wouldliketobelieveyou

The Slow Death of Romano Prodi

2008-05-06T17:27:00.000+02:00

“See how Italy beseeches God to send someone to save her from those barbarous cruelties and outrages; see how eager and willing the country is to follow a banner, if only someone will raise it.”

Nicolò Macchiavelli
“The Prince”

If you had watched the morning news on Canale 5, the only one of Silvio Berlusconi’s three national TV channels which could be described as vaguely fair, on the morning of April 13th as Italians were diligently taking their responsibilities as citizens seriously (over 80% of them voted), you would not have seen any statements from politicians. Strange, you might think, it was after all the day of a general election. This state of affairs is a result of Italian journalism laws, whereby no reporting of political statements, or release of opinion poll figures, is allowed while voting stations are open. These activities are also prohibited on the day before voting, in what is known as “una pausa di riflessione” or time to think.

Indeed you would not have seen any overt political comment, but what you would have seen was a parade of citizens, happy to talk to the camera about their views, aspirations and frustrations with the current state of the country.

There was the nurse, unhappy with how things were going badly in the health care system. Things have never been worse you know. There was the student, worried whether he would be able to get a job when he left university. You know how much uncertainty there is in the world today. There was the elderly couple, angry at how the purchasing power of their state pension had been eroded over the last couple of years. It’s all due to the euro of course. All of the people interviewed sincerely hoped that the future would hold better things for them and for their country at large. The new government, it was hoped, would turn things around.

The message was clear. The country was in dire straits and needed someone to get it back on its feet. The last government had clearly been incapable of sorting things out. It would be very wrong however to read the bulletin’s report as just crude pro-Berlusconi opinion formation (although it clearly was). It was also something more than that. Both of the main political parties here have tried to buy into the idea of new beginnings following the collapse of an unpopular government Italians only just about elected a mere two years ago. Indeed, it has seemed a long two years. People have forgotten that Berlusconi was in power right up until May 2006. He was in power a full eight months before the euro started to weigh down the pockets of Italians, theretofore used to banknotes as small as 1000lire (50 cent). The facts didn’t stand in the way of him launching an anti-euro campaign. The key was, of course, that Romano Prodi had been president of the European Commission, and Prime Minister in the 1990s. He had been there when the strict budget regulations member states had to adhere to were negotiated. Painting Prodi as Mr. Euro paid dividends for Berlusconi. By the time this unprecedented campaign by a party of government had got into full swing Prodi was, in the eyes of many Italians, responsible for the increased hardship they were facing every month. The term “sindrome della quarta settimana”, or 4th week syndrome, referring to the last 7 days of the month when all your money is spent and you are waiting impatiently for payday became common parlance. One poster belonging to Berlusconi’s Forza Italia party cried “PRODI: your euro equals our misery!”

Berlusconi also changed the electoral law in the run-up to the 2006 vote. The party which wins more votes on a national level gets a large number of bonus seats in the lower house of parliament, but the bonus seats in the Senate are distributed on a regional basis. This was a clear recipe for disaster given the climate in early 2006. There are some regions such as Sicily and the Veneto where the right always wins by a comfortable margin, and others such as Tuscany or Emilia-Romagna where the left is traditionally very strong. What this all means is that it is much more difficult to gain a working majority in the upper house. In fact the left only managed to gain control by counting some votes of small regional parties which, although allied with them, had not been part of their original coalition and with the support of senators elected by Italians abroad. Even so, on occasion Prodi’s government only survived confidence motions thanks to the votes of supposedly non-political lifetime senators (notably 99-year-old Nobel laureate Rita Levi Montalcini).

This parliamentary instability was the last thing Prodi, and the country he was trying to govern needed. The reality was that his government, if not stillborn, was on life support from day one. All of the political parties in the coalition realised that every vote in the parliament gave them incredible leverage. The government was unable to live up to its election promises such as legal rights for same-sex couples. It didn’t prove capable of reforming the incredibly wasteful public sector. It ran scared from the trade unions, seen by many as more interested in protecting privileges than protecting workers.

It did however launch a PR campaign to convince the public it was doing its best to combat Italy’s extremely high rate of tax evasion. Berlusconi was able to turn this to his advantage. Fanning the flames of public disquiet about high taxation for low returns, he convinced a large portion of the public the government was trying to get their hands on more and more of the honest hardworking individual’s pay packet. The bookish Minister for Finance, Tommaso Padoa-Schioppa declared taxes to be “beautiful things” and accused stay-at-home twenty- and thirty-somethings of being big Mammy’s boys, ignoring the fact that expensive accommodation and hard-to-find employment make this a necessity, rather than a choice, for many. In this way, supported neither by the left, nor the right, the government’s days were surely numbered.

