This little post came to mind in response to a piece by Roddy Doyle in the New Yorker. Doyle wrote that he was going to bet for England but when he went to the bookies he couldn't bring himself to back the old enemy..
Doyle's remarks ring true: here in Dublin I could hear my neighbours cheer each time Germany scored. Typically punters in Irish pubs shake the rafters when someone, anyone, scores against England. These are usually the same people, like Mr. Doyle, who support English soccer clubs! Nothing illustrates our relationship with England better than the soccer paradox.
We built our argument for independence on the twin beliefs that a) we are not English, and b) they, the English, were responsible for all the wrongs of our history and our current state of misery. For this much blood was spilled (and great national myths were necessary to justify each separate horror). None of this, of course, makes us Irish unique. We made our myths, our wars, and our nation. Our trouble with the English, however, is that while we broke the political ties, we failed to break the cultural ones.
We failed to rehabilitate our national language and we remained under their cultural and (for most of the 20th century) economic shadow. Language is important. Nothing facilitates the cultural dominance of a great power over a small one more than a shared language. In terms of forging an independent culture (though I stress, not in any other way), it was to our misfortune that the power which stepped into the role of global empire after Britain was also English speaking. This cemented the position of the English language in Ireland (as elsewhere) thereby preserving a direct channel for English cultural produce into Ireland. All of this was happening at a time when communication, television, and later the internet was connecting Irish homes into the English cultural scene.
During our (ill-fated) economic boom of the 90s and naughties, Irish town and city cetres grew more and more like those in England. This is more to do with capital flow than culture, but it merely set in concrete what was happneing in parallel in cultural terms. In Ireland we consume vast quantities of British celeb culture; far from being force-fed British media, the fact is, English titles sell here because we Irish are prepared to pay to read about Victoria Beckham or Elton John.
We even follow the British Royalty, another topic which bubbles the paradox to the surface. Despite following the tribulations and foibles of prince Harry with great interest, there is something of a minor backlash on Irish airwaves at the announcement that Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, is going to visit Ireland next year - the first visit by a British Monarch since Irish Independence.
In Ireland we are happy to adore and support anything English as long as it has no national symbolism attached. This is surely a sign that despite our political independence, our success at building a functioning nation, and our increasing confidence as a member of the European Union, an ache of self doubt lingers in the heart of our project to creating a unique national identity, one that need not be defined by what it is not: English.
Tuesday 29 June 2010
Monday 14 June 2010
FG wrong on Leaving Cert Irish
The position of Irish in the school curriculum is central to the larger question of whether the state - and by extension this nation - ought to preserve or promote the first official tongue. The cause of the language is very dear to my own heart, and therefore I feel very strongly that this is an important issue.
Everyone knows that Irish language policy has been very flawed down the years - though some remarkable changes have taken place over the last 15 years or so. We know too that there have been chronic failures in how the language has been taught. I recall studying 16th century poetry in a class where no student had the ability to order a train ticket in Irish. Some of these failures have been corrected in part in recent years; for example, by making the curriculum more relevant and emphasizing communication over literature.
Given the known and perceived failures it is tempting to reject current policy in its entirety. This would be a mistake. If the Irish language - still declining in the Gaeltacht - has any hope of survival as a spoken tongue, it is by virtue of the latent but widespread support that it enjoys among the general population.
It is true that among those who look favourably upon the language, most never succeed in mustering the effort required to learn to speak it. The reasons for that are complex, but the fact remains that passive support among the public is a crucial buttress without which the whole edifice of recent language policy would collapse.
Compulsory Irish, I believe, has been a key factor in maintaining a thin but very widespread knowledge of the language among the general population. It makes the vast bulk of the population at least moderately familiar with the language. People may not have enjoyed their experience with Irish in the classroom (one hopes that this can be continuously improved upon for future generations), but, more often than not, they come away wishing the system had served them better and that they had learned more not less of the native tongue.
When people who struggle with the language are given the option, they will opt out, and the result will be an evaporation of the crucial familiarity with Irish. The result will be alienation from the language. It is easy to see how, over a period of time, this would lead to a drastic drop in support for government sponsored revival efforts.
That people retain a mere 'cúpla focal' after years of schooling is an indictment that the system has failed to create competent speakers. Yet dispensing with this thin base entirely would be devastating.
The Fine Gael attempt to make Irish optional is a political ploy - designed to portray a party ready to take radical steps to inject impetus into fresh policies. In reality their proposal is a populist proposal, designed to capitalise on the widespread negative view, not of the language itself, but of how it was taught in school.
I would urge those who support the goal of preserving Irish not to fall for this ploy.
It is worth noting the Welsh have increased their compulsory requirement. From the early 90s it was compulsory to study Welsh to age 14 and in 1999 that was increased to 16. Welsh preservation and even revival efforts have been seen as more successful than ours. We should certainly keep an eye on developments there, though I would accept that each situation is different.
One thing is to be welcomed. Over recent years the debate on the Irish language has been increasingly informed by expert opinion in the field of socio-linguistics. Indeed this has brought a dose of reality to the question of Irish survival prospects that was previously absent. It has also highlighted with greater accuracy than before, that the language is indeed in a very perilous position. The state of the language is now so fragile - despite popular views to the contrary - that a major step in the wrong direction could wipe it out quickly and everywhere as a community tongue.
So the status of Irish in school should not be an object of experiment or political gaming. Instead it should be seen as an essential component of a survival strategy for a language which now needs very careful nurturing if it is to survive.
Everyone knows that Irish language policy has been very flawed down the years - though some remarkable changes have taken place over the last 15 years or so. We know too that there have been chronic failures in how the language has been taught. I recall studying 16th century poetry in a class where no student had the ability to order a train ticket in Irish. Some of these failures have been corrected in part in recent years; for example, by making the curriculum more relevant and emphasizing communication over literature.
