BMW: Copied in China

Le Monde reports that BMW and Daimler are threatening legal action against Chinese car constructors, notably Shuanghuan, for copying their designs.

A scan of the news shows that this story broke some time ago but it's getting attention now because Angela Merkel on a visit to China, has backed the German auto companies by saying that this kind of copying is not acceptable. The other issue of timing is that the International Auto Fair is due to open in Frankfurt in a couple of weeks and the Germans are threatening to expel the offending Chinese maker, Shuaghuan.

Apparently the Chinese maker has made a an SUV called the CEO that is strikingly like the BMW offering, the X5. And they have released a micro-car, Noble, that looks like a clone of Daimler's micro, Smart.

It is easy to see how the Chinese could devastate their German rivals if they get away with this form of copyright fraud. If the Chinese have in fact copied the German designs their behaviour is cheating pure and simple.

The German makers will attempt to sell at their marginal cost, which is a function of their variable and fixed costs. Certainly the Chinese will benefit from cheaper variable costs, essentially cheaper labour and other variable inputs. But the crux of the matter is the fixed costs. These encompass the cost of not just the plant but crucially the R&D work that has put German makers at the top end of the quality market. If Chinese makers simply copy the German design, they are avoiding a huge chunk of the fixed costs.

Of course, the Chinese are probably a long way off hitting the German quality, but there is no reason to believe that if allowed to simply copy their European rivals, they will eventually reach a level sufficient to do real damage. Recall how the Japanese took the American market by storm in the 80s (Not by copying but by reaching high quality and availing of favourable exchange rates. The latter is also in favour of the Chinese far more dramatically then for the Japanese).

This tiff is another symptom of Globalisation and its corollary, the rise of Asia (the article also noted that this year China is set to pass Germany as world largest exporter). Information flows so easily and markets are so open and accessible that a leader can be quickly undermined. That would be fine if the playing field was level. But in this case, clearly it is not.

I would certainly hope that Germany can prevail in making China play by the rules. But I'm not confident that the means exist to make that happen. The result of failure to do so, however, will put relentless pressure on European jobs.

When Economics Gets Personal

In 1977 my father quit smoking. He had been a fairly committed smoker since his early twenties, but he was still only 33, and though addicted to the weed, he wasn't totally at its mercy. He was confident he could stop. And he did.

By the standards of the time, 1977 was a pretty good year in Ireland (South of the Border). Economic growth was pretty strong. A substantial construction boom was under way, and my father worked as a lorry driver for Readymix PLC. Things were looking good. That year my father upgraded his car and our family moved house. My sister Sheila arrived to join myself (then 4) and my brother Paul(then 2).

Enter Jack Lynch and George Colley. In July of that fateful year, 1977, Fianna Fail were returned to power with Lynch as Taoiseach. He appointed Colley as minister for Finance. The public finances were already in deficit, yet the new government promised wide ranging tax cuts without any corresponding cut in spending. If anything they exceeded their promise. Car tax cut. Property Rates cut. And so on. Public sector wages grew. In effect Lynch and Colley engaged in a frenzy of economic vandalism. A whole generation would pay the price.

Their reckless management set the public finances in a tail spin. And it was all down hill from there. Sadly successive governments didn't really take the critical steps to recover control until 1987. Garret Fitzgerald and Fine Gael recognised the acute need for fiscal rectitude when they entered power in '82, but their Labour partners effectively blocked efforts to make the deep and necessary cuts to the public sector. Perhaps the most they can be credited with is not making the fiscal situation worse, but the overall economy continued to churn out P45s.

In 1985 my father received one of those P45s. It was a terrible year. By mid-summer my father had found himself with no work and my mother had just given birth to my youngest sister, her fourth child. Tens of thousands were leaving the country, unemployment was in double figures. There was little prospect of my father finding work.

My parents' worries didn't end there, however. I was 12 and all set for secondary school. Perhaps it's hard to believe now, but even the expense of secondary school would be a considerable burden then. New uniforms, books and stationary were not for nothing.

Sorrows, said the bard, come not in single spies but in battalions. My sister Sheila was mentally handicapped from birth and was a huge burden on my parents. She required, and still does, 24 hour supervision. Try that with an infant and two boys in the house. In the end, my parents had to commit her to care. In that summer of 85 she was admitted to an institution for the mentally handicapped. My parents were lucky that there was still a place for her, as in the dire economic circumstances, the disabled were always an easy target for cuts. But her departure from home, though necessary, came close to breaking my parents' hearts.

At the time I was innocently oblivious to the turmoil in that adult world where my parents lived. My only worry was that I was dreading secondary school. I was always a shy boy and no-one from my primary class would be heading to the school that my parents had chosen for me. The only signal I picked up was that my father had taken up smoking again. But I didn't know why. I merely found it curious that after 8 years he'd restart such a horrible habit.

Labour is Doomed to Subordinate Role

I have bad news for the next Labour leader - only an earthquake in the Irish political landscape will enable Labour to shake off its second tier status. They don't need branding, a new message, a makeover. They need an earthquake.

In order for Labour to fulfil its ambitions it just has to make a break through on the middle ground. This is the only way to grow politically in an Ireland where the middle class is predominant and where traditional Labour territory is shrinking (union power and worker-driven issues). Moving to the middle is exactly what Pat Rabitte tried, with his business-friendly commitment to "maintain a prosperous, enterprising economy". He even pledged to reduce taxes. But pitching for the middle ground was never going to work, for there was never enough space to admit Labour.

The trouble is that the two bigger parties are all-encompassing, flexible, and often populist. Fianna Fáil is the tree frog that instantly changes colour. If you want green, Fianna Fáil are green. If you want red, Bertie is a socialist. If you want enterprise, Fianna Fáil are pro-business. If you want stability, Fianna Fáil are conservative. And Fine Gael are just poor imitations of the same. But above all, both are firmly anchored in the centre.

But Labour Made it In Britain?

That's right. But Labour surged ahead of the Whigs cum Liberals in the early part of the 20th century. This was a time, however, when Britain and Europe were undergoing fundamental change. For decades, the question of the Labour versus Capital had dominated political debate. The tyranny of capital was about to be replaced by the tyranny of planned economy. Britain's empire was beginning to crumble. To paraphrase Tony Blair, the kaleidoscope had been shaken, and the pieces were in flux. When those pieces settled, Labour had moved from 2nd tier to first in British politics.

Their fortunes waxed and waned since then, but once the structure of the system had been altered to admit them to first rank, they'd always be a major player. A notion called "path dependency" would ensure that Labour were likely to remain in contention until the next reconfiguration, which hasn’t happened yet. (What will it be, PR for Britain, Scottish Independence?).

The idea has two levels, both of which are relevant here. First, it essentially means that “history matters”. In other words, now that Labour is first tier in Britain, it was propelled there by historical forces and it doesn't matter now that those forces aren't present. The party is locked in. The second, and related meaning is that institutions tend to be self-reinforcing. They have inertia and a propensity to ensure their own survival, regardless of their original raison d'être.

Labour should be radical?

Only if they crave oblivion. Radical politics is by definition on the fringe and is unlikely to bring electoral success. Ocassionally radical thinking happens to evolve to become mainstream, rather like the way Irish parties raided the PD wardrobe. But the PDs latched on to an historical tide: the rise of neo-liberal thinking in Washington and London. They were clever to spot it and were sufficiently tenacious to ride the wave long enough to see many of their policies being widely adopted. There was, of course, another historical force at play. It goes by the name of Charles J Haughey. A towering but hugely divisive figure, he provided the impetus for the split that gave birth to the PDs. But once both of these tides had washed over, the Party returned to obscurity, where it will surely lie, hoping forlornly for the next big wave.

To conclude, there can be no big break for Labour without that earthquake. And it has to be high on the Richter scale. Even the collapse of Fine Gael in 2002 was insufficient to shake the kaleidoscope. Certainly, a moderate recession - quite likely before the next election - would not provide enough for a Labour breakthrough. Fianna Fáil losses (certain after a recession and minus Bertie) will be shared between Fine Gael, Labour and marginal players. That might be enough to see Labour in power, but it will never be enough to allow them to play anything more than a supporting role.

Belgium: Eu founder and 28th Member?