A selective amnesty for prisoners in the country’s overcrowded prison system also came back to haunt the government, badly tarnishing its image. Despite the fact that Berlusconi’s own party had voted for it, seeing as it had originally been mooted by Pope John Paul II, it was a stick he could beat the left with. The government was portrayed as soft on crime, dishonest, and not having citizens’ best interests at heart.

High exchequer returns, due in no small part to increased revenue from higher fuel prices, as well as real results from the fight against tax evasion, meant that the government did manage to reduce the public debt somewhat. The people weren’t impressed. A higher tax burden and a general sense of political paralysis meant that it was only a matter of time before one of the parties made a bolt for the door.

It was the Catholic Udeur grouping and not the far-left who withdrew their support in the end, their leader and his wife under investigation by Naples magistrates for corruption in public appointments, (an investigation subsequently dropped).

“When a prince has the goodwill of the people he must not worry about conspiracies; but when the people are hostile and regard him with hatred he must go in fear of everything and everyone.”

So Prodi was gone, and what was to replace him? Another article is coming about that one!

Enda Kenny: a sore winner

2008-05-05T12:08:00.001+02:00

One man was not going to be graceful last week following Bertie Ahern’s resignation announcement. There was one man, among all the others, who was going to get his speak in and divil the backtracking or toning down given the day that was in it would he do.

That man was Enda Kenny.

First in his address to the public on the day of the Taoiseach’s announcement, and subsequently in his submissions to the Dail chamber, Kenny did himself, the Taoiseach, and his party, a great disservice by dispensing with decency and trying to score political points which would have automatically been his if he had only had the nous to wait.

Kenny looked hapless as he took to the steps of Leinster House to make his speech. His frontbenchers stood behind him trying their best, in all fairness to them, to hide their glee, but what they really did was make Kenny look like the weedy kid the teacher had picked to read the class prayer for peace in the world and bread for the hungry. Nobody sniggered or sneered in the background, which was good, but you felt that maybe they were all asking themselves how on Earth they had picked him as Taoiseach material as he proceeded to misjudge totally the mood of the day and land the blows anyway.

His somniferous tones at first made it seem like he was going to do the decent thing and just say adieu. The so long (sparring-)partner routine didn’t materialise however. He had clearly decided he was going to punch the falling man. Mr. Ahern’s “welcome” departure, he hoped, would see the end of the “soft option politics, indecisiveness and procrastination synonymous with the Ahern era.” It was all more Scrappy Doo than Marquis of Queensbury.

There was no ref to step in when Kenny pulled a knife. "I have to say that this decision was inevitable. The Taoiseach here has bowed to the inevitable, based on the weight of his own evidence at the tribunal.”
Take this, and this, and this……

It got even worse: "I believe that Bertie Ahern set standards and principles for others which he has not applied to himself until now. He set standards for Pádraig Flynn, for Charles Haughey, for Ray Burke, for Liam Lawlor. Had those principles and standards been applied in his own case, his resignation would have been much sooner.”

Tell us what you really think Enda.
“I regret to say that much of his good work over his years as Taoiseach and as minister will be overshadowed by yet another Fianna Fáil leader having to leave under these circumstances."
There you have it- “yet another Fianna Fail leader”. It has to hurt when the public continue to vote for the baddies time after time. Charlie and all his goings on. Albert and the Beef Tribunal. Fianna Fail 2 Fine Gael 0. Finally Fine Gael had managed to depose a Fianna Fail leader and it was a moment which had to be relished. Bertie wasn’t going to be allowed to go gently into that good nighty night.

Enda went on: "It is very regrettable that all Ministers in his Cabinet, and his junior partners, saw fit to defend the Taoiseach in the knowledge that the situation was not as it should be.”
Make him stop!

"All of the Ministers in the current Government and all of the Ministers in the junior partners have defended this Taoiseach on the basis of having done nothing wrong and of there being no lessening of the ability of Government to do its work. Clearly that has not been the case."
This really was the political equivalent of whipping out the lad and publicly pissing into Bertie’s open grave and it reflects very badly on Kenny. Obviously nobody had ever told him that the floorlings don’t like those who kick a man when he’s down.

If this misjudged bad taste wasn’t harmful enough for Kenny and Fine Gael, he actually went as far as to call for early elections. If anyone had actually missed the point of what he had been saying and merely interpreted it as blueshirt static- nothing more than annoying interference on a day Ahern had made his own- this was the proof that he was out of touch altogether.
Kenny, and Fine Gael, had won the argument. Ahern had gone. We all know that Bertie has a lot of explaining to do- if it isn’t corruption it’s most probably a tax non-compliance issue (Newspeak for evasion). Why oh why then was Kenny let look like a twit when all he had to do was wait and let the public get over the wave of sympathy and begin to coldly examine the facts.
Time will probably tell us that Kenny was right. But he should have known that time, and timing, are everything.