Given the known and perceived failures it is tempting to reject current policy in its entirety. This would be a mistake. If the Irish language - still declining in the Gaeltacht - has any hope of survival as a spoken tongue, it is by virtue of the latent but widespread support that it enjoys among the general population.
It is true that among those who look favourably upon the language, most never succeed in mustering the effort required to learn to speak it. The reasons for that are complex, but the fact remains that passive support among the public is a crucial buttress without which the whole edifice of recent language policy would collapse.
Compulsory Irish, I believe, has been a key factor in maintaining a thin but very widespread knowledge of the language among the general population. It makes the vast bulk of the population at least moderately familiar with the language. People may not have enjoyed their experience with Irish in the classroom (one hopes that this can be continuously improved upon for future generations), but, more often than not, they come away wishing the system had served them better and that they had learned more not less of the native tongue.
When people who struggle with the language are given the option, they will opt out, and the result will be an evaporation of the crucial familiarity with Irish. The result will be alienation from the language. It is easy to see how, over a period of time, this would lead to a drastic drop in support for government sponsored revival efforts.
That people retain a mere 'cúpla focal' after years of schooling is an indictment that the system has failed to create competent speakers. Yet dispensing with this thin base entirely would be devastating.
The Fine Gael attempt to make Irish optional is a political ploy - designed to portray a party ready to take radical steps to inject impetus into fresh policies. In reality their proposal is a populist proposal, designed to capitalise on the widespread negative view, not of the language itself, but of how it was taught in school.
I would urge those who support the goal of preserving Irish not to fall for this ploy.
It is worth noting the Welsh have increased their compulsory requirement. From the early 90s it was compulsory to study Welsh to age 14 and in 1999 that was increased to 16. Welsh preservation and even revival efforts have been seen as more successful than ours. We should certainly keep an eye on developments there, though I would accept that each situation is different.
One thing is to be welcomed. Over recent years the debate on the Irish language has been increasingly informed by expert opinion in the field of socio-linguistics. Indeed this has brought a dose of reality to the question of Irish survival prospects that was previously absent. It has also highlighted with greater accuracy than before, that the language is indeed in a very perilous position. The state of the language is now so fragile - despite popular views to the contrary - that a major step in the wrong direction could wipe it out quickly and everywhere as a community tongue.
So the status of Irish in school should not be an object of experiment or political gaming. Instead it should be seen as an essential component of a survival strategy for a language which now needs very careful nurturing if it is to survive.
Wednesday 26 May 2010
Bord Gáis Taking the Piss
All I needed was to have my gas metre moved by a couple of yards. There was nothing complicated - just a trench and a short pipe. So I phoned Bord Gáis. I gasped when the agent told me how much it would cost: a thousand euro!
I thought I had misheard and asked again. Yes, a thousand euro, said the agent.
I took a minute to recompose myself, took a deep breath, then, knowing I had no choice if I wanted my porch built, I begrudgingly agreed.
Ok, I asked, so will the Bord Gáis people have my gas working again when they leave? Oh no, the voice said, in a tone somewhere between surprise and contempt, you will have to call a registered gas fitter to reconnect you.
Why, that is absurd, I protested, I'm paying you, the gas company, a thousand euro, to move a box two yards, and you wont even connect me? No, that is not our responsibility.
But a thousand euro, I cried, this is obscene. Well, in any case, the voice said wryly, we need to have your gas installer certify it for safety. Wait a minute, I said angrily, are you telling me that the only major gas company in the country cannot move a pipe by two yards and verify that it's safe? That's ridiculous, I said.
My protestation was to no avail of course. This is what monopolies do: rip people off. What I had experienced was a taste of say, 1986. Back then most of the big service and utility providers were monopolies. It could take months to get a phone installed and when you did the costs of using it were astronomical. But Telecom Eireann didn't care - the last thing that mattered to them was happy customers.
So far, however, Bord Gáis has managed to maintain its monopoly over gas supply. They can defend their position under the pretense that there is competition by virtue of the fact that people can choose coal or oil. But this falls apart simply because coal and oil aren't gas. Bord Gáis and BP and Topaz and Bord na Móna now call themselves 'energy providers' as if a customer rings up an asks for three thousand kilojoules. It's absurd. For a start, coal and oil are far dirtier than gas. Plus Bord Gáis has an installed base of pipelines to houses in cities. And finally, the raw materials are priced differently. So Bord Gáis saying that users have choice is patently false. It would be like Telecom Éireann saying in 1986 that as an alternative users can choose carrier pigeons.
But anyway on the appointed morning my Bord Gáis team turned up to move the metre. (And nice chaps they were too). I asked one of them if they would be finished that day. Today, he laughed, I expect to be out of here in an hour. I have seven of these jobs to do today.
So there we are. Bord Gáis charged me a thousand euros for what it took these two men to do in an hour. Now I don't know what those men were paid, but I would presume it falls considerably short of 500 euro an hour.
To finish the job, I had to pay a gas installer a further three hundred euro to reconnect my metre to my house - along the path which Bord Gáis had just dug up.
Overall 1300 euro to move a pipe by two yards. The Celtic Tiger might be gone, but Rip Off Ireland is alive and well.
I thought I had misheard and asked again. Yes, a thousand euro, said the agent.
I took a minute to recompose myself, took a deep breath, then, knowing I had no choice if I wanted my porch built, I begrudgingly agreed.
Ok, I asked, so will the Bord Gáis people have my gas working again when they leave? Oh no, the voice said, in a tone somewhere between surprise and contempt, you will have to call a registered gas fitter to reconnect you.
Why, that is absurd, I protested, I'm paying you, the gas company, a thousand euro, to move a box two yards, and you wont even connect me? No, that is not our responsibility.
