An Drochshaol san Iaráic

Tugadh le fios dúinn go bhfuil an "Borradh" (Surge) ag obair san Iaráic. Ar bhealach, tá. Tháinig laghdú suntasach ar líon na ndaoine a mairítear gach seachtain de bharr buamaí agus ionsaithe seicteacha. Is léir freisin go bhfuil cúrsaí slándála i bhfad níos fearr i gceanair áirithe i mBaghdad. Mar sin, an bhfuil cúis dóchais ann go dtiocfaidh deireadh leis an chruatán agus leis an anró?

Níl, dar liom. I dtús, níl an Borradh i bhfeidhm i ngach áit. Baineann sé le roinnt ceantar san ardchathair. Anuas air sin níl ann ach beart sealadach. De réir an phlean cuirfear deireadh leis an Bhorradh i lár na bliana seo (bliain an olltoghcháin!) agus laghdófar líon na saighdiúirí arís ina dhiaidh sin de réir a chéile. Nach bhfuil seans maith ann go rachaidh ionsaithe Al Qaeda i dtreise nuair a thosaíonn Saighdiúirí Mheiriceá ag imeacht. Is deacair a chreidiúint nach mbeidh na treallchogaithe ag maíomh gur bhuaigh siad an cogadh.

Ach thar aon rud eile, ní mór tuiscint cé chomh dona is atá cúrsaí faoi láthair don ghnáthdhuine. Is fear é Michael Massing a choinnigh súil ghéar ar an Iaráic ó thús an chogaidh agus a dhéanann sár-iarracht, in aineoinn neamh-shuim na meán cumarsáide, cruachás an ghnáth-Iaráicigh a chur in iúl don phobal. Seo an méid a scríobh sé le déanaí ar an New York Review of Books:

Tá fearg agus gruaim ar an gháthdhuine. Tá siad éadóchasach ar fad faoin todhchaí. Síleann siad go bhfuil an tóin ag titim as an tsochaí ar fad de bharr an fhoréigin, na coiriúlachta agus na brúidiúlachta ó threallchogaithe, mílístí, jihadíthe, sceimhlitheoirí, saighdiúirí, póilíní, gardaí cosanta, buíonta marfacha, tiarnaí cogaidh, agus fuadaitheoirí. Réab na coireanna uafásacha seo saol sóisialta, eacnamaíoch, agus gairmiúil na tíre ó chéile.

Tá sceimhlitheoirí fós ag cur coisc ar dhaoine taisteal ó áit gó háit. Bíonn seicphointí acu ó bhun go bun na tíre taobh amuigh den lear beag ceantar a bhfuil na Meiriceánaigh i réim. Stopann said daoine. Má cheapann said go mbaineann na daoine seo le pobal ar leith, nó go raibh ceangail acu leis na Meiriceánaigh nó le baicle ar leith, cuirtear chun báis iad.

Teitheann go leor daoine a bhfuil oideachas orthu - múinteoirí, dochtúirí, lucht dlí, innealtóirí. S'iad an eagla agus an t-amhras atá i bhfeidhm. Briseadh an tsibhialtacht féin. An t-aon síol amháin atá curtha: an ghráin.

Resolution for Zero Eight

He's a man I know for decades, yet I don't really know him. He probably knows me a bit better, but not terribly well either. Our relationship is a thin shell of knowledge with love inside. I wish the shell was thicker.

What I know of him comes from others or from deductions based on his behaviour - but he has revealed nothing to me directly. I know his outward character, the persona that the public sees : humorous, gentle, careful, generous, obliging, likeable, clever. The inner workings remain a mystery. He's getting old now, and I wonder if he feels the chill of the void. He has suffered a number of health scares which turned out to be minor. But if they caused him to worry, and I think they did, he never told me. He will retire next year, but I have never heard him say how he feels. Does he look forward to being freed from the shackles of work? Or does he dread the potential boredom? What are his plans?

I speak to him often, but it never gets personal. I sometimes feel like I'm talking to a stranger. We always talk about other people, never about ourselves. The weather is more often a subject than life itself. A recent defeat or an unexpected joy never feature. We are both fully aware of this close distance, this peculiar state of something that is almost. After interacting on this basis for so many years, it's as if an impenetrable and invisible barrier has grown up between us. I imagine us walking along, guided by the barrier. It has become a kind of stability in our relationship. We fear that if it were shattered, everything else would fall apart. So I feel that, if I suddenly poured out my heart, there'd be a wrenching silence, as if I had just revealed some terrible secret.

I want to find a way to rewind the fibres of our lives. To knit them together properly, to make them connect. This year I promise to start by slowly untying the knots. First, nothing direct. An oblique question maybe? Or a nugget of self-knowledge. A wonder if. Disarm. Open up. Enter the dreamfield. Start again.

What would we do without China?

I read an interesting article in Le Monde about China which claims that change is underway and that economic anti-Chinese hysteria is completely misplaced. Not sure I agree with everything he says, but here is a rough translation, apologies for errors.

China is a blessing. No, certainly not for human rights or for the environment - but for the world economy. Yet the exact opposite is the view in the west. In a TNS opinion poll for the German Marshall Fund, an American Foundation, 51% of Americans and 55% of Europeans said they view Chinese growth as a threat. These numbers rise to 57% for Germans, 60% for Italians, and 64% of French.

People in the developed world blame the Chinese for the flight of textile and toy factories out of their countries. Reluctant to begrudge the Chinese their paltry salaries, they have made the chinese yuan their bête noire. Thus 63% of Americans and 55% of Europeans believe a revaluation of the yuan would help protect employment in the West against competition from Asia.

This just shows that Western leaders, who flocked to Beijing in November and December 2007 to campaign for a stronger yuan, were acting on behalf of employees at home. Chancellor Merkel, President Sarkozy, governer of the ECB, Trichet, the European Commissioner Almunia and the American secratary of state, Paulson, raised the same issue with president Hu Jintao. "We can no longer tolerate such huge trade deficits: 158 billion euros for the US and 112 billion for Europe, and doubtless these figures will be higher in 2007" they lamented. "Our traditional industries have been badly hit by your fierce competition. You must stop exporting such enormous volumes. To that end, you need to raise your salaries, provide minimal social protection, and above all revalue your currency which is 20% to 30% below its real exchange value, which gives you an unfair advantage"

The leaders in Beijing responded "It is out of the question that we accelerate our reform program and risk the double digit growth which we need to drag our population of 1.3 billion out of poverty. We are already doing the best we can".

They are right. To achieve the goal of a "harmoneous society", advocated by president Hu Jintau, Beijing has in recent months been tighening the financial and monetary belt. On the 21st of December their central bank increase its rates for the sixth time in 2007, bringing rates to 7.47% for loans and 4.14% for deposits. The aim is to reduce the growth in bank loans to an annual rate of 12%, down from 22% for 2007. The yuan too has increased against the dollar by 7% over the last year, up from 3.3% growth in 2006. And the government is considering widening the band within which the yuan is pegged to the dollar.

Their efforts to stimulate demand are no less significant. In 2008, in three provinces, the government offered an experimental tax rebate of 13% to tens of millions of peanants on the purchase of TVs, mobile phones, fridges, and air con. The cut-off point for entering the tax net was also raised from 1600 yuan (150 euro) to 2000 yuan. This should make 70% of employees exempt from tax, up from 50% today.

Better still, a significant piece of legislation on working conditions came into effect on 1st January. The new law makes employment more secure, provides for redundancy compensation, and obliges employers to pay social indemnities on salaries (retirement, unemployment, health). The penalties for infringement suggest that these norms will eventually be adopted. The cost of labour and Chinese exports will be increased in consequence. This should be to everyone's satisfaction.

The anti-Chinese hysteria therefore, accentuated by the electoral race in the US, has no foundation. A biannual report on trade by the Tresory contradicts the complaints of the American Congress by its finding that Beijing is not manipulating its currency to benefit trade. The report welcomes the rise of the yuan and approves further progress which is under way or in the pipeline. It even goes so far as to acknowledge that the performance of the Chinese economy has been a wind in the sails of the global economy.

But such official recognition is no more than what is right from a country which, last Summer, might well have pushed the world economy into recession due to failures in its banking system which resulted from an inability to manage high risk loans. Who is preventing the world economic growth rate from falling below 4.5%? Not the US, which touches close to recession as this year begins; nor Europe, with its anemic 2% growth; but China which steams ahead at 11%.

Who prevents the dollar from collapsing dramatically, if not China, which holds 70% of its gigantic reserves of 1,400 billion dollars in US Tresury bonds? Who provided the cash injection to American banks Bear Stearns and Morgan Stanley to enable them to bridge enormous debts they incurred through bad management? Not the quoted pension funds in Wall street or London, but the sovereign funds of Beijing.

Low Chinese prices have helped control inflation in the west, thereby preserving the purchasing power of industrialised nations. The Chinese buy massive quantities of African primary resources thereby proping up the price of metals as well as agricultural produce. Not only do they provide valuble currency to weaker economies, but they also sell them manufactued goods which are cheaper and better adapted then those from the rich countries.

Finally, China provides loans and long awaited donations for construction projects for ports, schools, hospitals and electricity lines. Here again, China makes up the shortfall left by Western nations: she announced 5 billion dollars in aid between 2007 and 2009 which will surely be welcome since the G7 countries have renaged on the promise of 25 billion dollars in annual aid to Africa which they promised in 2005. Yes, all things considered, thank you China.

Le Scaphandre et le Papillon

Je viens de lire un très très beau livre: le scaphandre et le papillon. A cause d'une attaque cérébrale, le journaliste, Jean-Dominque Bauby, a été plongé dans un coma. Quand il s'en sort, il decouvre qu'il a perdu toutes ses fonctions motrices - sauf que'il peut cligner l'oeil gauche. Il était prisonnier dans sons propre corps. En fait, le mouvement de son oeil gauche lui permet de garder son contact avec le monde, surtout avec ses proches, et de dicter ce petit livre.

L'ouvrage, apparu en 1997, a été adapté au cinéma par Julian Schnabel. Le film a gagné le Prix de la mis en scène au Festival de Cannes, 2007 (Quelques jours après la parution de son livre, Mr Bauby est mort du Locked-in-syndrome.)

Après son accident vasculaire, il ne ressent plus rien, ni les caresses sur son visage, ni les baisers de ses enfants. Mais il n'a pas perdu son esprit, ni le pouvoir d'imaginer le monde, ni l'amour. Enfermé dans sa prison corporelle, il nous envoi des carnets de son voyage intérieur - dans son esprit.

Très emouvant, un peu triste et effrayant, mais pas sentimental, et très beau, ce petit livre m'a beacoup touché. Il nous fait vouloir profiter de chaque minute de notre vie qui est si delicate que le battement d'un coeur ou ... le battement d'une paupière..

C'est magnifique et j'ai hate de regarder le film que je vais commander très bientôt sur amazon.fr.

Horror Street

The experience of Bean Thomaltaigh and I in two Dublin hospitals before and after the birth of our son four months ago confirms the general perception of the Irish Health Service. The medical staff were friendly, professional, and effective throughout. With few exceptions, clerical and administrative staff ranged from the incompetent, through indifferent, to downright rude. For an outside observer the combination of dire communication, pitiful information management, and lack of direction would be comic. For patients in long queues, often worried or distressed, it is nothing short of horrific. A few examples will suffice.

On the day of our three month scan at Holles Street, pregnant women queued standing on a stairway after first cramming through a tiny, stuffy prefab at the rear. We had seven separate interactions with five staff members, three of whom were clerical. We were asked the same set of questions four times (Yes, I counted). Is this your first baby? How many weeks? Have you diabetes? And so on. Then we’d pass to the next person who again started from scratch as if we’d just walked in the door. At one stage we filled out a form with all of these questions. No one wanted it later, they just kept on asking the same questions. A nurse pointed us down a corridor but there was confusion about which doctor would see us and where. During Bean T’s medical examination a woman burst in the door before anyone had time to answer her one-touch knock. So much for privacy. She then grabbed an enormous bundle of dog-eared files from a table. So much for technology. Thankfully we had no specific medical problems that day. Otherwise the warlike chaos would have completely broken us. As it was, like others, we just raised our eyes and sighed.

On the the night Bean T’s waters broke, while waiting in the foyer at Holles Street, a woman in the early stages of labour burst into the bleak Victorian reception area with her partner. The woman was breathing heavily and while in no immediate danger of giving birth, the couple expected to be reassured and directed towards some kind of hospital care. Instead a porter in a woolly jumper nervously asked “how often are they coming?”. When the woman said “every 10 minutes”, the man turned away and said “take a seat, you’ll be alright”. The couple looked at each other in bewilderment wondering whether they had arrived in a warehouse or the National Maternity Hospital.

A few weeks ago my son needed a lactose intolerance test. Bean T brought him to Crumlin Childrens hospital and provided the sample as instructed. As she headed out the door the receptionist must have noticed something was missing in the discharge forms. She shouted after Bean T “Come ‘ere, sorree, come ‘ere, ya need ta…”. So much for manners. Worse still, after weeks without word from the test Bean T phoned to be told in indifferent tones that the record of the test had been lost. Well well, what a surprise. Perhaps a dog-eared file was whipped out the window by a thieving breeze. When Bean T persisted, asking for a double check, she was eventually told that no, in fact the results hadn’t been lost, but there was insufficient material in the sample for proper analysis. We obviously weren’t going to be informed about this until we came looking. How utterly depressing. I really feel for those undergoing more serious testing or treatment in this gruelling environment.

These are but a handful of instances which back up the perception that the entire system is a shambles. Organisation, direction, and accountability are absent. Instead of compassion, patients get contempt, by the shovelful. For sure there are many decent people working hard at all levels. But whether through lack of resources, lack of moral, or otherwise, a culture of shameless indifference to the patient has taken hold. It really is the medical version of Fawlty Towers and it’s a national disgrace.

We Are All Smarter Now

I read an article in the New Yorker lately which showed how much smarter we are now than a couple of generations ago. Essentially a social scientist in New Zealand called James Flynn studied IQ test results from all over the world and discovered that IQs are rising by about 0.3 points per year. The rate may seem insignificant but the cumulative change over a few generations is striking. It means for example that the average 20 year old today is way smarter than his grandfather was when he was 20. Perhaps this seems obvious, but it challenges the entire concept of IQ and of how intelligence is measured. It was believed until recently that IQ measured an innate intelligence level, but this cannot be true: obviously humans cannot evolve a higher mental capacity over two generations. So what does IQ measure?

The authors of the piece cited the American biologist James Watson who landed himself in deep trouble recently for saying that he was "inherently gloomy about the prospect of Africa" as "all our social policies are based on the fact that their intelligence is the same as ours — whereas all the testing says not really." Even if tests show that Africans have lower IQ than Europeans, that doesn’t mean very much. It all comes back to the question, what does IQ measure?

The answer given in the New Yorker articles seems emminently sensible. How we process information depends on how we relate to the various parts of the information in our everyday life. For urban, educated people today, the relationship between dog and rabbit is ‘both are mammals’. For a 19^th century farmer the relationship was ‘dogs are used to hunt rabbits’. IQ therefore, measures not so much how intelligent we are, but how modern we are. Innate intelligence is just one variable among many of which IQ results are a function. To conclude the piece drives home the point by saying “I.Q. measures not just the quality of a person’s mind but the quality of the world that person lives in”. It applies as much to the difference between the wealthy and the deprived in Dublin as it does to the difference between America and Africa.

Tea or Coffee?

I love a coffee in the morning, but throughout the day I'm a tea man. Tea is more subtle - its flavours are slowly coaxed from the leaf by infusion while the essence of coffee is blasted from the bean by force. And tea is lighter and more refreshing. Listen to the hypnotic jingle of the stirring spoon: in tea it is high pitched, sprightly and musical; in coffee, monotone and serious. Tea is pleasure, coffee is business.

Of a heavy, tired morning, I simply need coffee. I like mine with lots of milk and just shy of being hot. I take large mouthfuls and swirl the liquid around my mouth, inviting the lactose and caffeine to contest their differences over my tongue. Lactose is a strong starter but the drug always prevails. The result is delightfully bitter-sweet. Best of all, the dutiful caffeine sets to work immediately. It conquers lethargy and defeats gloom, allowing colour to seep back into the office greys.

But if coffee is necessary to launch the day, tea is required to sustain it. A cup at three is the mainstay of my afternoon. On the odd occasion when I have to miss it, my whole day collapses. After lunch the lazy clock runs slow , and tea at three gets it moving again. On particularly long days a second cup is needed after 5 to repel the plodding soldiers of tedium.

At home tea is king because it can be made to perfection. Tea tends to get set in its ways and hates change. A new tea pot or an extra minute can destroy it. The pot must be scalded and I heat the cups as well to make sure. I give the flavours enough time to timidly emerge from the leaves and I pour each cup half way first and then top up in reverse order. This guarantees consistency.

It is easy to understand why the Japanese developed a ceremony based on tea. You see, making tea is a ritual. While coffee is individual, tea is social. It brings people together and kicks off the conversation "do you like yours strong or weak?". "Milk or sugar?". Before the first sip strangers are on talking terms.

In some ways tea feels older because, especially in Ireland, it came way before coffee. In that sense tea is nostalgic. When I think of perfect tea, served repeatedly throughout the day, I think of home. It brings me back to an earlier time. While the latte is unashamedly modern and chic, tea remembers tradition.

In coffee I have found a necessary acquaintance, someone to meet for a time to bridge the gaps. I have no loyalty to it. If I gave up work tomorrow, coffee might well be jilted too. But tea is a soul mate. It deserves - and gets - my respect. The passion is heartfelt. Coffee may well be a phase, but tea is for life.