Bye Bye Bertie (much too silly)

2008-05-05T12:08:00.000+02:00

So I misjudged Bertie.

I underestimated him by a country mile.

If you read my last posting you’ll see I didn’t give him credit for the ability he has to read the situation better than anybody else. Just imagine Albert Reynolds or, Heaven help us, Charlie Haughey doing what he did.

In short, I was wrong.

He told us on Wednesday that he was stepping aside to save the body politic. What he was going through, he told us, was blatantly unfair, but he wasn’t going to let us suffer as well. He’d take the blows, the spears, the arrows but we didn’t have to worry about him. He was tough. He could take it. He would soon prove to us all that he was what we all want him to be, that is an honest decent down-to-earth self-sacrificing politician.
Only time will tell if all these adjectives will appear in the final biography but in the meantime let’s enjoy the media having been thrown into a confused frenzy of trying to justify the sometimes juiced up headlines and moralistic finger wagging we have seen over the last year or so.

The Irish Times didn’t know where to look. If you listen carefully you can actually hear Daniel McConnell clearing his throat and inserting the marbles before coming out with the following: “While as a constant critic of Mr Ahern his departure is, to me, welcome for the sake of Irish politics, there can be no denying that the manner in which he conducted his exit was steeped in a dignity sorely lacking in recent months.” Is that an insult cloaked in a compliment or a compliment cloaked in an insult?
The Irish Times’ God-deliver-us-all-from-dishonesty line began to look a bit shaky as soon as public opinion began to be heard though, and it became clear that Moore Street is infinitely more forgiving than D’Olier Street. Maybe it’s because we’ve been inoculated against corruption by years of tribunal revelations, or maybe we’re just bored with the whole thing, but quicker than an irate punter can dial the Liveline number, the sympathy waves came rolling in. I almost checked youtube to see if some poor tearful teen had posted a video asking us to “leave Bertie alone”.

The teenage girl’s name was Eoghan Harris.

Mr. Harris eruditely informed us that: “Last week Bertie Ahern gave the lie to Enoch Powell's aphorism about all political careers ending in failure.” So apparently, being forced to resign early is not really failure. “He did so by acting on Hegel's aphorism that freedom is the recognition of necessity.” Couldn’t you just see the wrinkles on our philosopher king’s forehead as he contemplated Hegelian aphorisms on the steps of government buildings last week? Yes, that’s what I thought.
Eoghan burbled on “instead of waiting for the inevitable push, Ahern jumped. With that one bound, our hero was free.” A hero indeed, and who are we to deflate a young boys hero? No mere hero of yestersong was Bertie however. The damsel (Grainne Carruth) had also been saved. “Heroes…… do not leave women in the lurch.”

Harris would do well to consider the mischievous role his newspaper, the Irish Independent, has played in all of this. It constantly landed tabloidesque kicks in the ribs with headlines based solely on “latest polls” showing the Taoiseach’s popularity limboing lower and lower under the bar of public opinion. It has rhetorically asked whether the Taoiseach would, or could, survive much longer. And so, we have now seen that this type of half-honest headline writing has, once again, become a sort of self fulfilling prophecy. Headlines reports pressure on public figure- headlines pour pressure on public figure. (Let’s stop this now shall we, before a silly chicken and egg respectively waddle and wall-fall disrespectfully into this conversation?)

Careerism more important than honesty

2008-04-02T09:52:00.000+02:00

“No FF TD seems to have a problem with Bertie Ahern - a sad commentary on the state of Irish politics” wrote Stephen Collins in the Irish Times on Friday 21 March. In last week’s Sunday Business Post Vincent Browne also comments that none of what he calls Ireland’s political “practiced eyebrow raisers” have flinched at the implausible and oft-times corrected stories spun by the Taoiseach at the Mahon Tribunal.

Both journalists are right when they say that it takes just too much of a stretch of the imagination and a selective blocking out of human behavioural patterns to even begin to believe the Taoiseach. I mean, technically what Mr. Ahern says could be true, but then again in a constantly expanding universe, much much bigger than we can comprehend, there is a good probability that somewhere on a lonely asteroid sits a monkey currently playing all of Beethoven’s sonatas.