But a thousand euro, I cried, this is obscene. Well, in any case, the voice said wryly, we need to have your gas installer certify it for safety. Wait a minute, I said angrily, are you telling me that the only major gas company in the country cannot move a pipe by two yards and verify that it's safe? That's ridiculous, I said.
My protestation was to no avail of course. This is what monopolies do: rip people off. What I had experienced was a taste of say, 1986. Back then most of the big service and utility providers were monopolies. It could take months to get a phone installed and when you did the costs of using it were astronomical. But Telecom Eireann didn't care - the last thing that mattered to them was happy customers.
So far, however, Bord Gáis has managed to maintain its monopoly over gas supply. They can defend their position under the pretense that there is competition by virtue of the fact that people can choose coal or oil. But this falls apart simply because coal and oil aren't gas. Bord Gáis and BP and Topaz and Bord na Móna now call themselves 'energy providers' as if a customer rings up an asks for three thousand kilojoules. It's absurd. For a start, coal and oil are far dirtier than gas. Plus Bord Gáis has an installed base of pipelines to houses in cities. And finally, the raw materials are priced differently. So Bord Gáis saying that users have choice is patently false. It would be like Telecom Éireann saying in 1986 that as an alternative users can choose carrier pigeons.
But anyway on the appointed morning my Bord Gáis team turned up to move the metre. (And nice chaps they were too). I asked one of them if they would be finished that day. Today, he laughed, I expect to be out of here in an hour. I have seven of these jobs to do today.
So there we are. Bord Gáis charged me a thousand euros for what it took these two men to do in an hour. Now I don't know what those men were paid, but I would presume it falls considerably short of 500 euro an hour.
To finish the job, I had to pay a gas installer a further three hundred euro to reconnect my metre to my house - along the path which Bord Gáis had just dug up.
Overall 1300 euro to move a pipe by two yards. The Celtic Tiger might be gone, but Rip Off Ireland is alive and well.
Wednesday 5 May 2010
Father and Son
When I was about three years old my father, directly after coming home from work or just after dinner, I'm not sure, used to sit me up on his knee and tickle my ear with his tongue. Then he would tell me a story. Sometimes this took place lying on the couch, for I remember my father tucking me in beside him. This is a recurrent and favourite memory of mine, and is both vague and brilliantly clear. I have no clear idea of exactly when my father began - or stopped - showing his affection in this way, and I cannot recall any great 'visual' detail. I don't remember any one of these occasions in particular and can only guess what my father might have been wearing, or how the room in the house was decorated. I think I know how the furniture was arranged, and I certainly remember that the couch was facing a window, in the direction of the kitchen. I always imagine my mother standing with her back to the window, as a silent observer, in silhouette. Her position there, standing watching father and son, cannot be a faithful memory. I now realise that she would have had better things to do with her time, being in charge of two boys under three and a nineteen seventies father who worked hard oursite the home, but who never interferred, we would now say helped, in domestic affairs. But the memory also has great clarity. I can hear and feel my father's tongue in my ear, and I hear his voice say hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock.
This is one of serveral very clear - and very dear - memories that I have of early childhood. Another is one of me playing with my grandfather's pocket watch. He passed away in 1977, when I was four. In another memory I am riding a cart behind a donkey with my uncle, who was only 9 years my senior. This was on my grandparents' farm where the donkeys were pushed to extinction in the middle to late seventies by the arrival of a diesel tractor. (A David Brown 770 which has since mostly melted back into the earth beside the byre, also in a state of decay).
My early memories are very precious because they connect me with people, allive and deceased, who were near the centre of my life at one stage or another. Yet these memories are terribly fragile. I know that people often have false memories of childhood (Scientists of memory say that we often create these memories unconcsciously from a mix of real memories and suggestions by others. This often results in impossible memories, which are recalled episodes which could never have happened, like being present at an event which took place before you were born. This is down to a thing called source confusion where the rememberer cannot recall the source of the information. It could have been a story someone told or something they read, and in the mind it got inserted with other real memories of self).
Even if some of my early memories are false, I don't necessarily want to find out. They are like pillars that are now built into my life story, and I cannot bear to imagine them being torn away.
When my father became seriously ill lately I found myself revisiting a lot of my childhood and teenage memories that involve him. The process happened of course unconsciously and over a period of weeks. I might be waiting for a meeting to start at work when I would remember my father, wearing a yellow vest, his white shoulders exposed to the July sunshine, and hunched over a turf spade. His hair is dishevelled, but thick and ungrey. His motion is fluid and silent, though from time to time I hear the slap of peat on peat.
Or I am getting ready for bed and another memory arrives: he and I are sitting on the pier in Killybegs, hot summers day, me seven or so, and both eating ice-lollies. Mine is an orange ice thing, his a choc ice or a brunch, or one of the more adult ice creams that I couldn't manage. There is no sound but he must be telling me about the boats, the great fleet of trawlers that packed into the harbour then but which are long gone now.
Or while driving alone I suddenly recall my father perched on the tiny stage of the local pub, his paolo soprano accordion strapped on his shoulders, his eyes are fixed in the distance as he inhabits his music.
These are a few examples of the many memories which have bubbled to the surface over the past few weeks since my father suddenly became ill. Thankfully he is making a good recovery now and his prospects are reasonably good. But his close call has vivifyied him in me, and I fell I need to be near him more than before.
The inability of Irish fathers (and sons) to communicate is a well known source of anguish. My father, despite all those shared memories and experiences, remains far too much unknown to me. It hurts to admit that I still can ask, who is that gentle, patient, loving, man that tickled my ear? Or what might have been on the mind of the robust, big-hearted man throwing the sods onto the turf bank? Or where does his music take him?
It is a lonely thought that I might never really get fully inside those memories, never really acquire a fuller understanding of the figure that made them all possible. I had always thought that those memories, which are shared experiences, even if some are unreliably remembered, are a kind of collage which, when viewed from afar would form a meaningful picture that isn't visible in any single part. Yet I feel that I am standing here squinting at the grey and blurry distance.
