A Gubu Nation Once Again

Some years ago, for no particularly good reason, I sat in a large room in Berlin while a group of middle-aged Germans discussed their place in Europe, in the light of the collapse of the Iron Curtain and bearing in mind the legacy of World War II.

It was a fascinating experience. There was an air of palpable sincerity about the whole thing, and a desire to absorb and ingest the past, to move towards building a more humane future.

The views of younger Germans were less apologetic. It wasn't that they denied the terrible things that were done by their forebearers less than half a century before. It was just that they were tired of saying sorry for things they themselves hadn't done. They were far more interested in gobbling ecstasy, and each others' sexual organs, in no particular order of priority. And wahay! That was fine by me!

One nightspot in particular comes to mind. It's name escapes me, but its promotional neon proudly advertised it as a "hot fleshy disco". Mmmmm. No beating about the bush there!

But I digress. On my return to the ould sod I talked about the experience with friends. And in general there was some sympathy for the German position. Except for one acquaintance, a Dubliner who had lived a long time in London, and had moved in far left circles.

He responded as though it was still the '30s and the great crusades were still at hand. Fuck them, was his general answer. Sorry? So they fucking should be. You can't fucking trust them.

And so on. A rant. Belligerent, bigoted and bilious, he wasn't having any of it.

Perhaps the recollection of the horrors of World War II might bring a sense of perspective to our contemplation of present troubles. Sure, there are individuals in Irish and British prisons (and indeed already released therefrom) who have been, or could be, just as evil as the Nazis. But on the whole, political and paramilitary gangsterism aside, our squalid political scandals are just that. Minor disturbances of the moral ecosystem when compared to real evil.

But still, my recollection of the vitriolic and unforgiving reaction of my London-Irish communist to the Germans was triggered by a letter in The Irish Times from two Fianna Fail local government candidates, last week. They were decrying the smell of corruption which was attaching itself to the party.

Taking it at face value, it seemed like a heartfelt cry from two essentially decent people, and it reminded me of others I once knew. Many of them were relatives, and for them the republican ethos with which Fianna Fail was founded was much more to do with equity and with community than with Northern Ireland.

They were, if you like, republicans rather than Republicans. They were Jacobins, sans-culottes, peasant and working-class radicals, rather than rich farmers and gombeenmen. They were builders, not speculators, credit union shareholders rather than Ansbacher account-holders.

And one knew, even as one's eye flicked down along the text of the letter, that there were those, like my London-Irish communist acquaintance, guffawing at them and wagging their fingers mirthfully into their muesli and/or politically credible rasher and egg, and shouting "Sorry?? Well so they fucking should be!!"

They and their once-radical and populist party have been brought low by a parcel of rogues and cute hoors who prospered in the '60s and early '70s. Masters of the Universe, Tom Wolfe might have called them had he been around the mohair-suited Irish political scene of the time.

And day-by-day the proceedings of the two tribunals currently in progress reveal the levels of that hoordom. It doesn't give me any great pleasure to say it, but what Judge Moriarty is hearing about the life and times and general finances of Charles Haughey is truly shocking.

One doesn't want to prejudge the outcomes, but when the tribunal is told that "Mr Haughey now accepts" that this cheque or that was disposed of to his benefit, and one grasps the scale of the monies involved, and one realises that yes, he was vastly in debt when he became Taoiseach even as he lectured the Irish people on the need for the country to live within its means . . .

Well, one vomits or one gasps at the audacity . . . or at the insouciance. Nothing to do with me, guv. It was Des Traynor who handled it all. And so on.

Meanwhile, Justice Flood is hearing all manner of allegations about building and planning irregularities from 1999's first folk hero, James Gogarty. Where'll it all end? Who knows. The tar is flying, and it might stick to anyone.

And the luckiest man is he who was born and bred in a tarbarrel, Brer Rabbit.

Meanwhile, each day also brings evidence of the encroachment of litigation into Irish society. Every so-and-so has a grievance. Second only to America in suing, that's our sorry record.

Many factors are at work. One is the growth of grievance culture. Another is the spread of "advice", often from sidewalk experts, to the effect that "you'd have a claim there." Pernicious and pervasive, it's endangering our soul. A kind of victim's lotto culture.

Nowhere is it more evident than in the claims for hearing loss in the army. Listen (!!), everybody has some degree of hearing loss. And tinnitus isn't solely caused by loud noises, despite what the experts say. My maiden aunt was driven to distraction by tinnitus and she never went near a firing range or a rock concert in her life. The loudest noises she heard were church choirs and her uncle James's farts.

And, because half the country's living soldiers have sued, the Department of Finance is now effectively proposing to close half the army down. Curious thought. At exactly the same time, the Minister for Finance has given the Revenue draconian new powers. And the Government is putting its foot down on the issue of the early release of the self-admitted killers of Garda Jerry McCabe who was, as Bertie Ahern put it, murdered in Adare.

Let's get real here. There's hundreds of armed gangsters out there. Some are political and some are not. Some will shoot anyone who gets in their way. So, if the army is downsized, what's the message? That the UDA and the IRA are the largest armies on the island? And what's the alternative? That the Revenue Commissioners and the Garda Siochana develop paramilitary wings? What do the Gardam (who, whatever criticisms one might make regarding their heavy handedness with clubbers and drinkers, have always prided themselves on being largely unarmed) feel about that?

Hello?!?!? Anybody out there??? Anyone thinking??