Today, the Taoiseach, Brian Cowen, leader of our country told me that I had no reason to feel shame. Strange that I do not feel comforted. Stranger still that he is talking about feeling anything at all. But these are strange days we're living in.
When it comes right down do it, why should anyone feel shame?
The Bankers? Their function is to make a profit for their owners/shareholders. They will charge the highest rate they legally can, and as much as the market can bear.
The Developers? See above...
The Regulators? They were appointed and directed by Government. Shure they were only doing what they were told... weren't we all?
The Mortgagees? Well, 'everyone' said that they'd be left behind if they didn't get on the property ladder - so is it their fault if they tried to live the dream? If the Bankers told them that they had confidence in their ability to pay, who were they to disagree?
And so we come to Government. What are their responsibilities? Is it not the case that they DO have a responsibility to civil society, not the markets. We are their shareholders. Their function is to oversee that the Bankers, the Developers, and all the rest, are Regulated. They do this by appointing people of substance and authority to Regulate. They develop policies according to their manifestos. They legislate in order to protect civil society from insatiable greed and unfettered criminality.
No, Mr. Cowen, I don't feel shame. I don't feel much of anything except anger, that that's all directed at YOU and your inept, corrupt, excuse for a Government.
How DARE you condescendingly state that I need feel no shame.
We'll get through this. My daughter will probably never get to College.
But we'll feel no shame...
My son has had one holiday away, a long weekend with friends in France, in his nine years. He'll probably not see the likes for another 10 years. He'll be lucky to get to Leaving Cert, let alone College. But we'll feel no shame...
I'll probably not have a job after Christmas, my husband will be bloody lucky to keep his part-time job. We'll both have to work like lunatics - probably in the black economy if we're lucky enough to find something. But we'll feel no shame...
When we're choosing between a doctors fee and the electricity bill...
When we're cutting back on those little luxuries we tend to get a taste for - like food...
We'll feel no shame...
I will tell everyone who will listen that the Troika of ineptitude; Fianna Fáil, the PD's, the Glasraí, did this.
I do not feel any shame.
I feel anger.
Showing posts with label credibility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label credibility. Show all posts
Friday, November 19, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Cliché-Fest of the Vanities
As I'm writing, I'm listening to Philip King, Ed Walsh, Ruari Quinn, Ilonna Duffy, and Harry McGee on Marian Finucan's show. Oh, and I almost forgot - John Gormley. It's Saturday, 10th October at 12 noon. It's like a little microcosm of our society.
Ed Walsh is an academic who wants retribution - now that's a dangerous combination. It's one that I can absolutely understand, and I can feel his fury. His comments on Bertie in the Cupboard were the best I've heard.
You really get the sense of Ahern as Leprechaun, dancing on a cliff-edge. The exTaoiseach who spent years carefully weaving the rope that bound him to his brothers, who in their turn created the net that enmeshed (not to say ensnared) all of us. The net that binds all of us ultimately to him, and his ilk - the FF tribe. And there he is, dancing in delight at the security that rope gives him. He holds tight to the pot-a-gold that he helped fill as he granted constructive wishes; the heavy pot-a-gold that will pull all of us over the edge.
John Gormley - Is he an innocent abroad? A politician who should never have gone beyond the local council? Or an ecowarrior out of his tree? In any event, the feeling he engenders in me is that of self-preservationist dressed as a statesman, a bit player who's now in a panic 'cos he's seen how close to the cliff-edge we are. He was just out searching for pods of dolphins, ignoring the danger signs because he had a higher purpose. But I doubt he signed up for this...
Ilonna Duffy - mostly silent. I don't know enough about her, as far as I know she's one of that rare species - even rarer than Leprechauns: a successful Irish business woman operating in Ireland. She's probably pragmatically looking for the best position on the cliff-edge - and who'd blame her.