Now more than ever I want to know my father better, to learn about his inner life and how he views his own life, and mine. But maybe I'm wrong to even try - maybe knowledge is not the currency of love. Perhaps the opposite is true. Maybe it is the mystery, and the unfathomable that sustain love.
Yet the power and immediacy of those memories create a yearning for something more. Something bigger and more complete. So I feel I will go on trying, desparately, to discover more.
This is one of serveral very clear - and very dear - memories that I have of early childhood. Another is one of me playing with my grandfather's pocket watch. He passed away in 1977, when I was four. In another memory I am riding a cart behind a donkey with my uncle, who was only 9 years my senior. This was on my grandparents' farm where the donkeys were pushed to extinction in the middle to late seventies by the arrival of a diesel tractor. (A David Brown 770 which has since mostly melted back into the earth beside the byre, also in a state of decay).
My early memories are very precious because they connect me with people, allive and deceased, who were near the centre of my life at one stage or another. Yet these memories are terribly fragile. I know that people often have false memories of childhood (Scientists of memory say that we often create these memories unconcsciously from a mix of real memories and suggestions by others. This often results in impossible memories, which are recalled episodes which could never have happened, like being present at an event which took place before you were born. This is down to a thing called source confusion where the rememberer cannot recall the source of the information. It could have been a story someone told or something they read, and in the mind it got inserted with other real memories of self).
Even if some of my early memories are false, I don't necessarily want to find out. They are like pillars that are now built into my life story, and I cannot bear to imagine them being torn away.
When my father became seriously ill lately I found myself revisiting a lot of my childhood and teenage memories that involve him. The process happened of course unconsciously and over a period of weeks. I might be waiting for a meeting to start at work when I would remember my father, wearing a yellow vest, his white shoulders exposed to the July sunshine, and hunched over a turf spade. His hair is dishevelled, but thick and ungrey. His motion is fluid and silent, though from time to time I hear the slap of peat on peat.
Or I am getting ready for bed and another memory arrives: he and I are sitting on the pier in Killybegs, hot summers day, me seven or so, and both eating ice-lollies. Mine is an orange ice thing, his a choc ice or a brunch, or one of the more adult ice creams that I couldn't manage. There is no sound but he must be telling me about the boats, the great fleet of trawlers that packed into the harbour then but which are long gone now.
Or while driving alone I suddenly recall my father perched on the tiny stage of the local pub, his paolo soprano accordion strapped on his shoulders, his eyes are fixed in the distance as he inhabits his music.
These are a few examples of the many memories which have bubbled to the surface over the past few weeks since my father suddenly became ill. Thankfully he is making a good recovery now and his prospects are reasonably good. But his close call has vivifyied him in me, and I fell I need to be near him more than before.
The inability of Irish fathers (and sons) to communicate is a well known source of anguish. My father, despite all those shared memories and experiences, remains far too much unknown to me. It hurts to admit that I still can ask, who is that gentle, patient, loving, man that tickled my ear? Or what might have been on the mind of the robust, big-hearted man throwing the sods onto the turf bank? Or where does his music take him?
It is a lonely thought that I might never really get fully inside those memories, never really acquire a fuller understanding of the figure that made them all possible. I had always thought that those memories, which are shared experiences, even if some are unreliably remembered, are a kind of collage which, when viewed from afar would form a meaningful picture that isn't visible in any single part. Yet I feel that I am standing here squinting at the grey and blurry distance.
Now more than ever I want to know my father better, to learn about his inner life and how he views his own life, and mine. But maybe I'm wrong to even try - maybe knowledge is not the currency of love. Perhaps the opposite is true. Maybe it is the mystery, and the unfathomable that sustain love.
Yet the power and immediacy of those memories create a yearning for something more. Something bigger and more complete. So I feel I will go on trying, desparately, to discover more.
Monday 15 February 2010
Open Letter to Deirdre de Búrca
Deirdre, a chara,
When, or if, the Greens decide to bring down the government it will likely be as a result of an accumulation of breaches of trust. That is always how it happens. But they must carefully choose which the issue that they allow to break the camel’s back.
In your own case, whatever the merits of your argument about there being a pattern of Green submission to Fianna Fáil, you chose an issue which entirely centred upon YOU. I’m afraid it just looks so bad – for you that is.
Your timing too: the week George Lee quits. Celebrity cum superhero Lee emerges as a political idiot and sets this weeks theme music: self-obsessed clowns who cannot take the heat of political life. Then you throw out your rattler over a plum job in Brussels.
Knowing too how terrible the collateral damage your party is absorbing from being in power, and how your exit would hurt them, this is an immensely selfish act. You have hurled yourself into the political abyss, and you may well help bring your colleagues in after you. Well done!
Le dea-ghuí,
Tomaltach
When, or if, the Greens decide to bring down the government it will likely be as a result of an accumulation of breaches of trust. That is always how it happens. But they must carefully choose which the issue that they allow to break the camel’s back.
In your own case, whatever the merits of your argument about there being a pattern of Green submission to Fianna Fáil, you chose an issue which entirely centred upon YOU. I’m afraid it just looks so bad – for you that is.
Your timing too: the week George Lee quits. Celebrity cum superhero Lee emerges as a political idiot and sets this weeks theme music: self-obsessed clowns who cannot take the heat of political life. Then you throw out your rattler over a plum job in Brussels.
Knowing too how terrible the collateral damage your party is absorbing from being in power, and how your exit would hurt them, this is an immensely selfish act. You have hurled yourself into the political abyss, and you may well help bring your colleagues in after you. Well done!
Le dea-ghuí,
Tomaltach
Monday 8 February 2010
Can the Left capitalise?!
