengers. I can be really, really, really annoying when I'm bored.
Brian Cowen's name is stuffed with good anagrams, like the ones above, but I discovered one that describes him perfectly. It's 'Baron Wince'. You know the way you wince at your bills these days? That's down to Baron Wince – Ireland's Lord of Pain.
We headed to the Baron's local, the Brewery Tap, because I wanted to ask him what he knows about bi-location – being in two places at once. Noel Dempsey got me wondering about this last week as he defended the latest news from Tara. The Baron wasn't about, so my question had to wait. (We'll return to it later.)
The news from Tara is that we will have to compensate the operators of the M3 if the number of cars using it falls below a target agreed by the state. So what's that target? Don't ask the National Roads Authority. It would only say last week that it was "competitive".
Don't ask Dempsey either. Newstalk's Eamon Keane asked him if the public will ever be told. Not if it's commercially sensitive, he replied, adding "what we WILL know is if the target is NOT reached". So there you have it. How many cars make the M3 viable? Answer: mind your own business.
Even after all the crookedness Fianna Fáil has displayed towards Tara, this latest revelation stopped me in my tracks. What next? Are they planning to sell the rights to Tara's name, like The Point did to 02? Will we see 'Welcome to The Hill of Eurolink' as we approach Tara? It wouldn't surprise me.
The M3 scandal embodies all that is wrong with Irish politics: greed, wastefulness, ignorance and a total disregard for democracy. Nobody wanted it in Tara/Skryne bar Fianna Fáil, which was so eager to destroy the valley that it paid almost €69,000 an acre for it. So eager, that it bulldozed the national monument at Lismullen, sparking an expensive European Court case. If/when we lose, we could be ordered to do a new environmental impact study and go back to scratch on the site.
Unesco may also order the road to be moved if it deems Tara a World Heritage Site. Environment minister John Gormley is afraid of this so he delayed presenting it for consideration. The obvious thing to do now is halt the M3 pending Unesco and the court's decisions. 'Green' Gormley, however, is hell-bent on completing a motorway that is destroying a heritage site, may have to be moved and may not prove viable.
A shortfall is highly likely. Last April it was predicted that almost 23,000 vehicles would use the M3 daily when it opens next July. Those numbers need to be readjusted because of the recession. Last month, Meath experienced the largest increase in people signing on – an extra 17,000 people, or 4%. That means a lot of cars off the road until the gloom recedes. On top of that, the remaining workforce won't want to pay €11.20-a-day in tolls when the rail service to Navan opens. Incidentally, neither Dempsey nor Gormley will have to pay the tolls – ministerial cars are exempt.
The pair's record with sums is appalling: last year Dempsey spent €70,000 on a new logo for Transport 21. The existing one had been developed in-house… for free. At around the same time, Gormley spent €15m on a climate change advertising campaign and only €5m on the Warmer Homes Scheme.
Two men, two things in common: the M3 and financial incompetence.
Remember I wanted to ask Brian Cowen about bi-location? The M3 bail-out has made it theoretically possible for me to be in two places at once – driving through Meath while at home in Dublin. Here's my question: why should I pay a toll on a road I don't want, will never use, in a county I don't live in, to a foreign consortium – for the next 45 years?
Fianna Fáil has secretly shackled us to a road that's in the wrong place. It agreed to underwrite a bad development that was in trouble from the start. How many other similar deals has it done? After this, how can we trust its judgment on Nama?
Last week, the Greens made noises about holding a convention on Nama. Under party rules, Gormley and Co can be ordered to vote it down, effectively ending the coalition.
Here's another question about location: where were the Greens' grass roots when the rest of us were discussing Nama? Why have they suddenly discovered their voices when the Dáil is on holidays? Are they serious or just posing?
Considering the Greens' hypocrisy to date, another two-word anagram comes to mind. It's of 'T-a-r-a' and is normally preceded by "I smell…"
It's also always associated with sinking ships, Mr Gormley.