Collins rightly points out that il Duce himself, CJH, had, if not a plethora, at least a consistent number of critics within his own party. Why, asks Browne, has it taken until now for someone within the government to express “concern”? Even at that, it was Senator Fiona O’Malley looking for publicity in a PD leadership campaign for which no adjective is mediocre enough.

The difference between then and now, I believe, is succession. Haughey was never accepted by all of the Fianna Fail parliamentary party as an honest leader. Right from the start the malcontents were waiting for leadership wobble that would allow them to unseat Charlie. We aren’t even talking about big names such as Des O’Malley here. Hugh Leonard from my own constituency spent his entire political career on the cold cold backbenches having backed the wrong horse in the early 80s FF stakes. Even more importantly however, it was not very clear whom exactly Fianna Fail would choose as its next leader.

This time around it’s different. Everybody knows who will lead Fianna Fail into the next election. No member of the FF parliamentary party will dare speak out because they know it would probably spell the end of any ministerial hopes for as long as Brian Cowen is leader. And, yes, assuming of course that black is not proven to be white, nor the sea to be situated above the sky in the meantime, he will be leader.

John Gormley admitted after the last election that he was sick of being in opposition. This makes exactly the same point with regard to the Greens, PDs and independents whose attitudes are dictated by the same realpolitik. They know that if they are to be in power, deals must always be done, and more often than not, that deal is with Fianna Fail.

Bertie has anointed Cowen in a sort of Aznar-Rajoy relay which may well have the same result. In Spain, Aznar won two terms (as opposed to Bertie’s three) and announced that he would not be the Partido Popolar’s candidate for the premiership in the 2004 elections. Rajoy subsequently lost to Zapatero in a monumental blunder following the bombs at Atocha railway station. How they messed up the handover is history, but in Ireland, unlike in Spain, the lion’s share for the blame would probably fall on le dauphin, rather than his political daddy, if the little people revolted at the polls. If Cowen loses in 2012, or whenever, Bertie’s achievement of three consecutive wins will look even better. On the other hand, if Cowen wins, Bertie will not be without merit.

It is not a clear-cut win-win situation for the Taoiseach however. His authority is on the wane among the party faithful, even if just in hushed tones for the moment. Will he have the guts to quit early, go out all guns blazing, stepping down for the good of the country? The maxim that all political careers end in failure teaches us otherwise. Even if Ahern stood down in the morning, in what of course would be presented as a magnanimous gesture of heretofore unseen maturity, the doubts already exist in the back of the public mind. The damage, if you like, is done.

The real question now is whether the public care that their elected leader does not seem to be a paragon of probity, and it seems that they have more important business to see to. The point that the populace don’t care because the politicians are not publicly piling on the pressure can be made here and that brings us right back to where we started from: politicians’ reluctance to countenance a career-breaking statement.

There is no evidence to suggest that Cowen is so hungry for control that he and his men will start to elbow in around Ahern. Loyalty is always credible with the public, even in the most ridiculous of situations. A lack of loyalty might even cause Ahern loyalists to try and rain on his parade.

What all this means is that until there is obvious public anger, and blatant disquiet among Fianna Fail deputies or a radical step by the Taoiseach himself, nothing will change. Bertie will fight his corner and the country will chokingly lurch forward just at a time when it needs clear-minded and trusted leadership more than ever.

Rite and Reason

2008-04-02T08:41:00.000+02:00

This is a letter of mine published in the Irish Times on 11 December 1997 in response to an article by Monsignor Denis Faul in which he denounced non-Catholic education. I found the article to be offensive and based on very shaky arguments. My religious views have changed since then but here is the piece as published.