In a comment on a progressive blog I lamented the fact that the left seems more hung up on holding or increasing current spending levels than it is concerned about service levels and value for money. One response to my comment ran that 'yes, but few here are really more concerned about spending levels per se'.
I know that the left is not obsessed simply with spending levels : but that too often is how it seems. It appears to me that much of progressive opinion seems embattled and defensive, and in its moment of seige it is unwilling to concede anything: even the truth. The mentality is that the wagons are closely circled, and all will be defended. This must explain how the broader left can defend the scandal of social partnership.
If there has been criticism from within, it certainly has been muted. The McLoones, Beggs, and O'Conors, co-opted by the Ahern governments, and complicit to one extent or another in its disastrous economic governance, remain unscathed. Similarly no one on the left pointed to the grotesque spectacle of Higher Civil and Public Servants (among the highest paid public servants in the world in a bankrupt country) inviting those in all jobs and in none to join them in the march on PS pay. As another commenter pointed out, the same applies to calling underperforming service providers. And I am decrying the same uncritical approach to spending: the mantra is always for more spending, regardless of the evidence of chronic mispending of moneys currently allocated. The fear of course is that scrutinizing spending will lead to questions on pay, work practices and conditions.
In all of these cases the public sees a defence of the indefensible, and turns way in despair.
I don't understand why the left needs to be so defensive, especially now. True, at a time when the neoliberal dogma of the self-correcting, free market, arrogantly bruised aside skeptics with swagger and media-pumped bluster, it was understandable that the retreating left took defensive positions.
But now, with free market ideology badly shaken, it is time for progressives to go on the offensive. And in my opinon the only way to do that is to admit present and past shortcomings and to campaign with honesty and with a view to persuading the neutral ground. The time for pandering to its own constituency for the sake of survival is over. The imperative for the left to re-invent itself couldn't be more urgent because if it fails now to refresh its ideas and to bring them into force, the crisis in the current capitalist model will be an interlude not a watershed.
In Ireland the left seems to me to be represented by entrenched, self-serving, and mostly public service unions on the one hand and an opportunistic, wavering, and power hungry labour party on the other. (then there is the fringe, from Joe Higgins to SF, the People before Profit, all of whom, I hope, remain nothing more than a fringe).
We cannot be surprised that PS unions are self serving - in essence that is their purpose. Nor can we be surprised that the Labour party is power hungry - politics is about power after all. Still, I would have hoped that the Labour party could have by now worked out a viable and coherent narrative not about what kind of society it strives to achieve - we all know the mantra about fairness and equity - but how it can be brought about and in particular what kind of role the state should play in achieving social and economic objectives.
The right succeeded admirably in crafting a narrative about the virtues of the market: the market always allocates resources more efficiently, the market gives choice to the individual, the market requires but also copperfastens freedom, the market drives innovation. Why can the left not similarly frame its ideas in cogent arguments which can be made to look no less self evident?
I know that the left is not obsessed simply with spending levels : but that too often is how it seems. It appears to me that much of progressive opinion seems embattled and defensive, and in its moment of seige it is unwilling to concede anything: even the truth. The mentality is that the wagons are closely circled, and all will be defended. This must explain how the broader left can defend the scandal of social partnership.
If there has been criticism from within, it certainly has been muted. The McLoones, Beggs, and O'Conors, co-opted by the Ahern governments, and complicit to one extent or another in its disastrous economic governance, remain unscathed. Similarly no one on the left pointed to the grotesque spectacle of Higher Civil and Public Servants (among the highest paid public servants in the world in a bankrupt country) inviting those in all jobs and in none to join them in the march on PS pay. As another commenter pointed out, the same applies to calling underperforming service providers. And I am decrying the same uncritical approach to spending: the mantra is always for more spending, regardless of the evidence of chronic mispending of moneys currently allocated. The fear of course is that scrutinizing spending will lead to questions on pay, work practices and conditions.
In all of these cases the public sees a defence of the indefensible, and turns way in despair.
I don't understand why the left needs to be so defensive, especially now. True, at a time when the neoliberal dogma of the self-correcting, free market, arrogantly bruised aside skeptics with swagger and media-pumped bluster, it was understandable that the retreating left took defensive positions.
But now, with free market ideology badly shaken, it is time for progressives to go on the offensive. And in my opinon the only way to do that is to admit present and past shortcomings and to campaign with honesty and with a view to persuading the neutral ground. The time for pandering to its own constituency for the sake of survival is over. The imperative for the left to re-invent itself couldn't be more urgent because if it fails now to refresh its ideas and to bring them into force, the crisis in the current capitalist model will be an interlude not a watershed.
In Ireland the left seems to me to be represented by entrenched, self-serving, and mostly public service unions on the one hand and an opportunistic, wavering, and power hungry labour party on the other. (then there is the fringe, from Joe Higgins to SF, the People before Profit, all of whom, I hope, remain nothing more than a fringe).
We cannot be surprised that PS unions are self serving - in essence that is their purpose. Nor can we be surprised that the Labour party is power hungry - politics is about power after all. Still, I would have hoped that the Labour party could have by now worked out a viable and coherent narrative not about what kind of society it strives to achieve - we all know the mantra about fairness and equity - but how it can be brought about and in particular what kind of role the state should play in achieving social and economic objectives.
The right succeeded admirably in crafting a narrative about the virtues of the market: the market always allocates resources more efficiently, the market gives choice to the individual, the market requires but also copperfastens freedom, the market drives innovation. Why can the left not similarly frame its ideas in cogent arguments which can be made to look no less self evident?