dkenny@tribune.ie

Here's some media advice, Beverley: stop laughing at us

Sunday Tribune, 9 August

Summer 1984 ended too quickly. May crashed into June as the 'mock' became the Leaving. Fourteen years of school were over. July flew: a blur of discos at the Cliff Castle Hotel, dancing to Dexy's 'Come on Eileen', and evenings at the Pierrot Club scrounging coins to play PacMan. Afternoons zipped by, hanging around our road, ogling Spanish students and rehashing gags from the Young Ones. Disguising dread with stupid banter as August, and results day, sprinted in.
Leaving Cert summer is a type of No Man's Land between childhood and adulthood. I didn't want mine to end. Results day terrified me: it meant either college or the shame of a repeat year. For many it meant a ticket to England or America. We were the last generation of Irish to emigrate.
Two other fortysomethings who were in the news last week also waited on exam results in 1984. One was from Glenageary, the other from Castlebar. Both went on to UCD. Both are politicians. Both are shameless opportunists.
The former made headlines during the Thomas Cook sit-in on Grafton Street. On Tuesday I watched the 'protestors' singing 'Ireland's Call' and behaving as if they were on some kind of a patriotic mission. I cringed. They were deluding themselves. They weren't heroes. They had been offered a good redundancy package and greedily wanted more.
The appearance of left-wing campaigner Richard Boyd Barrett added to my irritation. He's respected for his work in Dun Laoghaire, but what was he getting involved in this for? This was a circus. His presence, however, prompted me to look closer at the story and my attitude changed.
Thomas Cook's profits were up 35% last year and its CEO received a 34% pay rise and a €7m bonus. It's making buckets of money. When the workers tried to negotiate for more, management moved to close the office ahead of schedule. They were being 'railroaded'. The employees had no right to defy a court order ordering them to leave, but their action was understandable.
The country can't afford industrial mayhem, but workers can't be expected to just roll over either. Sacrifices must be made, but people's rights must also be protected. Ireland has already been run into the ground by ruthless profiteers. Profiteers who are constantly in the sights of arch opportunist, Boyd Barrett.
While his sincerity isn't in doubt, the Glenageary man knows the value of a picture of him being arrested with the protesters. It helps further his socialist agenda. Still, even if you don't agree with his beliefs, you can't deny he's in politics for the right reasons.
Now look west. Another opportunist is making headlines. Unlike Boyd Barrett though, Beverley Flynn only ever makes headlines for the wrong reasons. The latest is that she claimed almost €30k in expenses for work done by a media adviser.
Beverley has always been good with money. After her failed libel action against RTé she dragged her heels over the €3m costs and got away with paying only half. Bertie Ahern later declared she would be a minister some day. Possibly minister for finance given her dexterity with taxpayers' money.
Earlier this year, we learned she was still claiming €41k of expenses as an independent TD. Despite public revulsion, Beverley keeps soldiering on.
No wonder she needs a media adviser. Here's a piece of media advice, Beverley: wipe that smirk off your face. You look like you're laughing at us. Your bloated self-importance is stomach-churning.
Flynn, and others like her, proves Boyd Barrett's case that Ireland needs a new radicalism to shake up the establishment. I obviously don't mean turning the country into a socialist state, but to adjust the balance. To stop a small part of the population screwing the rest. You know, like in a R.E.P.U.B.L.I.C.
Those of us who did our Leaving in the '80s claimed to have built a new Ireland. What we actually built was a New Babylon, founded on greed and toppled by our towering self belief. We wanted more, more, more and so overstretched to buy overpriced houses. Both parents then had to work to pay the bills. This created a new breed of latch-key kids, flush with guilt-money from their absentee parents. They became designer accessories for mum and dad: the more spoiled your child, the more affluent you looked.
So we have a generation of cosseted kids staring out over No Man's Land as the hours tick down to results day. I feel sorry for them. For all their cockiness they're more vulnerable than we were. We were prepared for the worst. They've only ever tasted success and aren't prepared for failure. Unlike us, they have no escape route to England or America.
What's more, we've loaded them with another responsibility: the task of rebuilding this country over the coming decades. They can start by looking at two individuals who awaited exam results 25 years ago this week. Boyd Barrett and Flynn. Who is giving more to society? Who has made the most of their potential? Our school-leavers' answer to this will be the key to Ireland's emergence as a just society.
And kids, if you ever need a media adviser, I know just the man for the job.
And I'll do you a good deal …