Secularism And Religion

A chara, - I read with surprise the article by Mgr Denis Faul (Rite and Reason, December 1st), in which he claims that "even paganism is preferable to secularism." Does he not realise that secularism does not mean rejection of religion, but rather a separation of Church and State - two distinct spheres of human activity?
Mgr Faul's opening parable, in which he somehow tries to equate pride with secularism, using a litany of bizarre and unrelated statements, is meaningless. In suggesting that secularism is synonomous with hedonism, the glorifying of greed and personal pleasure, he will have offended all Catholic parents who have chosen a secular education for their children, along with all parents of different religious traditions.
Perhaps it would have been more productive to examine why some parents, despite having had a Catholic education themselves, choose a different form of instruction for their offspring. In many cases I am sure the answer lies in the hypocrisy, and sometimes abuse, that many of that generation experienced at the hands of religious who instilled fear and timidity rather than virtue and courage in their pupils.
Mgr Faul's article is typical of the arrogance found in some of the Roman Catholic clergy - an arrogance that permits a member of another Christian denomination to share in the sacrifice of the Eucharist in a Catholic church but denies the right of a Catholic to reciprocate. Obviously we all believe our religious beliefs to be correct, but Mgr Faul could do worse than read the writings of Nicholas Cusanus, a Catholic bishop and theologian, who, despite living during the polarised days of the Reformation, recognised that truth can exist in diversity.
Mgr Faul states that Catholic students "rejoice in the truth, in the sure and certain teachings of the Church, of Pope John Paul II." Firstly, I wonder what proportion of students that Catholic schools are turning out today have an understanding of these teachings, never mind rejoice in them. Secondly, if Papal teachings are to be accepted as truth for ever, how can one account for the many immoral and misguided Popes that have existed down through the centuries or the fact that the doctrine of Papal infallibility was pronounced only relatively recently in the Church's history?
Being a Christian means reading the Bible in order to follow the example of Jesus, the Son of God, in our everyday lives: it does not mean accepting without discussion the doctrines of a Hierarchy shrouded in mystery and intrigue. The problems that face the Catholic Church today stem from the fact that it no longer has a docile and superstitious congregation, ready to accept dogma proclaimed in an ancient language they do not understand.
I do not intend this letter to be a mere short-sighted condemnation of the Catholic Church. I am not a so-called "Church-basher". In fact, I believe organised religion to be a force for good in the world. I myself was educated in a Catholic school and that education has served me well. What I am saying, however, is that if the Catholic Church wants to continue to influence society, it must reconsider some of its attitudes and actions in order to appear more relevant to the lay community. It must realise that the days of praying with your back to the congregation are gone for good.-Is mise, Paul McPhillips,
Maghernaharney, Rockcorry, Co Monaghan.

Jersey Envy

2008-04-02T08:28:00.000+02:00

15 August 2007
Last Sunday was good for Monaghan. Heartbreak builds great teams. Heartbreak in a Croke Park that almost dared to believe is even better. Getting to play there must be wonderful. For Monaghan fans just getting to watch your team there is a day out worth remembering.

I remember my first visit to HQ on a primary school tour and we actually ran out onto the pitch and played! We met Ciaran Murray, the erstwhile Farney captain in the Hogan Stand. What a day that was. Schoolboy joy did not reach a similar peak until the following year when we went to the amusements at Bettystown.

All respect to last year’s Division 2 final but a Championship quarter-final is on another level entirely and seeing, or in my case listening to, your county strut fearlessly against the Gaelic footballing county par excellence and almost beat them stirs something inside you that other sports just don’t do for me. There is something primeval lurking under modern GAA and it is this that makes the end of a great run so hurtful yet so satisfying at the same time.

Seen from afar this parochialism gone professional (for want of a better “p” word) has an even stronger draw. When I lived at home I sometimes went to Championship games. Now I follow Sunday sport on Radio 1 attentively, even for league matches. I briefly played football (very badly) and although I only sometimes scraped my place on a small juvenile team in a small county I realise now it gives a sense of belonging that other sports just don’t. Soccer and rugby are organised around clubs. Likeminded people group together and do something positive. The difference with the GAA however, is choice. You can usually choose what rugby club to play with. You are always born into your local GAA. Rockcorry was my club and it could never have been any different.

Now that I live abroad I wistfully read the county yearbooks and see the pictures of the people I played with, and against, and this makes me homesick.It seems that I’m not the only one who gets this knot in the stomach. Look at Irish pubs all over the world. They’re jammed on Championship Sundays while pubs back at home are probably showing the Premiership. If you’ve ever been to Bondi Beach on Christmas day you can testify to the fact that the further away you are from your county, the more importance you bestow on your county’s geansai. You see more GAA jerseys on a summer’s day in Torremolinos than Tramore, more in Benidorm than Bundoran. Perhaps that is not comparing like with like but the point still stands. Travel round Thailand or the States or even in more unusual destinations and there is a good chance that the young Irish people you meet have the colours in the backpack if they’re not actually wearing them.

The day after this year’s 6-nations closer in Rome saw some of the country lads among the Irish fans return to their roots and stick on the old itcher and head to St. Peter’s for early Mass. I saw a full contact game of rugby played in Piazza Navona on the following evening featuring a dozen Kerry lads, all sartorially Kingdomed out to the last, versus the rest of the world. It wasn’t long pof course til it descended into a proper game of catch and kick. This time it was the boys in blue and white who had the better of the green and gold. Oh why didn’t that happen on Sunday! This time the boys in blue in question were not Monaghan but rather a squadron of carabinieri who seemed to be taking their job very seriously indeed.