An editorial in Le Monde places Belgium at the precipice. Attempts to form a coalition government after the general election of June 10th have exposed the widening rift between Belgium's French and Flemish speaking populations. The divide is geographic, cultural, political, and economic. The northern half of the country speak Flemish, a form of Dutch, while the Southern half speak French. The Flemish part is more populous and by far the richer. Perhaps in line with increasing regionalisation in other European countries (France, Spain, UK) the two halves in Belgium have grown apart over the last 3 decades. A fairly unitary state 30 years ago has evolved gradually into its current Federal form. Divorce in slow motion?

The trouble now is that the Flemish want to push this even further, but the Francophones are resisting, fearing that they will lose out by being further cut off from the more prosperous north. According to Le Monde, a compromise may still be reached, but the window of opportunity may eventually close, leading to a breakup "à la tchécoslovaque". Make no mistake, concludes the editorial, but Albert II's Kingdom is on the brink.

The fly in the ointment for the Belgians is Brussels, or is that vice versa? If Belgium did break up, what about the EU Capital, Brussels? It lies inside the Flemish region, but is predominantly French speaking. Which side could claim it?

It certainly would be an embarrassment for the Eu if one if its founder members and home to its capital, simply falls apart. It's not exactly the way the Eu planned to welcome its 28th member.

End of an Affair

The following is a true story with names and places changed - Tomaltach

Trish was filling the kettle when her husband Tom walked in - naked with dry blood on his mouth. Her "Jesus Christ what hap.." was interrupted by Brian who appeared behind Tom. "This bastard was riding my wife". Then silence. Trish was in shock not really taking it in, just confused. Brian turned and left.

Brian and Marie Dolan, both local to Ballydoran, seemed happily married. They had two teenage children, a beautiful house, and were reasonably well off. Brian was the owner of two fruit shops - one in Ballydoran and one five miles away in Carrick. He had devoted his life to building up the business. The light would be seen in the back yard till midnight, where Brian bagged apples from large boxes, loaded the truck for Carrick or, as his begrudgers claimed, he transferred Dutch potatoes into 'Dublin' bags. Ocassionally he would have a student at peak times in summer, but none stayed very long for Brian was horrible to work for. He had a terrible temper and tolerated only perfection. But even bedgrudgers admitted he was a ferocious worker, even workaholic.

Brian decided to act when hints from his brother, Gerry, who had heard repeated rumours that Marie was having an affair with Tom Kelly, eventually lost all subtilty. Brian initially refused to believe, but when he thought more about his wife's social life and that it had become totally divorced from his, for he had none, he realised that it could be true. Then there was the gradual decline in their sex life. And she had always had great time for Tom. Still, it was hard to believe. But above all he trusted Gerry. According to the brother, his friend Paul, a lorry driver, had met Marie on a back road near the house. Paul had to stop to let Marie pass and looking down from the lorry he saw Tom lying on the back seat.

Brian travelled to Dublin every Wednesday in his truck to buy fruit and veg at good wholesale prices. According to Gerry, Marie's car would leave around 9, and could be seen returning before 10, presumably with libinal cargo on board. Every Wednesday, like clockwork.

The plan was simple, but like everything Brian did, it would be meticulously thought out. On Wednesday he would leave for Dublin at 5 am as usual. But he would only go down to Gerry's - where he had agreed to meet another man who'd do the run to Dublin. Brian would drive back to his own house in a rental car with Gerry after nine. If Marie's car was gone Gerry would drop him.

And so it turned out. The car was gone. Brian was dropped, entered the house and, climbed into the attic. An enternity filled the next half hour before he heard the crrrt of the handbrake. Keys in the door. Voices. Marie and Tom. Brian was nervous but a well of anger bolstered his resolve. The pair below took forever to come up stairs. Were they caressing? Maybe they'd have sex in the Kitchen. Is that the Tv? They're going to shag in the living room. Tom, the baldy bastard. But no. Finally steps on the stairs, and voices, and Tom gave that smug pre-coital laugh. Cunt. They went to the bedroom. After a time, the talking died down. Brian was going to lower himself from the attic now - as practiced. He lifted the trapdoor to slide it across, but waited. He wanted to catch them in full flight. His heart pounded in his chest. He slid the trap door and lowered his muscular body, a short drop, and a creek of the floorboard, but far enough from the bedroom to go unheard. He crept to the door, then swung it open.