dkenny@tribune.ie

August 9, 2009

Bertie's 'legacy' is as good as his fashion sense – rotten

Sunday Tribune August 2

I have an admission to make. It's not pleasant, so prepare yourself. I once… God, this isn't easy… I once owned a pair of… white shoes. And an electric-blue Miami Vice jacket, white baggies and a canary yellow polo shirt with matching tie. I also had a mullet. I never wore white socks though – I swear it. Sorry if the image is putting you off your brunch.
I used to wear the jacket's sleeves rolled up. I had to: I bought it for £19.99 in Unique Boutique and in my hurry to leave before anyone I knew saw me being such a cheapskate, I grabbed a size three times too big for me. Still, I thought the huge shoulder pads made me look manly. My dad said they made me look like Joan Collins dressed as a rent boy. The jacket ended up in the cat basket after that.
I was reminded of my fashion unconsciousness last week when I saw pictures of Bertie Ahern at the Galway Races. Bertie, one expert wrote, broke the cardinal rule of not wearing navy with black.
He was a right mess: navy jacket, striped shirt and tie – clashing so badly they nearly gave me an epileptic fit – and black trousers. Bertie looked like the kind of man who tucks his shirt into his underpants and wears his socks in bed. Not that I ever want to find out.
When Garret FitzGerald wore odd socks it suggested he was too busy juggling matters of state to notice. Bertie can't claim the same excuse. He hasn't much to worry about as he's on holidays until September. Not that he's been too busy at work. In his first year as ex-taoiseach, Bertie missed 85% of Dáil votes. He didn't even attend for a vote on the bank bailout.
The main thing on Bertie's mind last week was the demise of the Fianna Fáil tent at Galway Races. "Some of the flak it got over the years was a bit unfair," he said, "but it never worried me."
Nothing ever worries Bertie. Nothing: like the intake of breath when he told the planning tribunal he had won sums of mysterious money on the gee-gees.
Nothing: like the economy he helped wreck through his profligacy. The economy that last week pinned its hopes on Nama, set up to bail out his developer friends and rescue deals struck over pints in that same Fianna Fáil tent.
He's not worried about the Commission on Taxation either, as it prepares to recommend introducing a property tax. He can afford it – unlike the 78 families whose homes were listed for repossession in court last Monday. The government is going to tax the house Bertie encouraged you to buy, as you struggle to hold on to it.
As he checked the form last week, Bertie was probably glad he no longer has a garda minder. He wouldn't have been able to concentrate, with him moaning about his pension.
The gardaí last week legally challenged the levy on their sweet-deal pension. If they succeed, more public-sector challenges will follow. If only Bertie hadn't over-inflated the public sector. Never mind, spotted any 'bankers' on the card, Bertie?
Bankers? Last Monday, Permanent TSB raised its rates. Bertie's colleague, Brian Lenihan, said he wouldn't intervene. He gave PTSB a state guarantee and now it's giving him the finger. Didn't you promote him to cabinet, Bertie? Good judge of form, there.
It's enough to make you sick – if you can afford to be sick. The HSE last week published a list of chemists who won't 'strike' over the Drugs Payment Scheme row. Typically, the list was wrong and included one pharmacy which closed three months ago. Wasn't the HSE put under starter's orders by your government, Bertie?
While Ahern was at the races, the fall-out continued from his 2002 deal capping the church's liability over child-abuse payments. Last week, the state was still waiting for a statement of assets from one of the 18 orders named in the Ryan report. Presumably, it will pass the post some day soon, Bertie.
Some people like to blindly stick a pin into the racing pages when choosing a runner. You could have stuck one anywhere in the paper last week and skewered a piece of Bertie's 'legacy'. Or a picture of him: smug, laughing. Funny Bertie. As funny as a hernia. Bertie Ahernia.
Ahernia used to spend thousands on make-up, but his dress sense on Tuesday suggests he couldn't be bothered keeping up appearances any more. The real Bertie is resurfacing, as shabby as his 'legacy'.
Not that he sees it as shabby. The Washington Speakers Bureau describes him as having "brought economic prosperity, peace and political prominence… creating a progressive strategy and blueprint for other countries of the world to follow". Who wrote that CV?
I suspect I wasn't the only person watching Bertie acting the retired champion last week and wishing he was finally put out to grass.
When he said he never worried about flak taken over the Fianna Fáil tent, I happily imagined him being boiled down for glue.
The FF tent is gone but, like the odour of stale horse manure, Bertie lingers on.
Roll up your tent and take a hike, Ahern. You're not at the races any more.