What is the reason for this reverting to parish-pumpism when we head abroad?Is it a genuine expression of identity? “I’m from Carlow ya boy ya. Don’t you forget it. We’re the best county in Ireland.” Ehm, a bit disingenuous I would have thought.

Or is it for the same reason that Canadians travel with maple leaf badges sewn onto their rucksacks: the desire not to be confused with overweening neighbours? At first glance this seems much more probable but, well, does Pedro from Lima know the difference between an inter-county shirt and a Beezer’s Home League away strip? Does Ahmed from Kuala Lumpur have any inkling where on Allah’s good earth you might find Ard Mhacha? Probably not, so a national rugby jersey does that job much better.

Or perhaps it is like birdsong, a call out to our peers to get ourselves noticed. “Look at me I’m Irish. I’m up for a bit of whatever you’re having yourself.” We identify ourselves for the benefit of our country-fellows, not Seánín Foreigner. We want other Irish people to talk to us. We want them to think we’re interesting. A GAA jersey can actually be the be-all and end-all of conversation starters for people who have nothing to say. For this very reason it proves to be a great tool for pulling women as well. Despite the beginnings of a beer-belly it can still give you the aura of sometime sportsmanship. Slip in a story about the game of your life and that impossible point you once scored against Kileevan and you’re in there.

As a font of brawls and arguments too, it has few equals. A Monaghan jersey in recent years has oft been a source of derision. I don’t know how many times the hilarious question “When was the last time Monaghan won an all-Ireland?” got thrown in my face as a put down. There is no answer to that one. You’ve lost the argument as soon as that inglorious chestnut is thrown on the debate roast.

All of this is not only the case for the country cousins. It seems that Gaelic football is no longer as stigmatised in certain parts of Dublin as it once was. It is no longer seen as much of a gurriers’ game played by gurriers as it was. The Dublin jersey too, is now ubiquitous, just like those of the more rural counties. Indeed the GAA is in such a position of strength, it feels perfectly comfortable in hiring its showpiece stadium out to the IRFU and even the partitionist FAI, the latter now clearly the least visionary of the big three Irish sporting organisations.

Also, part of the reason behind the newfound willingness to don the county, or even club, colours in far-flung remote corners of the world obviously lies in the throwing off of our historical country shyness and lack of confidence. Our first real post-famine generation came of age a decade ago and we’re quickly getting to be louder and brasher than any of our neighbours. Gaelic games are no longer the poorest of poor relations and the leadership of the GAA have provided us with Ireland’s best stadium for our most popular spectator sports. This modern image, along with the increase in the number of summer Championship games thanks to the back door system, has so helped the association and games’ support that it seems natural to wear your county colours abroad. Why wouldn’t you? It’s now OK. Soccer is on a downer too and so the GAA is even cooler.

So up Down or wherever else colours your summer and book those cheapo flights. Pedro from Lima, Ahmed from Kuala Lumpur and whoever else we happen upon will have to sit and suffer our explanations of hurling and football for a while to come. God help them all too if there’s a handball revival!

Democratic deficit or diseased democracy?

2008-04-01T19:10:00.000+02:00

If you’ve studied Europe or have been interested in the whole process of European integration, chances are you’re starting to get a bit bored, or perhaps even beginning to carelessly ignore the whole thing. You will also, at some stage, have come across the expression “democratic deficit”. This two word alliteration more or less sums up the fact that our European leaders are not accountable enough to us, the (easily) led. It is a mild little phrase which lulls us into the only slightly worrying belief that although things in Brussels could perhaps be better, at least our respective national leaders are fighting their corners in our individual national interests. Yes, there may be a bit of corruption and overspending but could it possibly be worse than what’s been coming out in the long overdue wash here?

We have been led to believe that this deficit is fixable; a sort of benign tumour that the politicking medics will soon sort out. It could be the fact that our leaders use the phrase themselves which is perversely comforting. It makes us think that, yes, they are aware that something is awry and, as responsible political leaders and convinced Europeans, they’ve been doing their best to put things right.

Unfortunately, any close examination of what has really been going on over the last few years would cause these naïve scales of complacency to fall from our eyes. The truth is that this deficit has been getting progressively worse. It is by now, I believe, a horribly malignant cancer that threatens some of the vital functions of our democratic process.