Marie's terrified face looked from around Tom's fat torso, then Tom turned, his ass still hidden under the duvet, and the blood drained from his face. Terror seized him as begged in a childlike whinge "Jesus, Brian, I'm sorry, I'm sorry". Brian, stern faced but remarkably restrained "Get out to fuck". Tom slithered nervously out of the bed, then stood up quick to an angrier "Get out to fuck". By now Marie was sobbing with her hand across her mouth. As Tom reached for his trousers Brian tugged him from the room "I said you get out to fuck", and he pushed Tom's white naked body towards the stairs. Again he pushed. And on ground floor, as he pushed Tom towards the back door, Brian's voice punched out in anger "riding my wife, you big fat bastard". The violent pushes became thumps. As Tom passed into the yard Brian attacked him violently, kicking and pummelling his trembling body. Tom fell to the ground roaring pathetically "aggggg, stop, please, I'm sorry". And Brian stopped. He wanted to vent his anger through kicking. He wanted each of Tom's yelps to heal something. To undo something. But reason blocked his violence like a wall. The ball of anger in his heart morphed to an ugly, draining void. After a pause he commanded Tom "Get into the car"

No words passed between the men as they drove the narrow, tree lined road back to Tom's farmhouse where his house-bound wife had begun another ordinary day in her fight against cancer.

The Primate and the Stars, A Homily

The Catholic Primate, Archbishop Seán Brady, has made the headlines with his attack on modern Ireland. It is true that the 'new Ireland' has indeed many warts, and people have felt for some time been feeling that society has somehow lost direction. The primate's denunciation of the new Ireland, however, is puerile, incoherent, and ulitimately no more than a self serving homily.

Ireland has gone from the land of saints and scholars to the land of stocks and shares, said the Primate. This cliche jars and says nothing at all about Ireland. First, the land of saints and scholars - when was that? Roughly speaking we've had five centuries that could be summarised as conquest, colonisation, suppression, famine, and self ruin. In which of these periods was our emerald Isle the home of sainthood and scholarship? Or is the Primate referring to the early middle ages when the Irish monks saved civilisation? So when did the new Ireland begin? And since stocks and shares have been the foundation stone of prosperous nations for four centuries, why do they come in for such critque now? Perhaps the archbishop was aiming for the volatility of global finance or the fickleness of the multinational corporation. If that's the case, he should have said so.

The archbishop decries the culture of violence. True there is a serious problem we need to address. But the primate knows why it came about "And all of this has occurred as the external practice of faith has declined". Would that be faith in the institution which tortured, possibly murdered, young boys in the industrial schools? Was there less violence in the 'old Ireland' when the likes of poor Peter Tyrell (whose recently published letters recount his time in an industrial school in Connemara) suffered appalling brutality and humiliation. Hundreds of young children were stripped of their dignity and lived in sheer terror. Then there were the laundaries. But say no more. The eyes of the Primate give him selective vision of right and wrong.

Then there is the stress "of financial success and security". Yes, more horse manure. As if the 'old' Ireland of the 50s offered security to those poor divils who left in their tens of thousands. They arrived in the huge urban centres of London and Liverpool, with one arm as long as the other, mostly unskilled and utterly ill equiped to deal with the culture shock. Many clawed their way onto the deck of their host society, but many more fell over board.

Our Primate moves on from the sublime turf of violence and insecurity to a purely ridiculous attack on tarrot cards and palm reading. That the good archbishop aimed his blunderbuss at such trifles reveals an analysis of Irish society that is appallingly shallow for a man in his position.

The archbishop's homily was so silly and juvenile that it bordered on funny and he should seriously consider taking to the serious art of the horoscope.

Cuir Deireadh leis an Ghaeltacht!

In ainm Dé cén fáth a leanaimid ar aghaidh leis an Ghaeltacht? Sé sin, cén fáth a nglacaimid le polasaí nach bhfuil ach fantaisíocht shoch-theangeolaíoch taobh thiar de? Sibhse ar grá libh an teanga, nó sibhse ar mhaith libh a caomhnú, ba chóir go mbeadh sibh ag scairteadh in ard bhur gcinn ar an rialtas deireadh a chur leis an Ghaeltacht faoi mar atá sí inniu. Ba chóir go mbeadh sibh ag impí ar an rialtas coincheap na Gaeltachta mar limistéar geografach a chur ar leataobh mar bheartas.

Ar a laghad ba chóir an limistéar a leasú. Sháinmhíníodh an limistéar Gaeltachta, faoi mar atá sé inniu, thart ar 50 bliain ó shoin. Bhí siad flaithiúil go leor an uair sin go fiú. Fágadh go leor leor paróistí sa Ghaeltacht nach raibh móran Gaeilge á labhairt iontu. Is uafásach an meath atá tágtha ar chúrsaí ó shoin.

Mar sin, teorainn cheart í teorainn na Gaeltachta: nuair a théann tú thairsti, téann tú isteacht i dtír na fantaisíochta. Tugann tú cúl don saol dáiríre agus tugann tú cuairt ar bhroinglóid ina bhfuil Gaeilge shaibhir líofa á labhairt ag páistí, áit a mbíonn seanfhir ag beannú a chéile i seanteanga na nGael, tír na draíochta a bhfuil filíocht agus seanchas i mbéal gach duine. Níl ann ach siabhrán rómánsúil.

Sa chuid is mó den Ghaeltacht, ní chloisfidh tú a oiread Gaeilge is a chloisfidh tú d'Urdu. In ainneoin sin, cuirtear deontais ar fáil is maoinítear tógra ann mar "thacaíocht don teanga". Cur amú airgid atá ann.

Scaipeann Údarás na Gaeltachta deontais ar chomhlachtaí a lonnaítear ar an taobh cheart den líne dhraíochtach seo, faoi mar a bheadh siad ag scaipeadh sneachta. Agus titeann deontais tithíochta isteach i lámha na ndaoine ar nós 's cuma liom. De réir dlí, caithfidh siad cur in iúl go dtógfaidh siad a gclann trí Ghaeilge, ach tá a fhios ag an tsaol nach bhfuil ann ach cur i gcéill.

Tá aithne agam féin ar dhaoine a fuair na deontais seo. Tá níos mó spéise acu i bhfilíocht na Síne ná mar atá acu sa Ghaeilge.

Is ar an gcaoi seo a gcuirtear acmhainní ganna amú. D'fhéadfaí iad a chur ar obair ar bhealach eile ar son na teanga. Ach níl ann ach cluiche beag polaitiúil. Spreagann an chaimiléireacht seo an tsoiniciúlacht i dtaobh na teanga atá ag fás in aghaidh an lae.

Céard a deireann na heagraíochta Gaeilge i dtaobh na calaoise seo? Tada. Faic. Cén fáth nach bhfuil siad ag impí ar an rialtas an polasaí a athleasú? Cad chuige nach bhfuil siad ag gearán faoin chur amú airgid?

Ceist: Cén fáth an ciúnas seo? An Freagra: Tharraingeodh an fhírinne aird ar stáid na Gaeilge sa Ghaeltacht - go bhfuil sí ar an dé deiridh.

De réir mar a thuigim rinneadh stáidéar le déanaí ar úsáid na Gaeilge sa Ghaeltacht. Tá sé faoi bhráid an Aire Ó'Cuiv faoi láthair. Ach tabharfaidh mé buile faoi thuairim ar céard a dhéanfar leis. Go leor cainte is cabaireachta faoin Ghaeilge, ach dheamhain athrú a fheicfear.

Leanfar leis an bhréag go bhfuil an teanga faoi bhrú ach ag streachailt léi. Leanfar leis an cur i gcéill gurb í an Ghaeltacht croílár agus todhchaí na Gaeilge agus go bhfuil gach tacaíocht riachtanach agus tuilte. Leanfaidh na heagraíochtaí Gaeilge ag cur a gcuid ama féin is airgead na tíre amú.

Mura mbrisfear an bhréag seo, ní thiocfaidh deireadh ar mheath gasta na Gaeilge.

Féach an t-alt "Death of the Irish Language"