dkenny@tribune.ie

August 2, 2009

Airport tax doesn't put me off flying but O'Leary does

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Sunday Tribune 26 July

Bags unpacked, fridge magnets in place and the last of the after sun squirted over the peeling bits: the holidays are over. I'm not complaining, though. I was grateful for the break from the relentless bad news. During the fortnight I was away, the only 'Snip' I heard was the label being cut off the new, larger, shorts my expanding belly forced me to buy.
This year we were determined to leave catching up on events to the bitter end. On the way from the airport the taximan got as far as "So what do you think abou…" before we yelled "Stop!" A relative managed "Recess…" before we wrestled her to the ground.
On Tuesday, Her Nibs finally turned on the telly – as if she was detonating a bomb by remote control. We chose the BBC, to avoid any bad news from home. Bad choice. Up pops Ryanair's Michael O'Leary spinning figures and moaning about airport taxes, which he says are putting people off flying. He's cut some winter flights from Stansted in protest and is expected to announce the same here.
O'Leary has the same effect on me as haemorrhoids have on jockeys. It's the man-of-the-people act that gets me: when he puts on fancy dress, gurns and Takes On The System. What man-of-the-people has his bank balance? What people-friendly organisation cuts dozens off from their holiday homes in Fuerteventura by withdrawing flights in a business row? Ryanair did, two weeks ago.
This latest gripe suggests he's either deliberately talking rubbish or is completely out of touch.
His tax theory falls apart when you consider the ordeal that air travel has become. Let's start with booking. Ryanair insists you print your own boarding pass. If you forget you're fined €40 – four times the airport tax plus a surcharge of extra stress.
When you arrive at the airport you have to queue for security. Forgotten the plastic bag for your 100ml of liquids? That'll be €1 for two, please.
Instead of cashing in on this rule, airports should be lobbying to have it abolished. It's a joke. Last year, a friend was stopped with 150ml of expensive moisturiser and refused to hand it over. Instead, she squeezed half into a Zippy bag and was let through. What was she going to do? Hijack the plane by threatening to give the pilot a facial?
The next stress point is the scanner and trying to remember to remove all metal objects, your laptop, your shoes, your belt and keep moving. This, by the way, is when you discover you've holes in your socks and everyone else discovers your novelty underpants as you struggle to keep your trousers up.
Whereas the staff are always pleasant, the scanner is a bit on the sensitive side. A female friend's bra frequently sets it off. We call it her Booby Trap Device.
Bras aside, Dublin airport has recently added another item to its Most Dangerous list… the pop-up umbrella. This has to be scanned separately in case, presumably, you storm the cockpit with it. "Don't move, I've got an umbrella… and it's spring loaded!" Mary Poppins flew with an umbrella. Bet she never had it scanned.
To avoid the gate scrum we normally gamble on Ryanair's priority boarding and hope that everyone else hasn't had the same idea. In Krakow a couple of years back, a friend discovered it gave him priority boarding… onto the bus to the plane. Being first on meant he was last off. There's value for money.
Speaking of value for money, O'Leary loves finding new ways to milk his herd. The latest are to get passengers to load their own luggage – turned down on security grounds – and stand for the flight. The next may be to strap a few to the wings.
Then there was the proposed charge for the loo. What if you hadn't any coins? That's where the plastic bags you bought at security would come in handy. Once filled, they could be given to the stewardess who – as a Ryanair employee – is probably used to taking the p***.
What about installing pedals at every seat to save on fuel bills: Passenger Power?
With all this in mind, you have to conclude that O'Leary is wrong about the tax being a disincentive to fly. If we're willing to put up with all the crap he and Dublin airport fling at us, then who cares about a lousy tenner?
The recession is the reason people are cutting back on foreign holidays. If you're fortunate enough to have saved for one, you're not going to let a €10 tax put you off. The tariff also brings in extra revenue from foreign tourists and it all goes into the state's – not O'Leary's – coffers. That's why he's so annoyed: he wants that tenner. He reckons if you've paid it in tax you'll be less inclined to buy his Baggies or Cup-A-Soups. It's eating into his profit margins.
O'Leary has some neck whingeing about taxes given that he considered introducing one himself four months ago: a fat tax on porky passengers. After weeks of winding everyone up, he dropped it.
Pigs will probably fly before he stops mouthing off about this one though, and gives us all a break.
I definitely need another one now.