Wednesday 3 February 2010
Bás na Gaeilge
Chualamar na scéalta céanna fiche uair: go bhfuil an Ghaeilge ar shéala bheith marbh sa Ghaeltacht mar theanga phobail, go bhfuil deighilt mhór idir phobal labhartha na Gaeilge sa Ghaeltacht agus lucht Gaeilge na gcathracha, agus gur orthu siúd, Gaeilgeoirí na mbailte, a bheidh todhchaí na Gaeilge ag brath. Bhí na barúlacha seo le cluinstin ó thús ré na hathbheochana i leith agus, má choinnigh an Ghaeilge ag meath mar theanga phobail, mhair sí i mbéal na ndaoine sa Ghaeltacht. Glactar go forleathan anois, áfach, go bhfuil stáid na Gaeilge sa Ghaeltacht ina géarchéim teanga.
Murar féidir a rá go bhfuil fíor-dhíospóireacht náisiúnta ar siúl faoi láthair faoi thodhchaí na Gaeilge agus na Gaeltachta (ní dóigh liom go mbeidh a leithéid de dhíospóireacht ann feasta), tá an réadúlacht agus an t-ionracas le sonrú anois san áit a mbíodh an siabhrán agus an séanadh. Faoi dheireadh tá daoine ar spéis leo cás na Gaeilge ag dul i ngleic leis na fíricí loma.
An rud is suntasaí faoin phlé a dhéantar ar an Ghaeilge le blianta beaga anuas ná go bhfuiltear ag cur eolas na teangeolaíochta chun tairbhe, go hairithe an méid a bhaineann le teangacha atá i mbaol, nó go fiú, an tuiscint a bhaineann le bás teangacha. Ba chúis mire é an chaoi a mbíodh daoine ag dul i muinín fhigiúirí an daonáirimh ar úsáid na Gaeilge chun cur i gcéill go raibh an teanga ag seasamh an fhóid.
Tá stáid na teanga sa Ghaeltacht geal soiléir faoi láthair. Seo an méid a bhí le rá ag an Staidéar Cuimsitheach Teangeolaíoch :
“Is é tátal lom shuirbhé na ndaoine óga nach bhfuil ach idir 15 bliana agus scór blianta fágtha mar shaolré ag an nGaeilge mar theanga theaghlaigh agus phobail sa chuid is láidre den Ghaeltacht”
B’fhíor don Dr John Walsh “géarchéim teanga” a thabhairt ar chás na Gaeilge sa Ghaeltacht san alt leis a foilsíodh ar beo.ie roimh an Nollaig. Agus ní iontas ar bith é gur scríobh Seán Tadhg Ó Gairbhe ar an Irish Times le déanaí gurb ann do “bhliain chinniúnach na Gaeilge”.
Ón uair a thuig mé go raibh an Ghaeilge i mbaol is iomaí uair a smaoinigh mé ar an chuma a shíl mé a bheadh ar dheireadh na Gaeltachta. Ar an cheo ar fad a bhain le cás na Gaeltachta le blianta, sílim anois go n-aithním dé deireadh na Gaeilge mar theanga phobail. Don chéad uair tá an cainteoir dúchais ag sleamhnú as amharc i bpolasaí teanga an stáit. San alt céanna le Ó Gairbhe fiafraíonn sé “cad a d’imigh ar an gcainteoir dúchais, duine go mbíodh an-chaint go deo air i dtuarascálacha fadó?”. Tháinig an cheist chuige nuair a thug sé faoi deara nach bhfuil táisc ná tuairisc ar an chainteoir dúchais i nDréachtstraitéis Fiche Bliain don Ghaeilge a d’fhoilsigh an Rialtas i mí na Samhna, 2009.
Ní hionann é sin is rá ar ndóigh nach bhfuil cainteoirí dúchais fós ann. Tá gan amhras, buíochas do Dhia. Ach is cosúil anois go bhfuil tús áite caillte ag an Ghaeltacht maidir le todhchaí na teanga.
Ó thús ré na hathbheochana bhí teannas agus míthuiscint idir mhuintir na Gaeltachta agus lucht foghlamtha na teanga sa Ghalltacht. Má bhí ceannródaithe na Gaeilge sna cathracha dílis agus díograiseach, bhí siad rómánsach agus idéalaíoch freisin. Ba bheag an tuiscint a bhí acu ar an anró a bhí á fhulaingt ag lucht an tsaibhris teanga a bhí scaipthe i measc na gcnoc lom sna háiteanna is iargúlta in iarthar na tíre. Bhí bearna mór cultúrtha eatarthu freisin. Bhí an sean-traidisiúin fós beo sa Ghaeltacht fad is a bhí an nua-aoiseachas ag bualadh na gcathracha.
Bhíothas ag súil an t-am sin go ndúnfaí na bearnaí seo faoi dheireadh. D’fhéadfaí na síolta is áille agus is mó luach den traidisiúin a shábháil sa Ghaeltacht agus a chur sa Ghalltacht (smaoiním ar dhearcadh De Valera). Agus d’fhéadfaí an chuid is éifeachtaí agus is iontaí de shaol nua na mbailte a thabhairt do mhuintir na Gaeltachta (monarchana, teilifís, cumarsáid). Ní raibh a fhios áfach cén chaoi a d’imreodh na hathruithe casta sin ar a chéile ó thaobh cúrsaí teanga de. Tá tuiscint níos fear anois ann ar cheisteanna sóch-theangeolaíochta, agus tuigtear go mbíonn brú millteanach ar mhion-teanga nuair a chuirtear gréasáin nua (bóithre, fón, idirlíon) in áit na sean-ghréasáin (idir dhaoine muinteartha, inmheánach don phobal).
Is léir anois nár éirigh linn deireadh a chur le meath na Gaeltachta. Is léir freisin nár éirigh linn an deighilt idir mhuintir na Gaeltachta agus Gaeilgeoirí na gcathracha a fhuascailt. Léiríonn alt spéisiúil leis an Dr Brian Ó Broin (Irish Times 16 Eanáir) go bhfuil bearna mór teanga idir chainteoirí dúchais na Gaeltachta agus chainteoirí cumasacha na gcathracha.