Harry McGee - deals in facts. They are devastating. He is the one who shines the spotlight on the facts. The facts tell the story themselves. The facts tell us that there was a culture of incompetence, entitlement, greed, waste... He's trying to tell us that the rope is tightening, that the dancing Leprechaun is looking into the abyss - I get the feeling that the abyss has been looking into the dancer for a long, long, long time.
Ruairi Quinn - is a sober and astute politician, long inured to opposition. He is the engineer who is trying to estimate the gradient of the cliff, the counter-weight needed, the depth of the foundation needed. He obviously doesn't trust the Leprechauns who said that this edifice could hold. He looks with a jaundiced eye when they say that they will lead the people along a four-year path out of the crisis. He's wise to the ways of Snake Oil salesmen.
Cow-cough-linehan is no Moses leading his people out of Egypt... and that took 40 years, not 4.
and Philip King - the poet, musician, visionary.
His views will be derided and ridiculed, and he will be called a pollyanna.
But he made a good point, that this state, and every other state, came about because of poets and visionaries. At the end of it all, if we have not been bled dry by the zombies, I hope that there will be some visionaries who will emerge. Why can we not see that we need the visionaries, the one's who look beyond the cliff, the breakers, to the clean blue ocean that could wash the filth away. Some will drown, but lifeboats can be built
This Government in Ireland in October 2010 want our blood. They've taken our money and our childrens' money. They've taken our time, our energy, our spirit, and now they want our blood.
I'd spill my own first.
Ed Walsh is an academic who wants retribution - now that's a dangerous combination. It's one that I can absolutely understand, and I can feel his fury. His comments on Bertie in the Cupboard were the best I've heard.
You really get the sense of Ahern as Leprechaun, dancing on a cliff-edge. The exTaoiseach who spent years carefully weaving the rope that bound him to his brothers, who in their turn created the net that enmeshed (not to say ensnared) all of us. The net that binds all of us ultimately to him, and his ilk - the FF tribe. And there he is, dancing in delight at the security that rope gives him. He holds tight to the pot-a-gold that he helped fill as he granted constructive wishes; the heavy pot-a-gold that will pull all of us over the edge.
John Gormley - Is he an innocent abroad? A politician who should never have gone beyond the local council? Or an ecowarrior out of his tree? In any event, the feeling he engenders in me is that of self-preservationist dressed as a statesman, a bit player who's now in a panic 'cos he's seen how close to the cliff-edge we are. He was just out searching for pods of dolphins, ignoring the danger signs because he had a higher purpose. But I doubt he signed up for this...
Ilonna Duffy - mostly silent. I don't know enough about her, as far as I know she's one of that rare species - even rarer than Leprechauns: a successful Irish business woman operating in Ireland. She's probably pragmatically looking for the best position on the cliff-edge - and who'd blame her.
Harry McGee - deals in facts. They are devastating. He is the one who shines the spotlight on the facts. The facts tell the story themselves. The facts tell us that there was a culture of incompetence, entitlement, greed, waste... He's trying to tell us that the rope is tightening, that the dancing Leprechaun is looking into the abyss - I get the feeling that the abyss has been looking into the dancer for a long, long, long time.
Ruairi Quinn - is a sober and astute politician, long inured to opposition. He is the engineer who is trying to estimate the gradient of the cliff, the counter-weight needed, the depth of the foundation needed. He obviously doesn't trust the Leprechauns who said that this edifice could hold. He looks with a jaundiced eye when they say that they will lead the people along a four-year path out of the crisis. He's wise to the ways of Snake Oil salesmen.
Cow-cough-linehan is no Moses leading his people out of Egypt... and that took 40 years, not 4.
and Philip King - the poet, musician, visionary.
His views will be derided and ridiculed, and he will be called a pollyanna.
But he made a good point, that this state, and every other state, came about because of poets and visionaries. At the end of it all, if we have not been bled dry by the zombies, I hope that there will be some visionaries who will emerge. Why can we not see that we need the visionaries, the one's who look beyond the cliff, the breakers, to the clean blue ocean that could wash the filth away. Some will drown, but lifeboats can be built
This Government in Ireland in October 2010 want our blood. They've taken our money and our childrens' money. They've taken our time, our energy, our spirit, and now they want our blood.
I'd spill my own first.
Friday, August 13, 2010
"They either don't know - or they're lying"
Listening to Joe Duffy - for once. Normally, I don't get to hear it, cos I'm at work, but I'm at home today.
There's a man on talking about leaving for England. He calls himself 'a survivor'. Fair play to him. He reckons that there's something very wrong here. How perceptive of him. they don't have the money to get driving lessons - especially in rural Ireland, so he's going.
He said "They either don't know - or they're lying". That's the most perceptive statement that I've heard in a long time.
My brain is in a kind of paralysis. Between the Politicians and the Meeja, both are complicit in sucking the oxygen out of the air - at least that's what it feels like to me...
I'm off to read a historical novel... a bit of alternative perspective would be good
There's a man on talking about leaving for England. He calls himself 'a survivor'. Fair play to him. He reckons that there's something very wrong here. How perceptive of him. they don't have the money to get driving lessons - especially in rural Ireland, so he's going.
He said "They either don't know - or they're lying". That's the most perceptive statement that I've heard in a long time.
My brain is in a kind of paralysis. Between the Politicians and the Meeja, both are complicit in sucking the oxygen out of the air - at least that's what it feels like to me...
I'm off to read a historical novel... a bit of alternative perspective would be good
Monday, May 17, 2010
Grieving for 'da boooom'?
What stage are we at as far as the grief for our lovely and ever-so-defunct (ka)boooooom? I looked up the 7 stages. According to one source, they are:
1. Shock and Denial
2. Pain and Guilt
3. Anger and Bargaining
4. Depression/Reflection/Loneliness
5. The Upward Turn
6. Reconstruction and Working Through
7. Acceptance and Hope
I wish these stooopid politicians would STFU and leave us grieve at our own pace, for heavens sake. They keep on mixing the messages - once minute feigning shock, the next trying to tell us that reconstruction is immanent. Yah-right!
I've had my fill of them - all of them.
Anyone for participitative democracy - anyone? Anyone at all?
1. Shock and Denial
2. Pain and Guilt
3. Anger and Bargaining
4. Depression/Reflection/Loneliness
5. The Upward Turn
6. Reconstruction and Working Through
7. Acceptance and Hope
I wish these stooopid politicians would STFU and leave us grieve at our own pace, for heavens sake. They keep on mixing the messages - once minute feigning shock, the next trying to tell us that reconstruction is immanent. Yah-right!
I've had my fill of them - all of them.
Anyone for participitative democracy - anyone? Anyone at all?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Brian O'Driscoll for President !
Oh yes!
I think Brian O'Driscoll would make a great President.
He has the capacity to lead, with a disarming and honest face, and the twinkle in the eye is is bright as David Norris' for a start!
Oh yes, I'd vote for him in a nanosecond - but maybe he has better things to do.
Here's a conundrum.
When commentators talk about rugby, there's a phrase that's often overused:
'they lay their bodies on the line for the team'.
As a nation, we can produce sports people of the calibre of Brian O'Driscoll, Ronan O'Gara, Paul O'Connell, John Hayes... the young turks, Bowe, Heaslip, the list goes on. And that's just the rugby. There are stars of equal stature in Hurling, Football, Horseracing, Athletics, etc. Hurling is a magnificent game. I love that unique mixture of balletic athleticism, lightening speed and the precision of a poet. But for pure passion, give me rugby...
It's the one sport I follow.
As a small child, I remember sitting beside my father to look at matches. It's strange, looking back. We lived in a GAA heartland; my brothers all played Gaelic football; and my father zealously followed the Cork team through good years and bad. My dad was the mildest of men. Many said he was too mild for his own good. Except when it came to rugby.
My memories are filled with grainy black-and-white pictures together with strikingly colourful language from the normally calm, sombre man beside me. And this was in the era of the ban, remember! He would swear and grumble, curse the damned Welsh, call down the Ides of March, call the Scots and Sassanaigh all the names under the sun, plus some that never will see the sun. He idolised Jack Kyle, Mike Gibson, Willie John McBride. They were his heros, and he, of course, was mine - so maybe they became my heros by proxy. Whatever the reason, I still love the honesty of effort, stepping up to the mark with nowhere to hide, the craic of the third half, the brotherliness. A glimpse into an utterly male domain.
Though he died in 1983, last year, during the 6 Nations, I felt my Dad beside me as I sat on my sofa. We bobbed and weaved, we pulled, we pushed, we felt every tackle, we breathed so deep in an effort to will them the strength to go another inch, and another inch. And together we inched our way, all the way to the Grand Slam. Oh, how he would have gloried in it.
They gave every ounce they had for each other.
The trust in each other was absolute and unwavering.
The ultimate in teamwork.
And they still are -
And the new breed show all the signs of carrying the torch forward to yet another level.
So, what's the conundrum?
Well, if we can produce heros like this,
and we can produce artistry like Yeats, Joyce, Shaw,
Ó Riordáin, Kavanagh, Wilde, Swift, Eileen Gray, ...
scientists like Boole, Beaufort, Tyndall, Boyle...
Pantridge, Anthony Clare...
engineers like Ferguson, Holland, Callan, Mitchell...
and I couldn't even TRY to list the musicians, singers, dancers - think about it,
Spillane, John Field, Ó Riada, Sinéad O'Connor, U2, Riverdance, . . .
All uniquely Irish, all magnificent in their field.
So the conundrum?
If we can produce these magnificent beings, why on earth are we making do with Cowen, Coughlan, Lenihan, and though I'm convinced that Kenny, Gilmore et al would do better, I don't know how much better they would be.
We should have inspirational politicians, God knows that we need them.
We need passion. The capacity to 'lay the body on the line for the team'.
Cometh the hour - where is the (wo)man ?
I think Brian O'Driscoll would make a great President.
He has the capacity to lead, with a disarming and honest face, and the twinkle in the eye is is bright as David Norris' for a start!
Oh yes, I'd vote for him in a nanosecond - but maybe he has better things to do.
Here's a conundrum.
When commentators talk about rugby, there's a phrase that's often overused:
'they lay their bodies on the line for the team'.
As a nation, we can produce sports people of the calibre of Brian O'Driscoll, Ronan O'Gara, Paul O'Connell, John Hayes... the young turks, Bowe, Heaslip, the list goes on. And that's just the rugby. There are stars of equal stature in Hurling, Football, Horseracing, Athletics, etc. Hurling is a magnificent game. I love that unique mixture of balletic athleticism, lightening speed and the precision of a poet. But for pure passion, give me rugby...
It's the one sport I follow.
As a small child, I remember sitting beside my father to look at matches. It's strange, looking back. We lived in a GAA heartland; my brothers all played Gaelic football; and my father zealously followed the Cork team through good years and bad. My dad was the mildest of men. Many said he was too mild for his own good. Except when it came to rugby.
My memories are filled with grainy black-and-white pictures together with strikingly colourful language from the normally calm, sombre man beside me. And this was in the era of the ban, remember! He would swear and grumble, curse the damned Welsh, call down the Ides of March, call the Scots and Sassanaigh all the names under the sun, plus some that never will see the sun. He idolised Jack Kyle, Mike Gibson, Willie John McBride. They were his heros, and he, of course, was mine - so maybe they became my heros by proxy. Whatever the reason, I still love the honesty of effort, stepping up to the mark with nowhere to hide, the craic of the third half, the brotherliness. A glimpse into an utterly male domain.
Though he died in 1983, last year, during the 6 Nations, I felt my Dad beside me as I sat on my sofa. We bobbed and weaved, we pulled, we pushed, we felt every tackle, we breathed so deep in an effort to will them the strength to go another inch, and another inch. And together we inched our way, all the way to the Grand Slam. Oh, how he would have gloried in it.
They gave every ounce they had for each other.
The trust in each other was absolute and unwavering.