dkenny@tribune.ie

July 26, 2009

It's a cruel, cruel summer, but at least I've got ELO

Sunday Tribune 5 July


I HAVE good news. I won't be giving out about anything this week. I decided this on Wednesday while listening to RTÉ's Drivetime. Along with the relentless misery there was a piece marking the 30th birthday of the Sony Walkman. It raised the clouds for a few minutes.
So the following is a sort of Happy Birthday to the Walkperson. It's for people from a certain age group. So kids, bugger off to your room now.
I remember the first time I saw a Walkman was behind my school's handball alleys. Ten Major in hand, I turned the corner to see Andrew Flood surrounded by a crowd of excited, spotty adolescents. He was shouting. "BRILLIANT!!!! JUZCANGEDENNUF, AH JUZCANGEDENNUF!!!!" What a mentaller, I thought.
"What's up?" I asked Charlie Costello, trendsetter of fifth year.
"He's listening to my Walkman," he explained.
"Oh." I nodded knowingly, not having a clue what a Walkman was.
"Here," he lifted the headphones off Floodie's mullet, "have a listen."
I suppose you could call it an epiphany. There's no other way to describe being assumed into stereo heaven for the first time. The quality was staggering. Depeche Mode's 'Just Can't Get Enough' was playing. Electronic notes pinged, buzzed and ricocheted around my head. "AH JUZCANGEDENNUF!!!!" I sang and silent faces laughed back at me.
Prior to the Walkman, the most portable musical player was a tape recorder. I bought my first one with my Confirmation money – £11. It was a rectangular, mono Lloytron with a built-in condenser mic. I used to put it under the telly for Top of the Pops and pressed record when the The Jam or Blondie came on, noisily banging it off when Abba or The Nolans appeared, which really annoyed my sisters.
It was portable, but you couldn't walk down the street listening to a Lloytron. Someone would, justifiably, beat you up for being a twat. Then the Walkman arrived and music could be pogoed to on a friend's hi fi and played on the way home too. It had left the living room.
The Walkman, if you could afford one, made the streets of early '80s Ireland seem less grim. It helped block out the uncertainties of being a teenager and cast us as the stars of our own imaginary music videos.
It also eventually led to the solipsistic world of today where Mp3 players are used to shut out the sound of humanity's cogs turning: coughing on the bus, a baby crying, someone looking like they want to chat.
The Walkman brought opportunities for adolescent intimacy. Sharing a headphone, cheek to cheek, could lead to brittle teen romances. The mix tape was conceived: a cassette filled with favourite tracks and given to the object of your lust.
It contained songs like Frankie Goes To Hollywood's 'Two Tribes', with its controversial video depicting Ronald
Reagan wrestling the Russian premier. Maybe we should get Brian and Enda to do that. Could solve a lot of problems. My money's on Biffo, though. He looks like he bites. But I'm digressing.

Madonna's 'Papa Don't Preach' was another favourite. Someone should sing that to Bishop of Galway, Martin Drennan, who is stopping mourners leaving loved- ones in church overnight. Apparently it's 'inappropriate'. Yet another example of compassionate Irish Catholicism. Actually, I'd better be careful what I say: don't want to blaspheme. I might get fined €25,000 under Dermot Ahern's new blasphemy law. Last week, he back­pedalled slightly by reducing it from €100,000 but is still sticking with his crackpot's charter.
We'll add one in honour of his new anti-gang law. The Clash's 'I Fought The Law And The Law Won'.
How about 'Caravan of Love' by the Housemartins for John Gormley? He's backtracked on placing a property tax on mobile homes after an outcry on Liveline. He still won't listen to the outcry over Tara though. What a hypocrite.
Sorry, I promised not to give out. Here's one for Bill Cullen who accuses Gormley of wrecking the car industry: Alexei Sayle's 'Hello John, Got a New Motor?'.
How about some ska? Madness to go with our ministers' decision to take 10 internal flights this year at a cost of over €20,000. Bad Manners to go with the second suspension in a week of the Dáil due to heckling. The Specials' 'Ghost Town', which is what the Dáil will be when these timewasters go on their 11-week holidays.
Our penultimate track is the Boomtown Rats' 'Banana Republic'. Blasphemy laws, Tara and Nama becoming the biggest owner of bad debts on the planet? BananaNama. Wasn't that a girl band who sang 'Cruel Summer'?
It's cruel all right, given that unemployment reached 11.9% last Wednesday. This was the news which prompted me to stop listening to Drivetime and promise (unsuccessfully) not to give out. When Leo Varadkar said "this is the darkest day in the worst ever recession" Julian Cope's 'World Shut Your Mouth' began playing in my head. I reached for my iPod, stuck in my headphones and listened to one of my favourite bands, Electric Light Orchestra. The song I played is 30 years old this month, like the Walkman. 'Don't Bring Me Down' never fails to cheer me up.