The first sign of this was back in the early 90s when the people of Denmark, nominally sovereign in their own land, rejected the treaty that their leaders had signed for them at Maastricht. “Thanks for asking”, they said, “but we don’t want it”. The medicine that they refused was subsequently sweetened with a few meaningless opt-outs and they were told to vote again. This time they had to get it right. The Euro heavy-weights were drafted in to cajole and persuade them into getting the answer right second time round, and, in the minds of our leaders, they did. Cajoling and persuading you might think are perfectly legitimate expressions of democracy at work and indeed they are, but the second round of voting also saw the debut of that now-so-common form of mental bullying that is the archetype of the “good European”. The mind press-gangers went to work on the brains of the Danes, reminding them of their duty towards the rest of Europe and how bad it would look if they spoiled the party for everybody else. Who did they think they were? Didn’t they remember the bad old days before European integration made our continent a mostly safe place to live. The subtext was as subtle as it could be, but the discomfort stirring in Europe’s Balkan gut at the time would serve as a reminder.

This reasoning was misleading- dishonest even. Western Europe has not enjoyed post-war stability and relative peace because of political integration. It is intergovernmental economic cooperation, some would say coupled with American military supremacy, that drives it all. We should not forget that the first European Union was one of the core countries’ coal and steel industries. That, needless to say, was not said to the Danes. Vote no, they were told, and Europe would unravel before their eyes and the latent Barbarian inside us all would unleash God only knew what. The first signs of malignancy were clearly visible here- the principle that a referendum decides the matter once and, if not for all, at least for quite a while was done for. The assumption that electors were not there to be threatened, even if only tacitly, by the elected was not immune either.

Roll on a decade or so and where did we find ourselves? Another European Treaty had been signed by politicians and in Ireland the people were being asked what they thought. Horror of horrors, apathy won and those who bothered to vote rejected the Treaty. It soon became clear that the post-Maastricht scenario would be played out again. Gerhard Schroeder’s reaction was as rapid as it was predictable. The man who, along with his French counterpart angered the Taoiseach and other leaders of smaller member states by first ignoring them for hours and then presenting them with the Treaty as a fait accompli announced that there would “have to be another referendum”. It was now clear that what had happened after Maastricht was not just an unfortunate hump on the road to European integration. It had instead transpired to be a dangerous precedent. A self-interested political caste was now in the driving seat, making the important decisions for us. The formerly sovereign peoples of the old continent had now been relegated to the status of annoying old relative in the back seat.
“Oh, I don’t want to go to Nice.”
“But you love Nice!”
The bullying commenced. The nay-sayers were of course portrayed as selfish Slav-haters. The Irish government changed the law so that the state no longer had to support both sides of the argument financially. The people reflected and luckily said yes on just the second chance they were given to come up with the right answer. The cancer had clearly spread but the doctors offered some comfort and assured us that everything was alright- we were good Europeans again and could go back to sleep. Nurse would be round with our cornflakes anon.

Third time round, it was two founding members that tried to let the Euro-tyres down. A constitutional treaty had been signed amid farcical pomp at the Roman capitol under the guidance of the grinning 21st century General Boulanger that is Silvio Berlusconi but the French and Dutch suggested a shadowy location where the leaders might like to insert it. This time the attack was too serious to pretend everything was OK but not all the doctors agreed immediately. The day after the second referendum defeat John Bruton, (get this- European ambassador to Washington!) told RTE that the constitutional treaty was too complicated to be put to the people, which is tantamount to accusing the people who pay his wages of just being plain thick. A few months later Italian president Giorgio Napolitano, speaking in London, decried the disgraceful behaviour of some states who had opportunistically not bothered to proceed with ratification. Despite these, and other, outbreaks of arrogance and frustration with the little people on the part of their elected representatives, the doctors had no choice but perform surgery.

The surgery, they told us, was serious but chances of recovery were good. They were experts after all and were sure that a radical new treatment in the form of a new treaty would soon have sick old Europe back on its feet again.

We got the Lisbon Treaty.

The British government has shamelessly tried to argue that the referendum they promised on the Constitutional Treaty is no longer necessary as its lovely little replacement is a totally different beast. (It was such an inconsequential scrap of paper indeed, that the British PM, could even afford to turn up late to sign it.) Of the 27 patients, only the Republic of Ireland is holding a referendum. Yet again the hospital boucer bully boys are flexing their muscles, ready to intervene if the patient gets stroppy and refuses to take granpappy’s good European elixir.

