Black White and Shades Of Grey

Well these days, these days. What would you give to be John Ellis, eh? Owns a fine house up there in Leitrim. Responsible position, too. Chairman of the Dail subcommittee on Agriculture. But, jaze man, these days. All for nottin'. All for nottin'. The wolves are loose. On the scent. The spoor. Man said he was sorry for Chrissake, and what? What? Local farmers aren't satisfied! Can you believe it. And the Mata Haris want him out!
Oho, I'll tell you! A man's sins are never forgotten in this country, and that's a fact. You'd be tempted, you would. To emigrate. You would, you know.
Bankrupt but for the timely intervention of Certain Politicians. Big debts. Written off. Would have had to resign otherwise - Government in jeopardy. Jaze, can't have that. A few quick calls. Nod's as good as. Say no more.
Media. Goddamn. They love risk takers, hardball players, guys who don't blink . . . when they win. When they lunch the hacks. Buy out. Sell out. Everybody loves a winner baby, that's a fact. But one slip - that's all it takes. Like dogs. They smell the fear.
Time was. Time was, when people struggled and lost and the banks removed their entrails. But not politicians. A word in your ear, good sir.
And that's what hurts. Twenty years ago, or so. All changed now, of course. But back then? Farmers (and others) went to the wall. They don't want an apology for all the money lost. They want the fucking money back!!!!
That's the way it is.
Things were different twenty years ago. Back then they didn't foresee the mobile phone. Or full employment in Ireland, skill shortages and all. Or Jack Charlton. Or AIDS or Kosovo or East Timor.
And nobody could have forecast that we'd be cleaning out the stables in 1999. That we'd have exposed the corruption and/or wheeling-dealing of cattle barons, politicians, priests, business people, financial institutions, certain (local Government) public servants and the rich, in no particular order. And that judges would resign.
What the hell is left?
The most sickening aspect, I think, is the knight-in-shining armour image being projected by our fellow hacks. One or two should consider taking out taxi licenses. And, if I may say so, a particular stench attaches to the general line being sold that 'these guys were all corrupt and they had ways and means . . .'
There are golden and silver circles everywhere. There is a self-regarding and precious elite in journalism as elsewhere. The freebies that accompany media celebrity are just as symptomatic of whoredom as those that come to politicians and builders. Read the property supplements for clues.
The point? Truth is muddier and honour is less clear than we would like. The Irish people are a lynch mob right now. Fuck Haughey. I don't care. But many of those who applaud Gene Kerrigan on the Late Late Show are likely to sneer at Romanians and Zaireans in the street. The moral high ground is a dangerous place. And especially so when it's a popular place to be.
But that's just the truth, and who cares about that? Who cares about the vast numbers of 'tax compliant' citizens who deliberately and calculatedly dodged VAT on services throughout the 1980s?
Many of these upright citizens applaud verbal attacks on the 'golden circle' and 'corruption'. Many of them doubtless believe that anyone who is in any way successful has signed some kind of compact with the devil, or one of her acolytes.
It used to be funny handshakes and secret ceremonies we were paranoid about. Now it's nods and winks and inner circles.
Those of us who were not so already are becoming Protestants. Northern Europeans. Maybe that's no bad thing. It certainly implies probity. But it may also mean losing some of the things that make us interesting. Either that, or we're being hypocrites. Again.
Which is, of course, what I think. We need a demon. And Haughey will do nicely.
It's laughable. To listen to us you'd think that we're all upright honest citizens. Every i dotted and every t crossed. Queuing up to pay our taxes. Opening our gates to immigrants. Honest in each and every detail.
Hah!!! Cash on the nail, me oul' son. Spit on it!
Look. I was in Clonmel a couple of years ago. The locals were talking about an armed raid on a card game the previous weekend. Ten thousand pounds were stolen, said the Gardai.
'Gahargh!' said the locals, 'twas more like thirty!!'
Dig it!! Thirty thousand pounds!!! One card game!!
Now these weren't members of the golden circle. These were farmers and solicitors and auctioneers and publicans and salesmen and whatever yer having yerself. And many of them would stand on a pork barrel to tell you how corrupt our politicians and bankers are. And they'd be leading the charge . . .
But why would they tell the Gardai that ten thousand was stolen when in fact it was thirty?
Personally, I think they didn't want anyone asking how or where they got the money because, of course, they hadn't paid tax on it. Not that they had offshore accounts either. They were in a cash society. The way it was and, in many cases, still is. No traces, no troubles.
Of course, I'm a cynic. And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there was another explanation altogether. But the locals didn't think so. They were pretty sure that a lot of tax was dodged and the money was hot . . . (And you can bet that this was a minor compared to Cheltenham).
Whatever. It's good that we're clearing up the mess. It's right and proper. But it's not good that we're wilfully engaging in the (self)-deception that we're all as straight as dies. It isn't black and white, goodies and baddies. That's child's play. But it isn't the truth.
The truth is messy. Muddy. Blurred. The best we can hope for is that on the whole we're collectively more honest than not. A first step in this regard would be to can the cant and hypocrisy. Life's too short. Let's get on to the next stage.
* The Hog