July 5, 2009

A word to Gormley about his new archaeology code: Tara

Sunday Tribune 28 June

This boys," said Mr Halpin, "will stay with you forever. I hope it makes a big impact."
Ordinarily, whenever a teacher spoke of making an 'impact' at St Joseph's National School in Glasthule, you started sweating. It normally involved the crack of a bamboo cane. Not on this occasion though. We were about to see something historic. Besides, Halpin always preferred sarcasm to brutality.
He was a bit of a hero. He played Mungo Jerry records in class and showed us how to make free plectrums out of detergent bottles. He also liked cartoons and had a wit as dry as a pub on Good Friday. He seemed to actually like us.
The historic occasion took place on a trip to the National Library in 1979. Myself and two other 11-year-olds, Cianán and Mick, were to choose books for the school. The four of us clowned the day away with Mr Halpin leading the laughter. Afterwards, he took us to see a part of Dublin he hoped we'd remember forever. He hoped seeing it would make an impact on our young minds. It did.
I can still see, through a gap in the hoarding, the muddy timber steps of Wood Quay. "This is going," he said. "The council is covering it with concrete." All the way home we simmered with anger, fuelled by his. He told us how protestors had found swords in the builders' rubble and how the city walls had been razed. He explained how the quay had been named a national monument but the government destroyed it anyway. He told us the only people who wanted the ugly new buildings were politicians.
I still get angry when I pass Wood Quay. Halpin had given us a mental snapshot of our disappearing history. I'll always have it in my head. Last week, I saw Wood Quay again when John Gormley announced a new archaeological code of practice to protect our monuments. There was the clang of a rusty gate being bolted and the distant neighing of a horse. This is the man who sold Tara to get into bed with Fianna Fáil – the party which was responsible for Wood Quay.
Despite being 'Green', he has done nothing to halt the M3 ploughing through the Tara/Skryne valley. Instead he has concentrated on defending his predecessor's demolition of the Lismullin national monument which lay in its way.
Dick Roche contravened European law by failing to commission an environmental impact study on the site. The government has now spent huge sums fighting the European Commission over the issue.
Gormley also spent a bundle drafting last week's Eirgrid Code of Practice. If the European Court finds against Ireland, the National Monuments Act will have to be amended and the code will have to be redrafted. More money flushed away.
The M3 tolls will go out of Meath to a multinational. More waste.
The mishandling of Tara proves, conclusively, that we are being governed by profligate idiots. The M3 should never have been routed through Tara/Skryne. It was always going to throw up monuments like Lismullin and lead to costly court battles. The obvious thing to do was route it west of Tara, avoiding the valley.
The Greens campaigned against the M3. The World Monuments Fund and Smithsonian Institution have placed it on their 'endangered' lists. Gormley is still pushing ahead with it, though.
In December, he hired 15 experts to help draft a list of sites, including Tara, to nominate to Unesco for world heritage status at its annual meeting last Tuesday. No list was delivered.
Tarawatch is continuing its campaign to re-route the road with a protest at the Dáil this Wednesday (1pm). They will ask Gormley why the Unesco list wasn't submitted as it would have tested the M3's impact on Tara's heritage status. They will also tell him that his new archaeological code of practice is meaningless while Tara/Skryne is being vandalised.
Gormley's betrayal of Tara/Skryne is endorsing Fianna Fáil's traditional approach to the environment – "cover it over with concrete". That party's love of unbridled development is the reason why places like Meath became an overspill for Dublin and why its roads desperately need to be improved. They mustn't be improved at the expense of Tara. It's bound up with our history. For 800 years it tied our ancestors to a legendary past which was ultimately used to stir up revolution and create our Republic.
The world sees Tara as our spiritual centre. It even features in one of the most popular novels/films of all time. Scarlett O'Hara's plantation is named after it in Gone With The Wind. Her fictional Tara represents the Irish emigrant's longing for home. Our real one now stands for longing to get home from work quicker. We need Unesco to protect Tara from ourselves.
Our generation stood by as the government over-developed our country. What will our legacy be? Some Nama-esque hulks of buildings? Some half-built estates? A concrete dagger through the heart of Tara? Is this what we want to leave behind for future schoolchildren and young teachers like the late Mr Halpin?
I can imagine him surveying the M3 and sardonically quoting Scarlett's famous line: "Is Tara still standing or is it also gone with the wind?"
Scarlet? He'd be crimson with anger.

Scrap Bloomsday - give us 'Dubliners' Day instead

Sunday Tribune, June 21

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan leaned on the parapet of the Martello tower and examined the snot green sea. Filling his nostrils with salt-tang air, he picked up his shaving bowl and noticed a throng below him.
"Who," he wondered, "are that shower of w****rs?"
And w****rs they were indeed. Some wore bruised panama hats and novelty spectacles. Others wore bowlers, blazers and deck shoes. Women wore shawls over designer dresses. All about were ad-hoc Edwardians who had half-plundered their wardrobes in an attempt to look 'period'. A bearded gentleman in a linen suit was high-camping it on a pushbike, cooing "how's your giblets missus?" Small groups of Japanese, Scandinavians and Americans leapt out of his path, hugging their ragged copies of Ulysses, the book in which Buck was a character.
Sighing, Buck called to a young boy passing by. "You there! What day is this?"
"Why, it's Bloomsday sir!"
"Bloomsday? Here's a guinea, buy that goose in the butcher's window."
"But sir, you're confusing Ulysses with A Christmas Carol."
"That's not possible," Buck protested, "I've never read Ulysses."
"Don't worry," said the boy, "neither have most of these w****rs."
And so Buck retreated, leaving the narrative to me.
I live a seven-minute walk from Joyce's tower and every 16 June my head is done in by the pretentious gobdaws celebrating Bloomsday. Mentally, I moon at them.
My father used to celebrate Bloomsday. Like me, he had never finished Ulysses. He would plump up his cravat and grab someone's walking cane (even if they were using it) and head off with our pleas of "Don't! You look a twat!" ringing in his ears. I don't know if he ever made the tower but he definitely made Fitzie's pub.
I suppose he enjoyed himself and there's something to be said for that. Although it's really irritating, Bloomsday does provide some people with a respite from the prevailing Gloomsday.
What is REALLY annoying is that people confuse Bloomsday with a celebration of Dublin. It isn't. It's a middle-class pretence-fest. Dublin should be celebrated, but not in such an exclusive way.
Joyce celebrated the mundane aspects of the city as well as the landmarks. He drew a detailed human map of toilet smells, snot and other body fluids. He hoped that if Dublin was ever razed, it could be rebuilt using Ulysses.
Physically, this would be difficult. Joyce's short-arsed Dublin now spreads out beyond the pale. Dedalus's shoreline is now dominated by monolithic office blocks in Booterstown. Monto is gone and Talbot Street is now full of new lowlife.
Mundane, human Dublin is vanishing fast, too. If Joyce set Ulysses in 2004 instead of 1904 he might have walked down Moore Street recalling how Joe Murphy founded Tayto there in 1954 – the year of the inaugural Bloomsday. Fifty years on, they were still being made in the capital. In 2005, the citizens' crisps, and jobs, were outsourced to Meath.
He might have stopped in Davy Byrne's and asked for a Jacob's cracker to go with his gorgonzola. Jacob's stopped producing biscuits here last month after 156 years. The Fig Rolls we unfurled as kids are no longer made in Dublin.
He might have glugged a Guinness, unaware that two years later Diageo would talk of closing St James's Gate.
On the way home, he might have stopped for a spice burger. Soon the latter may be gone. Tomorrow the company that invented the burger, Walsh Family Foods, goes into receivership. For more than 50 years, they've been made solely in Dublin and are as old as Bloomsday. Unlike Bloomsday, spice burgers are quintessentially Dub. They're our equivalent of haggis and never caught on outside of Ireland.
Walsh's passing cuts another tie to Dublin's pre-boom past. The city is becoming homogenous. Internationally bland. Blow away the froth and it's as beige as the latte underneath. In its rush to become refined it's lost a lot of its Dublinness.
Think of the little touches that have gone: the sound of the Premier Dairies milkman rattling and whistling you awake. The shout of "c'mere ye little bollix" and the rasp of the bus conductor's boot as you jumped off the back step without paying. Someone calling you "love" over a counter. The things we associate with Dublin are being outsourced. The dirty Dublin they represent was the one celebrated by Joyce. Tight-scrotumed Bloomsday isn't a fitting festival for his city. It's exclusive and snobby. If you're going to celebrate his work, celebrate Dubliners. It's more accessible and is actually read by Dubs.
'Dubliners Day' should be held on 16 June every year to commemorate its real citizens, from Joyce through Luke Kelly to Willie Bermingham. We could all dress up as Dublin characters, like Fortycoats and Bang Bang. I'll dress up as the Faker Baker in memory of Jacob's Fig Rolls. He's fictional, but more real to Dubliners than Leopold Bloom.
We could fling Dublin's false heroes into the sea (Bertie, get your Speedos on). We could throw out the pretence of Bloomsday, but keep the traditional breakfast. With one noble addition: let's stick a spice burger on with the liver and kidneys. Stick one on for Molly too.
Malone, that is. Mrs Bloom has had her day.

dave@davekenny.com

June 21, 2009

Sinn Féin: a lot done, more to do if it wants our respect

Sunday Tribune, 14 June

Mrs Smith had dusted the parcel every day for two weeks and kept it on her telephone stand in the hall. Not many people dust their next-door neighbour's post, but she wanted it pristine for their arrival home from holiday. It would also show that there had been no sneaked preview of its contents.
Mrs Smith was Protestant, middle-class and well-liked on her 'mixed' road. Her neighbour, Mr Murphy, was a well-known Republican with a brother who still makes the news occasionally. On the other side of her lived a Catholic family whose uncle was an outspoken cleric who constantly angered the IRA. A few doors down lived another Protestant, a Second World War RAF man. Across the road from him lived a German family. By today's standards, the road was hardly multicultural, but in 1978 Ireland it was an Olympic village.
When she heard the tyres on the Murphys' driveway, Mrs Smith grabbed the parcel and hurried out. Curiosity was killing her.
She saw the colour drain from Mr Murphy's face as he watched her approaching. He waved her away. His family ran indoors. She stared at the parcel in the same disbelieving way soldiers stare at a wound before the reality of pain rushes in.
The explosion lifted everyone off their feet.
Fortunately for Mrs Smith, it happened several hours after her drama on the driveway. Mr Murphy had helped the terrified woman place the letter bomb on the ground. The army later detonated it before an excited crowd of rubber-necking kids.
Mrs Smith wasn't her real name and Murphy is an alias too. Their story is a forgotten episode from the Troubles. It didn't happen in the north. It happened on my road in leafy Glenageary, south Dublin when I was 11. Things like this didn't happen in Glenageary. The memory took root.
In 1981, the green shoots appeared. The older kids sat in their gardens talking about the hunger strikes and recalling the bomb which nearly killed Mrs Smith. A friend wore a 'Bobby Sands MP' badge which was replaced by a 'Bobby Sands RIP' badge when summer arrived. A world away from Belfast, the Troubles had spread down the clipped lawns of Glenageary again.
The hunger strikes politicised a generation of middle-class Irish youth. Some went on to become notorious. They had their heroes and you didn't dare disrespect them. They weren't my heroes. They were too blood-stained. Bobby Sands' death was heroic, but his poster was never on my wall. I have never supported Sinn Féin.
A quarter of a century on, they are sharing power in the north. The last I heard of my friend with the Bobby Sands badge was he had settled down with a Protestant girl. Times change. People change. Not everyone though.
Last week there was braying from the usual quarters about Sinn Féin's demise here. One paper called them 'revolting'. Enda Kenny sacked Fine Gael's director of elections for linking his party with them in a possible coalition. Some people refuse to acknowledge change.
Some perspective wouldn't go amiss. Everything Sinn Féin does must be measured against how much they have changed. Nobody in the 1980s would ever have envisaged them saying the war was over. They have said it.
In the South, we conveniently forget how our democracy was born out of radicalism. Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael's founders fought a savage civil war. They are now 'respectable'.
In Brussels, Dublin is represented by a man who was interned in the Curragh for IRA membership. Former Official Sinn Féiner, Proinsias De Rossa, is now a Labour party statesman.
Eamon Gilmore first ran for the Dáil in 1982 for the Workers Party. That party had links to Official IRA/Sinn Féin. He, too, is a respected statesman.
Change is always possible. History proves that, with every turning of the democratic tide, radicals are either rinsed, reshaped and polished or washed away. Sinn Féin should be encouraged to fully immerse themselves.
That said, it's not easy to like them. On Tuesday they disgraced themselves with their reaction to councillor Christy Burke's resignation from the party. He claims it under-funded his by-election campaign as they concentrated on Mary Lou McDonald's. Despite being a former IRA prisoner, Burke is widely respected for championing Dublin's underprivileged. Not by Sinn Féin, though. In the North, they paint murals of their heroes; in Dublin they let them go to the wall. Aengus Ó Snodaigh demanded he resign his newly retained city council seat and "return what is a Sinn Féin seat to the party".
A "Sinn Fein seat"? Do they think they own a place on the council? Are direct elections meaningless? The sense of entitlement was worthy of Fianna Fáil. The spat revealed, again, that they still don't fully understand democracy. Burke has served his fellow citizens for 25 years. The seat belongs to them and they chose him – not Sinn Féin – to occupy it. They are free to choose their own heroes.
Sinn Féin has come a long way since the bloody 1980s. That should be constantly acknowledged. However, it still has a long way to go. It still has to earn our respect. It can start by accepting the wishes of the people of Dublin.
It also needs to learn that if you don't respect your own heroes, you can hardly expect others to respect you.

dkenny@tribune.ie

June 14, 2009