Scott De Buitléir's Blog, page 5

Líonfaimis an Bhearna idir Gaeltacht is Galltacht

Déanfaidh mé sár-iarracht anseo gan aon cliché faoin nGaeltacht – na cinn a fheiceann tú in aon aiste ollscoile – a úsáid anseo. Tá an cás níos práinní agus tábhachtaí chun a leithéid a dhéanamh. In ionad sin, déanfaidh mé iarracht tabhairt faoin bhfadhb agus, más féidir, an réiteach. 

Níl aon dabht ann go bhfuil teipthe ag an Stát – ní amháin aon rialtas faoi leith, ach achan ceann acu – ar an nGaeilge agus na Gaeltachtaí. Ó thús ghluaiseacht na Gaeilge, tá an ghníomhaíocht is luachmhara agus is tábhachtaí bainte amach ag an bpobal seachas an Stát; ghluaiseacht Theilifís na Gaeilge (mar a tugadh air ar dtús), gluaiseacht na nGaelscol, gluaiseacht chearta sibhialta na Gaeltachta, gluaiseacht Bhóthar na bhFál, agus gluaiseachtaí áirithe na meán Gaeilge, an foilseachán seo ina measc. Agus, dar leis an gclár Gaeltacht | 2020 a chraoladh ar TG4 le déanaí, níl ach 17,000 duine sa tír seo a labhraíonn an Ghaeilge go laethúil lasmuigh den gcóras oideachais.

Níl mise mar dhuine acu, faraor. Tá cónaí ormsa i mbruachbhaile i dteach le mo pháirtnéir – nach bhfuil ach beagán Gaeilge aige – agus tá post agam i gcomhlacht teicneolaíochta a thugann deis níos mó dom mo chuid Danmhairgise nó Fraincise a úsáid ná Gaeilge, ach gurb é Béarla an phríomhtheanga oibre, araon le haon comhlacht ilnáisiúnach eile. Mar sin, ní bhainimse úsáid as an nGaeilge ach amháin má táim ag léamh nó ag scríobh (agus an fhonn orm) nó má táim ag caint le cúpla cara ó mo laethanta ollscoile. Mionteanga atá ann i mo shaol féin, gan trácht ar an tír go léir. 

Seachain an Bhearna

Séard a bhí scanrúil, áfach, ná cé chomh leochaileach is atá an Ghaeltacht sa lá atá inniu ann. Mar fhear Galltachta, is féidir dearmad a dhéanamh ar an gcruachás ina bhfuil sí, ach is ábhar buíochais é a leithéid de chláracha TG4 lena leithéid a chur ar ais i gcuimhne.

Rith sé liom, áfach, gurb é an bhearna tuisceana idir muintir na Galltachta agus éigeandáil na Gaeltachta (mar is cinnte gur éigeandáil atá ann) ina bhac tacaíochta nó airde. Cad chuige go mbeadh teachtaí dála – cibé cineál rialtais a bheidh againn don Dáil nua – buartha faoi bhás na Gaeltachta, nuair atá a fhormhór dóibh ag freastal ag lucht an Bhéarla, agus gan ach mionlach a vótálaithe fágtha sna bailte beaga Gaeltachta?

Muna dtuigeann pobail na Galltachta aon rud faoin imní láidir dá bhfuil ag muintir na Gaeltachta, conas ar chóir d’éinne sa rialtas réiteach praicticiúil a aimsiú, gan é a ligint do dhuine éigin eile?

Trasna an Teorainn

Ní hé, mar sin, nach féidir le lucht an Bhéarla labhairt le muintir na Gaeltacht ná pobal na Gaeilge a thuiscint, ach nach bhfuil spéis acu. Cé go ndeirtear go bhfuil muid “all in this together” le linn na paindéime seo, caithfear bheith sách ciniciúil leis an bhfírinne a fheiceáil. Mar náisiún, bhí dhá phobal buan againn ón 14ú Aois ar aghaidh; pobal na Gaeltachta agus pobal na Galltachta. Is féidir le Gaeilgeoirí a bheith fite fuaithe sna bailte Galltachta, agus is féidir le daoine gan Gaeilge (bíodh Éireannaigh ná eile iad) cur fúthu sa Gaeltacht, ach tá an bhearna shóisialta chéanna ann in Éirinn ón am roimh na péindlithe, fiú. Ciallaíonn easpa tuisceana easpa spéise, agus cé go gcabhraíonn a leithéid de chláracha faisnéise ar nós Gaeltacht 2020 chun an teachtaireacht a scaipeadh, caithfear a thuilleadh a dhéanamh chun an bhearna sin a líonadh agus talamh úr a fhorbairt as. 

Tosaíonn an obair sin le gníomhachtaí pobail agus polaitiúla. Tosaíonn sí leis an Ghaeltacht a chur i láthair mar áis luachmhar phobail, ní amháin don bpobal áitiúil ná do na contaetha ina bhfuil an Ghaeltacht suite, ach an náisiún uilig ó Bhinn Éadair go Cathair Saidhbhín. Tosaíonn sí le lucht gnó na Gaeltachta a thacú trí thraenáil, ghréasáin thionscail, agus mhargaíocht, le gur féidir leis na comhlachtaí sin dul i dteagmháil le custaiméirí ná cliaint nua. Tosaíonn sí le comhoibriú le lucht na Galltachta chun an infrastruchtúr cuí a fháil i gceart agus go tapaidh sna ceantair tuaithe ar mhaithe le gach éinne, ní amháin pobal na gcathracha. 