De réir Uí Bhroin is gránna le cainteoirí dúchais Gaelscoilis na mbailte. Is minic a bhrúnn siad cnaipe an rialaitheora nuair a thosaíonn cainteoir a d’fhoghlaim a chuid Gaeilge ag caint ar an teilifís. Ní thaitníonn Gaeilge na Gaeltachta le go leor foghlaimeoirí ach an oiread. Dar le Ó Broin tá an chaint dhúchasach deacair dothuigthe i gcluasa an fhoghlaimeora.
Rinne Ó Broin anailís ghrinn theangeolaíoch ar shamplaí de chaint na gcathrach agus de chaint na Gaeltachta. Dar léis tá difríochta móra foghraíochta, deilbhíochta, gramadaí, agus comhréire idir an dá chineál Gaeilge. Tharla an éabhlóid seo de bharr a laghad teagmhála a dhéanann an dá phobal lena chéile agus dar le Ó Broin d’fhéadfaí ‘pidsean’ a thabhairt ar an teanga nua atá i mbéal mhuintir na cathrach. (Teanga neamhsheasmhach le gramadach shimplí agus a cruthaíodh in áit na mbonn chun cumarsáid a dhéanamh is ea pidsean).
Ba é an fhís a bhí ag lucht na Gaeilge i gcónaí ná go mbeadh an Ghaeltacht ina thobar ag foghlaimeoirí agus gur ó chaint na Gaeltachta a bhfaighidís an saibhreas agus an snas. Is léir nár tháinig an fhís sin i gcrích.
Mura féidir le foghlaimeoirí saibhreas, iomláine, agus áilleacht theanga na Gaeltachta a thabhairt leo, an fiú an Ghaeltacht a chaomhnú ar chor ar bith? Nó an é go mbeadh Gaeilge na gcathracha ní ba bhoichte fós murach an Ghaeltacht bheith ann? Nó an bhfeidhmíonn an Ghaeltacht ar leibhéal eile in intinn an fhoghlaimeora, go seasann sí mar bhun-chloch faoi choincheap éigin a bhaineann le féidearthachtaí teanga, sé sin gur mó an tábhacht a bhaineann leis an Ghaeltacht atá i samhlaíocht an fhoghlaimeora ná a bhaineann leis an fhíor-Ghaeltacht féin?
Mairfidh Gaeilge éigin ag cainteoirí aonáracha ar fud na tíre, ach is dóigh liom féin gur beag seans atá anois ann go dtiocfaidh an Ghaeilge slán mar theanga phobail. Goilleann sé go mór orm an méid sin a rá. Is iomaí uair a smaoinigh mé ar cén cineál báis a cheap mé a bheadh ag an Ghaeilge. Ag amharc ar na léarscáileanna a léiríonn na limistéir a raibh an Ghaeilge beo iontu ón naoú haois déag i leith, samhlaítear dom i gcónaí leac mhór oighir ag leá. Níl fágtha den leac anois ach giotaí beaga atá fós ag leá agus tá teas an Bhéarla, mar theanga dhomhanda, ag scalladh fúithi níos tréine na mar a bhí riamh. Is gearr nach mbeidh againn ach lochán uisce.
Murar féidir a rá go bhfuil fíor-dhíospóireacht náisiúnta ar siúl faoi láthair faoi thodhchaí na Gaeilge agus na Gaeltachta (ní dóigh liom go mbeidh a leithéid de dhíospóireacht ann feasta), tá an réadúlacht agus an t-ionracas le sonrú anois san áit a mbíodh an siabhrán agus an séanadh. Faoi dheireadh tá daoine ar spéis leo cás na Gaeilge ag dul i ngleic leis na fíricí loma.
An rud is suntasaí faoin phlé a dhéantar ar an Ghaeilge le blianta beaga anuas ná go bhfuiltear ag cur eolas na teangeolaíochta chun tairbhe, go hairithe an méid a bhaineann le teangacha atá i mbaol, nó go fiú, an tuiscint a bhaineann le bás teangacha. Ba chúis mire é an chaoi a mbíodh daoine ag dul i muinín fhigiúirí an daonáirimh ar úsáid na Gaeilge chun cur i gcéill go raibh an teanga ag seasamh an fhóid.
Tá stáid na teanga sa Ghaeltacht geal soiléir faoi láthair. Seo an méid a bhí le rá ag an Staidéar Cuimsitheach Teangeolaíoch :
“Is é tátal lom shuirbhé na ndaoine óga nach bhfuil ach idir 15 bliana agus scór blianta fágtha mar shaolré ag an nGaeilge mar theanga theaghlaigh agus phobail sa chuid is láidre den Ghaeltacht”
B’fhíor don Dr John Walsh “géarchéim teanga” a thabhairt ar chás na Gaeilge sa Ghaeltacht san alt leis a foilsíodh ar beo.ie roimh an Nollaig. Agus ní iontas ar bith é gur scríobh Seán Tadhg Ó Gairbhe ar an Irish Times le déanaí gurb ann do “bhliain chinniúnach na Gaeilge”.
Ón uair a thuig mé go raibh an Ghaeilge i mbaol is iomaí uair a smaoinigh mé ar an chuma a shíl mé a bheadh ar dheireadh na Gaeltachta. Ar an cheo ar fad a bhain le cás na Gaeltachta le blianta, sílim anois go n-aithním dé deireadh na Gaeilge mar theanga phobail. Don chéad uair tá an cainteoir dúchais ag sleamhnú as amharc i bpolasaí teanga an stáit. San alt céanna le Ó Gairbhe fiafraíonn sé “cad a d’imigh ar an gcainteoir dúchais, duine go mbíodh an-chaint go deo air i dtuarascálacha fadó?”. Tháinig an cheist chuige nuair a thug sé faoi deara nach bhfuil táisc ná tuairisc ar an chainteoir dúchais i nDréachtstraitéis Fiche Bliain don Ghaeilge a d’fhoilsigh an Rialtas i mí na Samhna, 2009.