What this all means is that the doctors are lying to our face but telling the truth in hushed tones behind the curtains. Ex French president Valery Giscard D’Estaing, chief obstetrician at the difficult birth of the Constitutional Treaty has stated that there is no substantial difference between the document rejected by the people and the document the wise consultants won’t let them get a chance to express their opinion about. Some, such as former Italian PM Giuliano D’Amato, and Belgian Foreign Minister Karel De Gucht have been so honest as to admit that the Lisbon Treaty is essentially the same as the rejected constitution but for the detail that this time it has been drawn up in ridiculously difficult Burocratese in the hope that nobody will bother to read it. (In fairness to D’Amato, he thinks this is a bad thing.) Realising that people can get scared of what they don’t understand, former French minister Jack Lang has tried to dispel our fears, assuring us that, yes, “it is so complicated that not even experts can understand it but after all, you know, a treaty is just a treaty”

It is clear that the Lisbon Treaty is not the wonder treatment we thought we were getting. The mooted superdrug has turned out to be nothing more than a pair of old aspirins Mr. Barroso and crew had left in some old jacket pocket, but it seems like they will suffice to soothe the indigestion our leaders have been feeling since the referendum defeats..

It’s a bit, but not too much, of a simplification of political history to say that in the past, rulers didn’t trust those they ruled and tried their best to subdue them. The ruled eventually plucked up the courage and seized power for themselves, sometimes violently as in 1789 France and sometimes more gradually as in 19th and early 20th century Britain. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that they seized power in France and the powerful ceded it piecemeal in Britain in order to appease the masses. Just enough, drop by drop, to stave off the angry mobs. The pendulum seems to be swinging the other way now. The rulers are stocking up on authority and influence. The plebians are clearly not to be trusted anymore. The doctors know better. Perhaps then it was naïve of us to assume that after being so unwilling to give it up, the elites of this world were going to sit back and let us hang on to political control.

This is not an examination of the inherent quality of the Lisbon Treaty or a study of the benefits or otherwise of European integration. It’s not what’s happening- it’s how it’s happening that is so worrying. The democratic deficit is now more than just a comfortable little excuse for our leaders to sometimes ignore our wishes. It is a cancer that is progressively hollowing out our democracy from the inside, disabling our organs and rendering our immune system (a free press, civil liberties and so on) useless. The doctors have changed the names on the will and are poisoning the patient while at the same times throwing him a couple of aspirins for that horrible indigestion he thinks is the problem.

Aspirins don’t cure cancer. The only thing left the patient can do is get informed. Stop taking the doctors’ word for it. Read the treaties.

White and oh so blue all over

2008-03-22T00:12:00.000+01:00

12 August 2007
Yes, I did what every football fan of asuccess-starved team should never do……I believed.For a few brief minutes on Sunday I actually saw SamMaguire in the Diamond. I saw a stream of happiness gurgle out of pubs. I saw Monaghan businessmen raisetheir glass with delight, only to realize that thisyear’s discretionary spending was all going to thepublicans. I saw bishops and politicians on the backof haulage trailers. I saw a certain ‘Banty’ holdingthe most important piece of Irish sporting metalaloft. I saw Monaghan registered cars, hornsobnoxiously blowing, driving down Cavan Main Streetjust to rub it in. How sweet that would have been!I mean, we had beaten Kerry. We were in the semis.Surely Dublin were there for the taking. Kerry are thecurrent champions. Dublin merely champs of everybody’sleast favourite footballing province. Who knows whatcan happen in a final? It was anybody’s. It was ours.Surely, it was ours. The price of flights home for thesemi-final even crossed my mind. I saw more than I should have, or perhaps ever willUnfortunately, the cruel pendulum of sporting successdidn’t know which side to get stuck on. First Kerrygot a goal back, then Monaghan reacted, then Kerrystarted to claw it back and more. The commentatorswere as undecided as I was. First John Maughandistinctly said that an upset was on the cards. Acouple of minutes later he said it would be aninjustice if Monaghan didn’t take this one. Then, Ifeared there was going to be a replay. Monaghan inreplays!? Remember Armagh a couple of years ago?Monaghan don’t do replays. “Never underestimateKerry”, they started to say on the radio. “Monaghan’sgoing to be peeved about this” was a further dilutionof my hopefulness. “They’re never beaten until thefinal whistle.” Damn that fat lady! Had they not seenher rotundity gargling the honey and lemon not 10minutes previously? I was sure I had.Then that final point, and the whistle. That was it.This was our year and we had been robbed. Kerry hadpulled their result out of our bag and we weren’tgetting another chance. There followed that mosttypical twist on the sporting roller-coaster: from thepeak of celebration to the trough of sulking, but wasit right to feel gutted? When your county outperformsyour expectations, can you feel short-changed?Will the sense of achievement overtake those of regretand annoyance? Will Monaghan’s performance have been ablip or do we have something to build on? I don’tknow. I’m too far away to have any real idea but I dointend to time my summer holidays better next year.Perhaps around the Ulster Final- I’m sure that’srealistic enough. For now I’m going back to the beach,the white of the jersey blending in perfectly with thecolour of my skin. You have to be fashion-conscious;this is Italy after all.