Tosaíonn sé le smaointiú ar dhaoine eile, mar is é sin bunús aon phobail.

A Cynical View on Irish Politics?

Most of us have, at some point in our lives, heard the advice: The three things you should never discuss with people are politics, religion, and money. I’ve often thought that the Irish never got the memo on such a rule, because for a country which almost makes a national sport out of referenda and elections, we often discuss the actions, statements, and flaws of our politicians. We’ve seen debate on whether or not certain manifestations of local or national government should even exist; in Ireland, those debates have recently ranged from having directly-elected city mayors to whether or not we abolish our Seanad. We so often hear dismissive statements in the pub or on the street that politicans are “all the same”; they’re “only interested in lining their pockets” or “getting their cushy pension” and they’re “all a shower of wasters”. The same lines have been exclaimed by frustrated citizens for generations, yet rarely is an alternative to the situation proposed, let alone one agreed upon.

In the past, hearing people be so exasperated made me question myself; what had I not yet realised or experienced to bring me to the same conclusion? Despite living through a couple of economic storms here, had I been so sheltered, somehow, that I failed to react to what our governments have done? Was there a PR spin campaign going on which needed cynic-ready glasses to see through, like those 3D optical illusion games we used to have as kids?

…to other our adversary is to dehumanise ourselves, as we forget that it is from our society and community which such politicans come.

In Ireland, like many Western democracies, we can sometimes regard our political representatives – especially ones we don’t trust, agree with, or just don’t like – as being part of some sinister group, far removed from our own social circles or communities. They are othered in our minds, almost from the point of their election, in an attempt to reaffirm our beliefs and understanding of the world around us. Instead, it’s more likely that such representatives and their supporters are closer to home than we’d like to admit. More importantly, to other our adversary is to dehumanise ourselves, as we forget that it is from our society and community which such politicans come. In other words, if the ‘shower of wasters’ who walks into our national parliament was voted in by our fellow citizens, what’s to stop the rest of us from falling victim to the same categorisation?

Such dismissive statements are, of course, made in a moment of frustrated disillusionment, and most people who have made them are aware that they generalise without a resolution to propose instead (unless they support another politician or party, in which case, at least they are engaged). Still, the sentiment expressed bemoans a sorry state of affairs where government serves a privileged section of society only, rather than the whole. This would be considered almost stereotypical for the opening scene of some dystopian science fiction novel, yet when the cynic regards a government voted in by their fellow citizens in the same light, there may be cause for concern. In the sci-fi novel, a band of heroes would come together to tear down the tyranny with an enlightened system formed by the liberated common folk, yet in real life, if every politican claims to act in the name of “the people”, the term risks losing its meaning or having it warped entirely into something else.

…we don’t like to put people (or things) on a pedestal to admire or worship. In politics, this is possibly our greatest strength.

When neighbouring countries such as the United Kingdom or the United States are in the midst of existential crises – from the aftermath of Brexit to the Trump administration era – we must, as a nation, be conscientious enough not to become divided into extremes by othering each other ad nauseum. If past politicians have left sections of our community worse off, either financially or socially, let us listen to those who offer an alternative or a remedy, instead of those seeking to demonise the vulnerable. If there are people in our society who feel our culture is being eroded by newcomers or other minorities, we have a duty to ourselves to show the vibrant and ever-evolving culture we share, and how it honours our ancient heritage. If we are worried about older ways of working dying out, from the town’s corner shop to the small farm, we must find a constructive way to modernise them and keep them sustainable, instead of bemoaning their demise or disengaging from efforts to help.

Brendan Behan once said: “It is not that the Irish are cynical; it’s rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody.” For as witty as I find the line, I disagree; it’s more that we don’t like to put people (or things) on a pedestal to admire or worship. In politics, this is possibly our greatest strength. Our ancestors’ desire to break away from Britain is the same one which keeps our politicians and other institutions in check; not to be independent of them, but to ensure that they don’t act unfairly against its people. The fear that arises from neighbouring waves of populism, however, is that our innate cynicism mutates into a desire to turn against our own institutions and communities without making any sound alternatives available.

Now, almost 100 days (at time of writing) since our general election, we must consider it our collective duty to keep a cynical eye on our incoming government, but to remember that our politicians are not just representative of our constituencies, but our communities also. Politics start with a conversation and a healthy debate, but demonising our politicians or our institutions is not the way forward. We must strike a balance between hope, pragmatism, and cynicism – nowhere else is this balance more important than in our politics, both local and national.

On Irish Politics and Cynicism

Most of us have, at some point in our lives, heard the advice: The three things you should never discuss with people are politics, religion, and money. I’ve often thought that the Irish never got the memo on such a rule, because for a country which almost makes a national sport out of referenda and elections, we often discuss the actions, statements, and flaws of our politicians. We’ve seen debate on whether or not certain manifestations of local or national government should even exist; in Ireland, those debates have recently ranged from having directly-elected city mayors to whether or not we abolish our Seanad. We so often hear dismissive statements in the pub or on the street that politicans are “all the same”; they’re “only interested in lining their pockets” or “getting their cushy pension” and they’re “all a shower of wasters”. The same lines have been exclaimed by frustrated citizens for generations, yet rarely is an alternative to the situation proposed, let alone one agreed upon.

In the past, hearing people be so exasperated made me question myself; what had I not yet realised or experienced to bring me to the same conclusion? Despite living through a couple of economic storms here, had I been so sheltered, somehow, that I failed to react to what our governments have done? Was there a PR spin campaign going on which needed cynic-ready glasses to see through, like those 3D optical illusion games we used to have as kids?

…to other our adversary is to dehumanise ourselves, as we forget that it is from our society and community which such politicans come.

In Ireland, like many Western democracies, we can sometimes regard our political representatives – especially ones we don’t trust, agree with, or just don’t like – as being part of some sinister group, far removed from our own social circles or communities. They are othered in our minds, almost from the point of their election, in an attempt to reaffirm our beliefs and understanding of the world around us. Instead, it’s more likely that such representatives and their supporters are closer to home than we’d like to admit. More importantly, to other our adversary is to dehumanise ourselves, as we forget that it is from our society and community which such politicans come. In other words, if the ‘shower of wasters’ who walks into our national parliament was voted in by our fellow citizens, what’s to stop the rest of us from falling victim to the same categorisation?

Such dismissive statements are, of course, made in a moment of frustrated disillusionment, and most people who have made them are aware that they generalise without a resolution to propose instead (unless they support another politician or party, in which case, at least they are engaged). Still, the sentiment expressed bemoans a sorry state of affairs where government serves a privileged section of society only, rather than the whole. This would be considered almost stereotypical for the opening scene of some dystopian science fiction novel, yet when the cynic regards a government voted in by their fellow citizens in the same light, there may be cause for concern. In the sci-fi novel, a band of heroes would come together to tear down the tyranny with an enlightened system formed by the liberated common folk, yet in real life, if every politican claims to act in the name of “the people”, the term risks losing its meaning or having it warped entirely into something else.

…we don’t like to put people (or things) on a pedestal to admire or worship. In politics, this is possibly our greatest strength.

When neighbouring countries such as the United Kingdom or the United States are in the midst of existential crises – from the aftermath of Brexit to the Trump administration era – we must, as a nation, be conscientious enough not to become divided into extremes by othering each other ad nauseum. If past politicians have left sections of our community worse off, either financially or socially, let us listen to those who offer an alternative or a remedy, instead of those seeking to demonise the vulnerable. If there are people in our society who feel our culture is being eroded by newcomers or other minorities, we have a duty to ourselves to show the vibrant and ever-evolving culture we share, and how it honours our ancient heritage. If we are worried about older ways of working dying out, from the town’s corner shop to the small farm, we must find a constructive way to modernise them and keep them sustainable, instead of bemoaning their demise or disengaging from efforts to help.

Brendan Behan once said: “It is not that the Irish are cynical; it’s rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody.” For as witty as I find the line, I disagree; it’s more that we don’t like to put people (or things) on a pedestal to admire or worship. In politics, this is possibly our greatest strength. Our ancestors’ desire to break away from Britain is the same one which keeps our politicians and other institutions in check; not to be independent of them, but to ensure that they don’t act unfairly against its people. The fear that arises from neighbouring waves of populism, however, is that our innate cynicism mutates into a desire to turn against our own institutions and communities without making any sound alternatives available.

Now, almost 100 days (at time of writing) since our general election, we must consider it our collective duty to keep a cynical eye on our incoming government, but to remember that our politicians are not just representative of our constituencies, but our communities also. Politics start with a conversation and a healthy debate, but demonising our politicians or our institutions is not the way forward. We must strike a balance between hope, pragmatism, and cynicism – nowhere else is this balance more important than in our politics, both local and national.

Birthday Parties & Book Launches (on Zoom)

The last week of staying at home, officially Week 7 of self-isolation, was probably the strangest. We were the most used to the ‘new normal’, with our routine of daily walks within two-kilometre limits, weekly grocery trips to Aldi, SuperValu, or the local off-licence. We’d notice – but become accustomed to – the deathly silence on the roads during an evening walk; it would only be around 9 o’clock, but it would feel like 4 in the morning, stumbling home from a night out. The idea of going out for a treat is now a takeaway coffee in the nearby petrol station, and I’ve almost forgotten when Cork city centre looks like, whatever about travelling to the rest of the country.

In spite of everything going on, I managed to join friends and family in officially launching my latest book, Forgiving Jake. Instead of the launch event being somewhere physical, like when I launched The Irish Outlander, this had to take place on Zoom, but it worked out well. I was also pleasantly surprised and somewhat grateful, as the online event meant that friends from Britain and California were able to join others here in Ireland. I read a chapter from the new book, as well as 2 poems (in both English and Irish) from my upcoming poetry collection, and answered questions about my writing from character planning to writing in Irish. I’m so grateful for those who were able to join me on the night, as well as those who watched back on the recording since then. It really is a humbling experience to experience such support from friends, loved ones, and general members of the public.

Stephen and I also joined friends in Dublin and Scotland over Zoom this week for a few birthday parties. They were a good laugh, and unexpectedly needed. Sometimes, the introvert in me thinks that I can fool myself into thinking this is all fine. That somehow, once I have my partner by my side, I’m able to handle this whole thing. While that is true, it doesn’t stop me from missing everyone else.

It will be a very welcome moment when we can all see and hug each other again, but those days will come soon enough – and then we’ll be all the more grateful for those moments.

Ní Bheidh AthGhaelú Éasca, Ach…

Ó thús na gluaiseachta Gaelaí, nuair a bhí grúpaí áirithe ag ullmhú agus ag impí ar thacaíocht an phobail ar son an neamhspleáchais, bhí ról cumhachtach ag an teanga, a cuid litríochta ársa agus chomhaimseartha, agus ar mhuintir na Gaeltachta, réigiún a bhí i bhfad níos láidre ná mar atá sí inniu. Bhí cumhacht faoi leith ag an bhfocal “Éire”, go háirithe nuair a chuireadh íomhá Éiru – nó Hibernia – os comhair an phobail mar spéirbhean chróga álainn, í ina siombal náisiúnta. Chuir gluaiseacht athbheochan na Gaeilge neart leis an íomhá finscéalaíoch sin, agus bhí muintir na hÉireann in ann glacadh leis an gcoincheap.

I ndiaidh neamhspleáchas na tíre (nó formhór di) a bhaint amach, áfach, ní féidir a rá go héasca gur choimeád an Ghaeilge a háit lárnach in athghaelú na tíre. I ndiaidh sealbh a ghlacadh ar an tír ó lámha na Breataine, b’iad an spórt agus an creideamh, seachas an teanga, a bhí ina mbunchlocha ár náisiúin úir. Bhí an Cumann Lúthchleas Gael in ann cúram a thabhairt don gcorp, agus bhí an eaglais Chaitliceach in ann cúram anama (nó a leagan féin de) á chur ar fáil. Bhí an dá eagraíocht seo, an CLG agus an eaglais, in ann teagmháil a choimeád leis na hÉireannaigh ar an taobh eile den teorann nua, fosta, mar bhí siad in ann clubanna CLG a bhunú sa Tuaisceart, araon le haifreann an Domhnaigh agus imeachtaí eile na heaglaise a bheith ar fáil. Bhí an dá eagraíocht – iad fite fuaite lena chéile ón tús – in ann sinn a stiúradh sa ré nua neamhspleách a bhí ag formhór dúinn. Cé go raibh go leor measa agus iontais ar dhaoine roimh an nGaeilge, bhí sí ró-dheacair líofacht a bhaint amach i gceart, agus toisc go raibh an córas scoile chomh dian sin ag an am ar pháistí, d’fhag muid in áit na leathphingine í. Ba thrua dúinn an cinneadh, ach bhí an spórt agus an creideamh againn, agus b’fhearr dhá sprioc a bhaint amach as trí, ná sprioc ar bith agus sinn faoi smacht na corónach go fóill.

Beagnach céad bliain ó neamhspleáchas a bhaint amach, agus in ainneoin na ngluaiseachtaí pobail áirithe dá raibh (agus dá bhfuil) ar an bhfód chun úsáid agus foghlaim na Gaeilge a chur chun cinn fud fad ha hÉireann, is deacair a rá go simplí go bhfuil an teanga i mbarr a sláinte inniu. I gcomparáid léi, is institiúd láidir pobail é an CLG, a chuireann go leor milliún euro/punt ar fáil don eacnamaíocht ar bhonn náisiúnta, agus ar leibhéil áitiúla, fosta. Idir an dá linn, is féidir brath ar ailt thuairimíochta faoi shláinte na Gaeilge gach cúpla mí sna meáin Bhéarla, leis na céadta trácht ó léitheoirí, ag troid lena chéile faoi luach na teanga – nó luach mionteanga ar bith.

Is Ionann Dualgas an Stáit agus Dualgas an Phobail

Céard atá i ndán dúinn, mar phobal mionteanga sa 21ú Aois, mar sin? Agus 17,000 duine in Éirinn a labhraíonn an Ghaeilge go laethúil lasmuigh den gcóras oideachais – an daonra céanna dá bhfuil ag Cluain Meala – conas is féidir le mionlach beag tacaíocht chuí a thuilleamh ón mórphobal? Nó, caithfear a rá, cén fáth gur chóir don méid sin daoine tacaíocht a thuilleamh ar chor ar bith, ach gur cheart an meas a bheith acu cheana féin?

Is cinnte, ó na hailt chéanna a bhíonn sna meáin Bhéarla go rialta, nach bhfuil an tacaíocht sin ar fáil ón bpobal ina iomláine. Ní hionann sin is a rá, áfach, nach bhfuil dul chun cinn feicthe sa “ghnáthphobal” roimh an nGaeilge le déanaí. Is cinnte go bhfuil sárobair TG4 tar éis íomhá nua-aimseartha a chur i láthair do lucht fhéachana na tíre ó sheoladh é, ach ní féidir le stáisiún teilifíse teanga a choimeád beo. Is cuimhin liom féin, nuair a bhí mé ag obair sna meáin Ghaeilge, nach raibh easpa ábhar cainte ina fhadhb dúinn, ach easpa cainteoirí lena n-aimsiú mar aíonna.

Is í an dúshlán is mó dá bhfuil ann i gcónaí roimh shlánú na Gaeilge, dar liomsa, ná nárbh fhéidir le haon eagraíocht, roinn rialtais, ná gluaiseacht phobail, fiú, an bhearna idir pobal na Gaeilge agus lucht an Bhéarla a líonadh. Gan Gaelscoileanna sna cathracha nó bailte Galltachta, bheadh daoine den tuairim nárbh ann don nGaeilge ach teanga leathmharbh, ar chóir a bhaint ón gcuraclam scoile agus a fhágáil do phobal na nOileán Árainn. Má osclaítear Gaelscoileanna nua, bheadh daoine den tuairim nach bhfuil ach tuismitheoirí meánaicmeacha saibhre ag iarraidh a gcuid páistí a sheoladh chucu, ionas go mbeadh ábhar cainte acu ag cóisir árdnósach éigin.

Is cinnte go mbeidh daoine cantalacha ann go síoraí, pé rud a dhéantar leis an teanga, ach is féidir leo a bheith ar imeall an chomhrá, gan luach ár n-airde tuillte acu. B’fhearr i bhfad dúinn, áfach, nasc a chruthú idir Galltacht agus Gaeltacht chun a thuilleadh tuisceana a chur ar fáil. Is ráiteas é sin arbh fhéidir leis a bheith folamh, ach ciallaíonn sé gur cheart aidhm a bheith ag gluaiseacht athbheochan na Gaeilge inniu chun an talamh coitinn idir an dá phobal a thaispeáint go soiléir.

An Pholaitíocht Fholamh?

Is é an t-aon rud atá soiléir faoi stair na gluaiseachta nuige seo, áfach, ná nárbh fhéidir aon rialtas – ó thuaidh nó ó theas – a mholadh i gceart maidir leis an teanga a chur chun cinn go hoifigiúil. Fiú leis an Aontas Eorpach, a chuireann fáilte roimh an nGaeilge inniu mar ghnáthchuid shochaí na hEorpa, ní raibh an Ghaeilge tábhachtach go leor lena tabhairt isteach nuair a tháinig muid isteach sa Chomhphobal Eorpach ar dtús. Is tríd na gluaiseachtaí pobail amháin a tháinig aon dul chun cinn don nGaeilge nó do phobal na Gaeilge (muintir na Gaeltachta ina measc, gan dabht) agus ba mhall d’aon roinn Gaeltachta dul i ngleic leis an teanga agus a pobal a chosaint gan bhrú ón bpobal é féin.

Agus an 33ú Dáil Éireann fós le socrú ag ár bpolaiteoirí náisiúnta nua, cé hiad na daoine a bheidh sásta an fód a sheasamh ar ár son? Cén páirtí polaitiúil a bheidh gníomhach ar son na teanga agus a muintir, seachas a bheith ceanúil go poiblí, ach amháin ina gcuid ráiteas? Más teach fuar don nGaeilge é Teach Laighean, conas ab fhéidir linn an teas a árdú? An é go bhfuil páirtí polaitiúil na Gaeilge de dhíth?

Go pearsanta, sílim nach féidir linn amharc ar chúrsaí Gaeilge/Gaeltachta mar fhadhbanna mionlaigh amháin, ach iad a nascadh le fadhbanna eile ár dtíre. Tá pobail ár dteanga, bíodh sa Ghaeltacht nó sna bruchbhailte uirbeacha atá siad lonnaithe, leochaileach go leor; pobail ar cheart dúinn a chosaint, ach caithfear a aithint fosta go bhfuil siad sláintiúil agus lán fuinnimh. Sílim féin go bhfuil teipthe ag go leor polaiteoir an fód a sheasamh i gceart ar son na teanga, ach ní féidir le daoine aonair a bheith ag screadaíl i gcónaí. Tá mé lán cinnte nach bhfuil a dhóthain déanta ag páirtithe polaitiúla na tíre seo, ach brathann gach polasaí ar ghníomhachtaí a gcuid ball.

Níl an cath caillte againn, ach b’fhéidir nach bhfuil sé ceart dúinn amharc ar a bhfuil romhainn mar chath ar chor ar bith. Comhrá pobail agus náisiúin atá againn, agus feictear go bhfuil muid uilig in ann teacht le chéile mar mheitheal, más gá.

Is gá, go fóill, ach caithfear an comhrá a thosnú as an nua.

A Polticial Declaration

There’s no doubt that the last few weeks have been difficult for everyone, but as I’ve written recently, while there are still major challenges and issues to be dealt with in Ireland, we have also seen a boost in community awareness. We’ve made a conscious effort to care for others again, whether that means checking in on our neighbours, calling our friends, or minding our family.

Since around the time of our general election, however, I’ve been inspired to take action personally, beyond what I feel is the bare minimum civic duty of voting. With that, I decided to become a member of the Social Democrats. Their aims and values are most aligned to mine, I feel, although I also recognise the positive efforts made by other political parties in Ireland over the years, such as Labour and the Green Party.

A Personal Manifesto

Part of realising that I was now ready to get involved in politics was the result of what can only be called a meditation on which values were important to me, and how I could make a difference. While I’m generally more interested in politics on a macro level (e.g. foreign affairs, British-Irish relations, Ireland’s role in the EU and UN, and how we behave on an international stage) I needed to figure out what I wanted to see take place here, both locally and at a national level, too.

The result evolved into 11 different goals that are either personally or politically achievable:

That all citizens of the State are cared for equally, where neither the words ‘equal’ nor ‘care’ are emptied by inaction. That no group or section of society is left without access to the State’s services and care; from full-time workers to the retired, from the unemployed to students, and from single parents to migrants wishing to make a life for themselves here. That citizens have the right to shelter. Obviously, this cannot mean a deluxe five-bedroom house for everyone, but somewhere to call a home at least. A hostel or hotel room is neither sufficient nor sustainable. Homelessness is a problem for many countries and cities around the world, from Rome to San Francisco, but that in itself is not an excuse to allow others to suffer. Similarly, no government should leave the duty of care to charities alone. To regard healthcare, alongside housing, as of paramount importance in the repair and development of our nation. Not just based on the recent efforts of doctors, nurses, and other healthcare professionals during the COVID-19 pandemic, but recognising also the generations of health workers who have left Ireland for opportunities abroad, because the system here was not designed to grant them due respect and reward.To recognise the historic institutional and social damage inflicted on Irish women – from the marriage bar to the decades of depriving the autonomy of the female body – and pro-actively work to rectify the cultural, economic, and societal inequalities women continue to face today, either as a result of past attitudes or a continuation of them.That older citizens are not disregarded by either government initiatives or societal attitudes. These are the people who worked for decades to raise and protect us, by paying their taxes, serving the community through their various careers, or simply raising us, their families. Their efforts should not be forgotten, and they should not be disregarded on account of them no longer working or being close to retirement.That asylum seekers and refugees are treated with dignity and respect, regarded as innocent victims of war or persecution, and to give them support to live independently during their time in Ireland. If they decide to stay here and contribute to our society, that should always be celebrated. To that effect, the direct provision system should be dismantled and replaced as soon as practically possible. To celebrate and support the Arts, recognising that they are crucial for a living society, but also as a sustainable and worthy economic sector in its own right.To support local entrepreneurship and trade; to buy local where possible, and reduce the consumer’s carbon footprint as a result. Chun an Ghaeilge a úsáid mar chuid den saol laethúil; aitheantas cuí a thabhairt don teanga náisiúnta agus don bpobal bríomhar dá bhfuil ann i lucht labhartha na Gaeilge.
To make a conscious effort to use Irish in daily life; to give due recognition to the national language and to the vibrant and diverse community that exists for today’s Irish-language speaker. To check my privilege as a white, cisgender, middle-class, gay man, and know that being an ally to vulnerable groups in our society is not only an honour, but the right thing to do.To listen to – and learn from – minority communities, including but not limited to LGBTQ people, Irish-speakers, ethnic minorities, ‘New Irish’ communities, religious groups, the elderly, those living with a health condition, and those with limited mobility, hearing, or sight.

It’s not the first time I have been a member of the SocDems, but looking back to 2017, I jumped in too early – before I gave myself the chance to settle into my new life in Cork. As a result, I got distracted by other parts of my life, which needed attention at the time. Quite a lot has changed since then, both personally and on a national level too, and I believe I’m now ready to help where I can.

There is quite a lot of the above where my values align well to the Social Democrats’ own manifesto, but at this stage, I’m still very much learning about how party politics work and where I can play my part in Cork, but I know this much: I’m now looking forward to it all.

After This, Let’s Remember How We United

Just before the crisis of COVID-19 hit Ireland, we had been preparing for (and many of us complaining about) a general election to form the next Dáil Éireann.

Many people were unimpressed with the poor state of affairs in different parts of society, and wanted things to change. Housing, homelessness, healthcare, direct provision, and more all needed to be dealt with urgently. Although the feeling on the ground was that the Fine Gael minority government hadn’t acted quickly or sufficiently enough, what voters considered an allowable timeline to implement changes could never be rationally defined.

Still, the desire for some sort of pro-active management of those issues was clear – a sentiment that opposition parties had been ready to use in their messaging and campaigns. Those who supported the government could have noted performance during an apparent national crisis over Brexit, and although it seemingly didn’t resonate in opinion polls or during door-to-door canvassing, the performance of both Simon Coveney and Leo Varadkar during the difficult UK/Ireland/EU negotiations was arguably commendable. It seemed that those who’d vote for Fine Gael or Fianna Fáil would still vote for them and claim their reasons; be they based on logic, tradition, or personal priority. However, those less inclined to voting for them, or less inclined to vote at all, desired change strongly enough to answer the call for Sinn Féin, the Greens, the Social Democrats, and others to take either new or renewed seats in Leinster House.

With the election results showing a clear surge in support for Sinn Féin, and relative progress made for those in the Social Democrats, the Greens, and Labour, there was fresh hope for a new left or centre-left Dáil, although it was not a done deal. Only if the vast majority of left-leaning TDs agreed on a rainbow coalition could the two big parties be excluded from power, but that did not become a tangible option quickly enough. Instead, talks of a renewed deal between Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil reached our airwaves and newspaper shelves, leaving new supporters of Sinn Féin and the smaller parties wondering why they bothered to vote in the first place.

New Emergency, Same Emergency

When the inevitable happened in Ireland and numbers of those showing symptoms for COVID-19 began to rise, the lockdown (in all but name) was only a matter of time. It was now a time for the country to come together as one community to reduce the impact of the pandemic here, and our politicians mostly called truce. TDs from one party would retweet important information and pleas to self-isolate from TDs or councillors of another. All of them would appear to support Health Minister Simon Harris in his massive efforts to support both the HSE and the nation, regardless of his political affiliation. Nothing else mattered other than preparing for the worst case scenario, and every TD knew this. While reports on the concept of a national unity government for the new Dáil hinted that it was an unlikely option, the actions of the new generation of TDs suggested otherwise.

Of course, the issues that concerned voters remained. As hotels and other places of accomodation emptied out of tourists, the homeless were moved off the streets and into temporary shelter, a move that would undoubtedly end once restrictions were lifted. A struggling healthcare system was boosted almost overnight with the announcement that private hospitals would cooperate with public ones during the crisis, adding beds and staff to the front line. Both temporary and quick releases of pressure, but neither of which permanent. The issue of standards of living in direct provision centres were still a serious concern to some politicians, however, the only solution suggested by the Department of Justice to date is to work with the HSE in establishing an “off-site self-isolation facility” – in other words, another direct provision centre, just for suspected COVID-19 patients. Now, more than ever, those who advocate for such vulnerable groups need to shout louder, whether they are within Leinster House or outside it.

Return of the ‘Meitheal’

Despite the remaining inequalities in our society, only some of which have been tackled during the lockdown, there is still a strong cause for appreciating how we as a nation have come together. From small gestures like checking in on neighbours, or stepping off the pavement and onto the road to give ample space to another pedestrian, to the tens of thousands signing up to volunteer in the community or to rejoin the health services, there has not been a nationwide formation of a meitheal in living memory. We are more conscious of those workers which many of us have taken for granted in the past, from hospital cleaners to lorry drivers, and from supermarket staff to bus drivers. Even take-away delivery drivers! We have encouraged each other to stay at home, and a good few of us have managed to keep us entertained, whether through pub quizzes on Zoom to dance videos on TikTok. We’ve called our parents, our grannies, our siblings, our friends, and our neighbours. We’ve slowed down, and as a result, thought of people normally outside our sphere of consideration. Most of us are already based in some form of a community, but lately, we’ve welcomed that community spirit back into our homes.

We’re not out of the woods yet, and God knows our country and its political leaders have a long way to go to make improvements, but this has proven to us that we can be our own leaders, our own influencers, and our own activists. It shouldn’t have taken a global pandemic to make many of us realise it, but if we can hold onto that lesson after all this, maybe some good will come out of it.

Interval

A couple of months ago, I never knew what “thistlebond” was. It’s a strange, gloopy substance, like paint that has been mixed with a generous serving of sand. It’s used in preparing walls for plastering, should they need it. Some of our new home’s walls and ceilings do, while some others have been covered with plasterboard.

In some ways, applying it to where it’s needed signals that we are approaching the final act in our drama of renovating our home. Once the thistlebond was applied and plasterboards were ready, the plasterers could come down from Dublin to Cork and take their role in giving the drama a happy ending. Instead, the lockdown has provided opportunity for an unscheduled interval. The cast of various tradesmen are now confined to the green room, and only the two directors look on at the emptied stage, occasionally trying to tweak how the set looks during the downtime.

An interval allows for an opportunity to reflect, however, on what has taken place in the story so far. Normally, one would go to the theatre’s bar, grab a drink, and stretch the legs. Regular theater-goers might even catch up with other regulars, and see how the producers are interpreting the script, or comparing other plays in other theatres.

Yesterday was a day for connection. Videos to friends in Glasgow and Nottingham, showing them how progress was coming on with the house, and listening to how they were adapting to their lives. Both work at schools, but while one was working from home, the other’s school had stayed open to look after the children of healthcare and other “key” workers. Westward across the waves, two friends in the US joked about how they were getting withdrawal symptoms from their love of travel, and invited me to join them on a trip to Vienna, Copenhagen, or Cologne “once this was all over”. I told them I’d never refuse an offer to go back to my soul-home of Denmark, and that it would be a perfect opportunity to dust off a passport that has almost been forgotten about.

Then an important letter arrived. An email from Robert O’Driscoll, the Consul General of Ireland based in San Francisco, and the husband of a friend of mine, Caoimhe. In writing to the Irish diaspora on the west coast of America, the local Irish-American community, and other friends of the consulate, he wrote a few lines which struck me:

Many of you know my own interest in the history of the Irish community here in Western US. It is a history in which the resilience of our community and their service features prominently. Many in our community are answering the call of service, and I am confident that our resolve, our sense of shared purpose and our togetherness will get us through this. We must take responsibility to look after ourselves, to look after each other, and to each play our part.

I read the email outside the front door of my half-made home, on a mild and quiet evening in Cork, some eight thousand kilometres from California. Despite the distance, Robert’s email hit home that no matter how far we are from one another, we are experiencing the same sense of concern, and possibly the same struggles to stay positive each day, but same desire to hold on to hope. The desire to see the end of this, and visit one another, hug one another, and spend time without the need to log onto Zoom or turn on a camera. In reading that letter, I felt truly connected once more, more than a video call could manage.

Thistlebond works as a kind of adhesive – something that your average person may not easily appreciate when building a home. Strong bonds, however, are exactly what keep our home from falling apart.

Le Nouveau Normal

My mother’s birthday is in March, the same month that the Irish celebrate Mother’s Day. In recent years, this has involved a flight – or more recently, a bus or train journey – to Dublin to spend those days together. It may involve a dinner at Clontarf Castle, a scenic drive along the coast road to Howth, or a meal in Malahide.

This year, it involved several phone calls during the day, and a Skype call to catch up after both events. We chatted about how the home renovations were coming along, the launch of Forgiving Jake, our government’s response to the pandemic, family history, the various challenges that face translating poetry, and how we were all trying to keep going.

The phrase “stiff upper lip” always struck me as being an extreme and almost inhumane attitude to have, and yet in some ways, I’ve maintained such an attitude so far throughout this pandemic. Once various restrictions were put in place, I’d try to look at the news in a neutral or even positive way: staying at home, once we had wifi, meant that my work continued as normal. I’d be able to help keep things clean while the renovations continued, and our builder was still able to work here. When the government increased their restrictions and the builder was no longer able to travel, I told myself that this new “pause period” meant that we could focus on decorating and improving the parts of our home that could be worked on, tasks that we may have left at the bottom of the priority list if our initial plans had been allowed to continue. When my partner & I have gone for walks to get some air, and the streets in our neighbourhood were practically deserted, I’d almost admire the situation, using my sometimes introverted nature as an excuse to enjoy the silence, instead of admitting to the eeriness of it all.

The reality, of course, is that while I am deeply aware of the privilege I possess – by holding a day-job that is (as yet) unaffected by this pandemic – there are so many others who are not as fortunate. Some have lost their jobs, and some of those are too intimidated by the paperwork required to seek government assistance. Other vulnerable people in our communities, whether through old age or underlying health conditions, are genuinely frightened to hear the daily news reports of new infections, deaths, and tales of those who are struggling to survive in hospital. Some are scared quite simply because with all this social distancing, they have never felt more alone. Others have already lost someone they loved, in a way that they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemy, and are not able to grieve in a way we’d assume would be natural.

My privilege is not a cause for celebration, but for gratitude. I am deeply grateful that those closest to me have not (yet) been affected. I’m grateful that I have someone I love by my side to comfort and support me every day, someone to keep me sane and stop me from being lonely. I’m grateful that I’m healthy enough to be able to do the occasional bit of shopping for elderly neighbours, and that I can call my friends, my grandmother, and my parents to check in on how they are. I’m grateful that I don’t need to worry about basic utilities like heat, electricity, and WiFi, to continue living my life as normal, especially when there are many others who may not be as secure right now. Ultimately, I’m grateful for the aspects in my life that, until this occasion, could so easily be taken for granted by so many people.

Having wished my mother happy birthday again over Skype this evening, we said we’d meet up for dinner “when this is all over”. If the social distancing restrictions continue, maybe we’ll be able to meet halfway between Cork and Dublin, and have a picnic in a park somewhere. Such ideas seemed completely run-of-the-mill before all this started to happen, but now, they seem like idyllic scenes from an utopian future. For now, all we can do is reach out to one another when we can, smile, and hope that this new normal doesn’t last for too long.

Announcing Release of ‘Forgiving Jake’

Update: As of Monday, April 20, the paperback edition of Forgiving Jake is now available to order from Amazon via its American, British, Canadian, and Australian markets.

We are all trying to maintain a version of normality while we stay at home to slow down the spread of COVID-19, a pandemic which has made the world look and feel like some near-future science fiction novel. However, one of the easiest ways to relax and forget the world is to read, and I’m currently splitting my time between a few books for whenever I get a free moment between the day job and home renovations.

Considering our collective need for a temporary escape from reality, I have already taken part in Smashword‘s Author Gives Back ebook sale, where I’ve made the digital editions of my three previously released books – Fás | Growth, The Irish Outlander, and Yesterdates – completely free to download until April 20, but I’d now like to announce a new release for you!

Forgiving Jake is a novella (short novel) which I’ve been working on for a while. It’s the story of Sarah, a young woman who is left waiting for her boyfriend on their arranged date night, but when she receives two different phone calls while she waits, her life changes forever. Unable to mend her broken heart, Sarah’s mother decides to surprise her with a flight to visit family, and only then does Sarah begin to learn how to move on with her life.

This new release will be available in paperback from May, however, considering current circumstances, I’ve made the decision to push forward the publication of the ebook edition of Forgiving Jake to Saturday, April 4. The normal ebook price of the novella is $4.99, however I’ll be announcing a special “new release” coupon to use at the checkout this weekend: Keep an eye out on my Twitter profile for updates.

As a writer, this has been a wonderful new project for me to write. While I love expressing myself in poetry, and my other have been different kinds of reflection on real life experiences, this is my first major work of fiction. The main character in Forgiving Jake, Sarah, became a real character in my mind, and I came to know her emotions, motivations, and aspirations, just as one would come to know in a new friend. I sincerely hope you enjoy this novella, and if you do, please tell others what you think by reviewing it on Goodreads or social media. I’ll be using the hashtag #ForgivingJake to talk about the new book on social media, and I’d love for you to join in the conversation.

I’ll make another announcement once the paperback edition of the novella is available, but for now, I sincerely hope the ebook release of Forgiving Jake will be a welcome distraction from any real-life worries you may currently be going through, and that you’ll enjoy reading it.

Until then, stay safe and healthy, look after yourself, and thanks for reading.

Scott

Visit Smashwords to Pre-Order or Buy ‘Forgiving Jake’