Ní hionann é sin is rá ar ndóigh nach bhfuil cainteoirí dúchais fós ann. Tá gan amhras, buíochas do Dhia. Ach is cosúil anois go bhfuil tús áite caillte ag an Ghaeltacht maidir le todhchaí na teanga.
Ó thús ré na hathbheochana bhí teannas agus míthuiscint idir mhuintir na Gaeltachta agus lucht foghlamtha na teanga sa Ghalltacht. Má bhí ceannródaithe na Gaeilge sna cathracha dílis agus díograiseach, bhí siad rómánsach agus idéalaíoch freisin. Ba bheag an tuiscint a bhí acu ar an anró a bhí á fhulaingt ag lucht an tsaibhris teanga a bhí scaipthe i measc na gcnoc lom sna háiteanna is iargúlta in iarthar na tíre. Bhí bearna mór cultúrtha eatarthu freisin. Bhí an sean-traidisiúin fós beo sa Ghaeltacht fad is a bhí an nua-aoiseachas ag bualadh na gcathracha.
Bhíothas ag súil an t-am sin go ndúnfaí na bearnaí seo faoi dheireadh. D’fhéadfaí na síolta is áille agus is mó luach den traidisiúin a shábháil sa Ghaeltacht agus a chur sa Ghalltacht (smaoiním ar dhearcadh De Valera). Agus d’fhéadfaí an chuid is éifeachtaí agus is iontaí de shaol nua na mbailte a thabhairt do mhuintir na Gaeltachta (monarchana, teilifís, cumarsáid). Ní raibh a fhios áfach cén chaoi a d’imreodh na hathruithe casta sin ar a chéile ó thaobh cúrsaí teanga de. Tá tuiscint níos fear anois ann ar cheisteanna sóch-theangeolaíochta, agus tuigtear go mbíonn brú millteanach ar mhion-teanga nuair a chuirtear gréasáin nua (bóithre, fón, idirlíon) in áit na sean-ghréasáin (idir dhaoine muinteartha, inmheánach don phobal).
Is léir anois nár éirigh linn deireadh a chur le meath na Gaeltachta. Is léir freisin nár éirigh linn an deighilt idir mhuintir na Gaeltachta agus Gaeilgeoirí na gcathracha a fhuascailt. Léiríonn alt spéisiúil leis an Dr Brian Ó Broin (Irish Times 16 Eanáir) go bhfuil bearna mór teanga idir chainteoirí dúchais na Gaeltachta agus chainteoirí cumasacha na gcathracha.
De réir Uí Bhroin is gránna le cainteoirí dúchais Gaelscoilis na mbailte. Is minic a bhrúnn siad cnaipe an rialaitheora nuair a thosaíonn cainteoir a d’fhoghlaim a chuid Gaeilge ag caint ar an teilifís. Ní thaitníonn Gaeilge na Gaeltachta le go leor foghlaimeoirí ach an oiread. Dar le Ó Broin tá an chaint dhúchasach deacair dothuigthe i gcluasa an fhoghlaimeora.
Rinne Ó Broin anailís ghrinn theangeolaíoch ar shamplaí de chaint na gcathrach agus de chaint na Gaeltachta. Dar léis tá difríochta móra foghraíochta, deilbhíochta, gramadaí, agus comhréire idir an dá chineál Gaeilge. Tharla an éabhlóid seo de bharr a laghad teagmhála a dhéanann an dá phobal lena chéile agus dar le Ó Broin d’fhéadfaí ‘pidsean’ a thabhairt ar an teanga nua atá i mbéal mhuintir na cathrach. (Teanga neamhsheasmhach le gramadach shimplí agus a cruthaíodh in áit na mbonn chun cumarsáid a dhéanamh is ea pidsean).
Ba é an fhís a bhí ag lucht na Gaeilge i gcónaí ná go mbeadh an Ghaeltacht ina thobar ag foghlaimeoirí agus gur ó chaint na Gaeltachta a bhfaighidís an saibhreas agus an snas. Is léir nár tháinig an fhís sin i gcrích.
Mura féidir le foghlaimeoirí saibhreas, iomláine, agus áilleacht theanga na Gaeltachta a thabhairt leo, an fiú an Ghaeltacht a chaomhnú ar chor ar bith? Nó an é go mbeadh Gaeilge na gcathracha ní ba bhoichte fós murach an Ghaeltacht bheith ann? Nó an bhfeidhmíonn an Ghaeltacht ar leibhéal eile in intinn an fhoghlaimeora, go seasann sí mar bhun-chloch faoi choincheap éigin a bhaineann le féidearthachtaí teanga, sé sin gur mó an tábhacht a bhaineann leis an Ghaeltacht atá i samhlaíocht an fhoghlaimeora ná a bhaineann leis an fhíor-Ghaeltacht féin?
Mairfidh Gaeilge éigin ag cainteoirí aonáracha ar fud na tíre, ach is dóigh liom féin gur beag seans atá anois ann go dtiocfaidh an Ghaeilge slán mar theanga phobail. Goilleann sé go mór orm an méid sin a rá. Is iomaí uair a smaoinigh mé ar cén cineál báis a cheap mé a bheadh ag an Ghaeilge. Ag amharc ar na léarscáileanna a léiríonn na limistéir a raibh an Ghaeilge beo iontu ón naoú haois déag i leith, samhlaítear dom i gcónaí leac mhór oighir ag leá. Níl fágtha den leac anois ach giotaí beaga atá fós ag leá agus tá teas an Bhéarla, mar theanga dhomhanda, ag scalladh fúithi níos tréine na mar a bhí riamh. Is gearr nach mbeidh againn ach lochán uisce.
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