The ultimate in teamwork.
And they still are -
And the new breed show all the signs of carrying the torch forward to yet another level.
So, what's the conundrum?
Well, if we can produce heros like this,
and we can produce artistry like Yeats, Joyce, Shaw,
Ó Riordáin, Kavanagh, Wilde, Swift, Eileen Gray, ...
scientists like Boole, Beaufort, Tyndall, Boyle...
Pantridge, Anthony Clare...
engineers like Ferguson, Holland, Callan, Mitchell...
and I couldn't even TRY to list the musicians, singers, dancers - think about it,
Spillane, John Field, Ó Riada, Sinéad O'Connor, U2, Riverdance, . . .
All uniquely Irish, all magnificent in their field.
So the conundrum?
If we can produce these magnificent beings, why on earth are we making do with Cowen, Coughlan, Lenihan, and though I'm convinced that Kenny, Gilmore et al would do better, I don't know how much better they would be.
We should have inspirational politicians, God knows that we need them.
We need passion. The capacity to 'lay the body on the line for the team'.
Cometh the hour - where is the (wo)man ?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The ceremony of innocence...
I'm sitting here, a lowly worm, thinking about a line of a poem... "the centre cannot hold..."
I had to go and look it up. It's WB Yeats
The Second Coming
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
The world is falling apart - and it is really falling apart. The idols feet of clay have been revealed. So many idols, so far to fall... It's worth looking up Daniel 31-33.
And yet, my dog looks at me with those adoring, watchful eyes. She doesn't care if I have money - or not, if I'm fashionable - or not, if I'm intelligent - or not, even if I'm kind - or not.
She just loves me, and because she trusts me totally, I'm captivated. I could no more let her suffer for an instant than I could stick a knife in my own eye.
All these greed-driven people who have brought the world to this pass, I'm sure that most if not all of them have dogs, and children, and partners who love them. What is it that brings people from innocence to corruption?
I'm sure that nobody sets out in life to be voracious. That's what hunger does to you. Hunger is caused by a lack of resources. If your perception of the world is that you lack resources, hunger builds, you become voracious. Even if the resources are there - but the perception is that they are not - then the animal instinct is to gorge and gorge.
Is that what happened? Is the predatory instinct so strong that it shows through the behavioural niceties that we call 'society'? Animals have a pecking order. I have a horrible sinking feeling that this chaos is a consequence of the falling apart of the old pecking order. Are we feeling the unforeseen birth-pangs of a meritocracy, and where will that lead us?
Geez, my head hurts... time for this worm to go.
Especially having mentioned
THE P WORD (ie. peck)
I had to go and look it up. It's WB Yeats
The Second Coming
"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
The world is falling apart - and it is really falling apart. The idols feet of clay have been revealed. So many idols, so far to fall... It's worth looking up Daniel 31-33.
And yet, my dog looks at me with those adoring, watchful eyes. She doesn't care if I have money - or not, if I'm fashionable - or not, if I'm intelligent - or not, even if I'm kind - or not.
She just loves me, and because she trusts me totally, I'm captivated. I could no more let her suffer for an instant than I could stick a knife in my own eye.
All these greed-driven people who have brought the world to this pass, I'm sure that most if not all of them have dogs, and children, and partners who love them. What is it that brings people from innocence to corruption?
I'm sure that nobody sets out in life to be voracious. That's what hunger does to you. Hunger is caused by a lack of resources. If your perception of the world is that you lack resources, hunger builds, you become voracious. Even if the resources are there - but the perception is that they are not - then the animal instinct is to gorge and gorge.
Is that what happened? Is the predatory instinct so strong that it shows through the behavioural niceties that we call 'society'? Animals have a pecking order. I have a horrible sinking feeling that this chaos is a consequence of the falling apart of the old pecking order. Are we feeling the unforeseen birth-pangs of a meritocracy, and where will that lead us?
Geez, my head hurts... time for this worm to go.
Especially having mentioned
THE P WORD (ie. peck)
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