Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

When I was a student I was active in the anti-Apartheid movement. Apartheid seemed to me, and still does, an evil system, where people through accidents of birth are confined to lives not of their own making and independent of their abilities or talents. What was more the black man or woman born in Apartheid-era South Africa could literally do nothing to change their lot. They could not change the colour of their skins; once born black they had to remain black.

This situation was akin to what often occurred in Northern Ireland where those baptised or brought up as Catholics were effectively second-class citizens. They could do nothing to change the situation. They could change their religion and maybe become very active members of their new congregations, but the “stain” of their original sin would not be forgotten by all, and would indeed present itself as an insurmountable barrier. Piety also the person born to mixed parents, who wished to bring up their child free of silly sectarianism and its attendant coat-trailing; they were hated by everyone.

But back to my original purpose. I opposed Apartheid because it was evil and unjust. We did not battle against apartheid so that the black population of South Africa, oppressed and exploited by an Afrikaner elite, could become oppressed and exploited by a black African elite of fraudsters and crooks. This is what the ANC has become. Its unwillingness to become anything else has been shown by the recent success of Jacob Zuma and his accolytes in ANC elections. Zuma is a crook whose acquittal on rape charges is less than convincing. Amongst his allies is Winnie Mandela, a convicted fraudster. Zuma looks likely to become the next President of South Africa. His predecessor, Thabo Mbeki, is hardly free of criticism – a man who has allowed hundreds and thousands of his countrymen and women to die of AIDS rather than provide them with effective retroviral treatment. This was not because of cost considerations but because he refused to accept a link between HIV and AIDS. His health minister, Dr Tshabalala-Msimang, advised AIDS sufferers to eat beetroot as a treatment.

In the 1980s Africa was cursed by military dictators – men in uniform who used their countries’ scant resources as personal troughs for enrichment. Military rulers are no longer in fashion. Instead it is more common for Africa’s rulers to have gained their position through “democratic” elections and for them to wear sharp western-style business suits. Yet the means by which they enrich themselves at the expense of those whom they rule is just the same. The “resource curse” has seen royalties for natural resources exploitation flow into their pockets and never out again. One can think of people like the super-rich President Omar Bongo of Gabon or Teodoro Nguema of Equatorial Guinea. These guys aren’t just rich by African standards; they can rub shoulders without fear with the likes of Soros. Even the presidents of countries with fewer natural resources have been just as greedy. Take for example the former president of Zambia, Frederick Chiluba, who was understandibly reluctant to give up power some years ago.

Africa perhaps could benefit from the Berlusconi phenomenon, where a fabously rich person enters politics, not to make himself rich but to protect his riches. About the only example that comes to mind is the president of Madagascar, Marc Ravolimanana, reputed to be a millionare prior to his election.

Not all African rulers are corrupt, and not all of them dress in suits. There is Yoweri Museveni in Uganda who has done so much to fight AIDS in his country, and who has still not totally shed his military uniform.  Then there is someone like ATT – Amadou Toumani Touré of Mali, a former military man who has not apparently enriched himself since becoming president of his landlocked nation.

Who out there, of a certain age, can forget the ritual of Midnight Mass at Christmas in Cavan town? I mean proper Midnight Mass, at Midnight, and not the pale, wimpish thing that’s replaced it at ten o’clock.

The fact that it was at midnight was important; that way patrons of Cavan town’s pubs could get a real skinful AND attend to their religious duties. Consequently the town’s cathedral was bathed in odours of drink, augmented by the smell of urine, vomit  and other aromas testifying that their producers had dropped the payload in their underpants. Some of these unsteady souls made it to seats where they lay down and went fast to sleep, their snores echoing through the basilica. Others loitered unsteadily around the entrances, occasionally collapsing into a heap beside the doors.

But this world was unknown to those at the top of the cathedral whose front rows were filled with the Golf club at Prayer along with their short-skirted, long-haired progeny who were home for the holidays from “college”. They all basked in the words of Bishop McKiernan’s hypocritical homily, which he habitually wheeled out every Christmas. Each time he nasally ennunciated another of his “do-as-I-Say, not-as-I-do” utterances Cavan Town’s insecure shitty establishment thanked God that nothing would change in their life-time and that their position at the top of the bean-heap was unassailable.

These people knew nothing of the drunken denizens of the nave or of the transept  reserved informally for the Half Acre, yet it was not unknown for these sad benighted people to break through and make their presences felt. I remember one year when Frankie-goes-to-Hollywood finished up his spiel by delivering the usual verbal coup-de-grace. “I wantoo tekk this opporchunitay toowish you all a verray Happay Christ-mas”. A voice piped up from the back “What the fuck’s that goin’ to do for a United Ireland?”

I’d like to wish all my friends and readers a really great Christmas and prosperous 2008.

Readers of my piece in the Cavan Echo of December 21st may have thought that my little attack on the Cavan Arse-wipe showed a lack of Christmas spirit. It is just that I find it hard to muster up anything positive for that journal or the miserable fuckers who run it.

Remember Max Bygraves’ classic catch-phrase? Well, I wanna tell you a story. This may explain my lack of seasonal bonhomie when dealing with the Anglo-Celt.

A few Christmases ago I received a visit from a “journalist” who works for the ‘Celt. I always found this individual a most irritating little piece of vermin, and my initial emotion was to tell him to get lost, but it was Christmas – season of good will even to this fellow. He told me he was writing an article on the history of Cavan town and asked me for some information, which I provided in a written form. A few weeks later the said article appeared. Now I’m not vain and I didn’t want to see my name in the piece, but I was gobsmacked to see the information with which I supplied him reproduced verbatim (that’s word-for-word for ‘Celt journalists) and described as the results of his lengthy research. I felt cheated and resolved that I would never be had again. True, you can’t cheat an honest man, but you sure as hell can cheat a sucker, and that’s what I’d been taken for.

So Happy Christmas one and all (but this does not extend to the Anglo-Celt).

The attacks by Dermot Aherne on the Mahon Tribunal represent a very dangerous attempt to undermine the already weak separation of powers in this country,

Aherne, as a solicitor should recognise this, so should any lawyer worth their salt, but then Aherne is a Fianna Fail lawyer, no doubt with an arts degree for whom talk of the separation of powers recalls a very distant memory of when it may have been briefly covered in the conversion course. The classic Fianna Fail lawyer doesn’t much care for that fancy theoretical stuff; conveyancing and property development is more their bag. That crap about separation of Powers or even Separation of Paddys gets you no-where, unlike membership of the party, and if you raise lots of loot for the boys you may even be appointed a district judge. Now holders of what is in the Irish legal system the lowest form of judicial existence are very jealous of their puffed-up little positions, and would not allow any tom, dick or harry to question the handling of a case in “their” court. Unfortunately Judge Alan Mahon and his team are not beholden to the soldiers of destiny for their jobs but probably owe their advancement to talent and integrity. If only things were different; yes, then they would show proper respect for the party.

If Barrow-boy Bertie does not want to be pilloried he should stop behaving like a north-side cornerboy when confronted with questions he doesn’t like. The man is acting like a crook, and you know what senator Joe McCarthy once said about ducks. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck…