When Dr. Chown told us that we should go to Belfast our first weekend because of marching season, it seemed like good advice, but perhaps a bit overwrought. Although we’d learned something about the Troubles, and gotten a crash course from Dr. Chown as he was suggesting this to us, I knew that the peace process had been going on for decades, and figured that there might be some bad sentiment, but that things couldn’t still be all that bad. After all, some preliminary research I’d done made clear that things had improved, that Orange Order marches had been less intrusive on Catholic neighborhoods, and in general the Marching Season had become a far tamer affair. Although we took Dr. Chown’s advice, I felt at the time that it was overkill.
Good grief was I wrong. The violence during Marching Season this year was staggering, with news reports of casualties and daily footage of the violence. It was shocking to see an individual on tape throwing Molotov cocktails at a line of police trucks and realize that not only was it happening on the same landmass I was on, it was happening in a place I myself had visited not two weeks previously. Shocked as I was, I’ll admit that I half expected the people of the Republic of Ireland to be supportive of the spirit, if not the violence, of the reaction to marching season, but when Keith and I spoke to our house mother about it she quickly condemned the whole affair. Having a son in the Garda, I’m sure she’s generally against any kind of violence towards the police, but her reaction made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with what was happening up there. As more news reached us of the violence, we heard reporters claiming that the violence was no longer about marching season, but instead anger about economic and social issues finding a convenient excuse to be vented. It took me awhile to wrap my head around the idea that this kind of violence in Northern Ireland might not actually be about religious or governmental loyalties, but that these loyalties were being used as a starting point for larger issues that might damn well cross those lines. Looking back on a time when I thought that I supported the struggle of the IRA in Northern Ireland for “freedom”, it makes me feel kind of dumb for thinking anything was ever that simple, and for sometimes falling into that same trap.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Cultural Journal 9 - Begging
When I was in Italy, I got used to being hassled by beggars. Whether they were asking for a handout or trying to earn it via entertainment or trickery, in general they were pushy, loud and sometimes outright hostile. Even those offering some kind of performance were bothersome, from the big-eyed accordion-wielding child on a train to the would-be street magicians vying for my attention (or distraction). Even in the USA, I’ve been badgered by people in the street looking for money, and frequently endured yelling and even veiled threats if I don’t cough up the goods. In Berlin just before arriving in Ireland, I witnessed at several prominent tourist sites women in headscarves asking if people spoke English or German, and then conferring with those who said yes, showing them a paper or photograph, and generally walking away with some pocket change. Given the economic trouble in Ireland presently, and after reading that the “traveller” culture has a reputation for being a nuisance, I honestly expected to have a similar experience in Ireland.
I was surprised to find that even the major tourist sites that we visited seem utterly devoid of any begging at all. At first I assumed that Garda or site employees shag them away, but the sites were also pretty devoid of those authority figures, at least on the outside, and the approaches to them were similarly empty, unlike the Vatican where I passed block after block of beggars before I even reached the gates, and they seemed unmolested by police. I think instead that it is a difference of attitude. Those panhandlers that I did see in Dublin (and there were a number of them, along streets and on bridges) tend to sit or kneel with their eyes downcast and a hat or box in front of them; they carry no signs and shout no slogans or claims, simply waiting and seeming to imply their need in an almost apologetic way. Rather than expecting aid, they seem embarrassed by having to ask, and only once did I catch a muttered comment when I didn’t drop money in the cup. I wonder if it’s an after-effect of colonialism, that the entire population of the Republic wants very much to be independent and productive, to show not only their nation but their people can survive without outside interference. If this is the case, it could explain the deferential attitude of panhandlers that I saw, as they are forced into a position of needing the kind of outside aid they so desperately want to be free of.
I was surprised to find that even the major tourist sites that we visited seem utterly devoid of any begging at all. At first I assumed that Garda or site employees shag them away, but the sites were also pretty devoid of those authority figures, at least on the outside, and the approaches to them were similarly empty, unlike the Vatican where I passed block after block of beggars before I even reached the gates, and they seemed unmolested by police. I think instead that it is a difference of attitude. Those panhandlers that I did see in Dublin (and there were a number of them, along streets and on bridges) tend to sit or kneel with their eyes downcast and a hat or box in front of them; they carry no signs and shout no slogans or claims, simply waiting and seeming to imply their need in an almost apologetic way. Rather than expecting aid, they seem embarrassed by having to ask, and only once did I catch a muttered comment when I didn’t drop money in the cup. I wonder if it’s an after-effect of colonialism, that the entire population of the Republic wants very much to be independent and productive, to show not only their nation but their people can survive without outside interference. If this is the case, it could explain the deferential attitude of panhandlers that I saw, as they are forced into a position of needing the kind of outside aid they so desperately want to be free of.
Cultural Journal 8 - Common Sense
I’ve been amazed by how many sites I have visited in Ireland lack extensive warning signs and guard rails. At Kilmainhem Gaol, we could (with rare exception) walk up to, into, and touch the cells where prisoners famous and mundane were once kept. We could reach out and touch, or even hug, the standing stone on the Hill of Tara, the Celtic crosses at Kells, and much of the artwork in St. Patricks. Most staggeringly, at Dun Aengus on the Aran Islands, we were able to walk right up to the edge of a 300 foot sheer cliff, leaning out to take pictures and tempt fate on the damp stones. A few scattered signs warned of the risk of climbing on the monument, a park ranger or two was present, and I assume there must have been a high wind warning sign somewhere, but by and large the site was all but unguarded as tourists of all ages hiked, ran, and gaped at the sea far below.
It’s unreal to me that this is possible – in the USA, if you look at a cliff funny, someone screams that a warning sign, fence, patrol and video surveillance system should be installed, and a waiver signed before getting within a mile of the place. Massive stone crosses would be covered in protective chicken wire, or fenced off completely with a replica installed nearby to get the full postmodern experience. As an American, I can’t help but wonder at the risk the government is taking, not only the risk to the bodies of the citizens, but the financial risk of the lawsuit that would inevitably result if someone fell off the cliff.
But maybe it isn’t so inevitable here. I’ve already noticed a more relaxed attitude towards children; maybe that extends to a relaxed attitude towards others, in the sense that common sense is still acknowledged and believed in here. A quick Google search turned up no mention of deaths at Dun Aengus, so I can’t do a statistical analysis to back this up, but the Irish seem to be a very practical and self-sufficient people; I can easily see them shrugging their collective shoulders and acknowledging that any such death was a shame, but that it could have been avoided far more effectively and aesthetically with a dose of common sense and careful footing than it ever could have been with a fence and a guard.
It’s unreal to me that this is possible – in the USA, if you look at a cliff funny, someone screams that a warning sign, fence, patrol and video surveillance system should be installed, and a waiver signed before getting within a mile of the place. Massive stone crosses would be covered in protective chicken wire, or fenced off completely with a replica installed nearby to get the full postmodern experience. As an American, I can’t help but wonder at the risk the government is taking, not only the risk to the bodies of the citizens, but the financial risk of the lawsuit that would inevitably result if someone fell off the cliff.
But maybe it isn’t so inevitable here. I’ve already noticed a more relaxed attitude towards children; maybe that extends to a relaxed attitude towards others, in the sense that common sense is still acknowledged and believed in here. A quick Google search turned up no mention of deaths at Dun Aengus, so I can’t do a statistical analysis to back this up, but the Irish seem to be a very practical and self-sufficient people; I can easily see them shrugging their collective shoulders and acknowledging that any such death was a shame, but that it could have been avoided far more effectively and aesthetically with a dose of common sense and careful footing than it ever could have been with a fence and a guard.
Cultural Journal 7 - Buskers
Walking through the pedestrian shopping areas of Dublin we passed uncounted buskers and performers, playing instruments and doing magic or similar tricks, all with some sort of receptacle for the generosity of passersby. But most of them seemed content to perform even if no-one was opening their pockets, and when money did come they were quick to thank, smile or at least nod in gratitude, depending on what they were doing. Several times we would be sitting in a pub and a group of musicians would come in, set up quietly in a corner or at a table, and just start playing without any attempt to get money or even sell CDs. In Galway, after taking photos of Diana with a man dressed and mugging as the devil, I was digging for change and having trouble finding any. He smiled and said it was no problem if I didn’t have any, which had the effect of making me want to give him more when I did find my change. I have a hard time picturing a Chicago devil being so relaxed after posing with a tourist.
I think there are two forces working here, the first being the general friendliness of Irish people. After meeting so many of them in so many situations, I find it shocking if they aren’t friendly, or at least civil. The second force is the performance-heavy culture of Ireland. When that devil puts on his makeup and drags his podium out to the street, he’s certainly hoping to make some money, but he’s also putting on a show, and I think that part is equally important to him, if not more so. I saw another busker who had put together a sort of robot statue costume, complete with a massive throne covered in interactive and playful props, like an octopus made from an old umbrella, which he (or she) would activate and manipulate for children. That kind of energy and effort speaks more of a performer hoping to be recognized than a beggar performing for money. A living statue I saw pulled none of the usual tricks, stealing hats or moving surreptitiously. He simply stood, stock still – showing off his skill and hoping for a crowd to gather and watch. If they reward him, it’s a sign of a job well done. Just as actors in a play don’t accost the audience for not applauding loud enough, I got the sense that Irish buskers simply take it in stride if the audience is feeling closed-pocketed.
I think there are two forces working here, the first being the general friendliness of Irish people. After meeting so many of them in so many situations, I find it shocking if they aren’t friendly, or at least civil. The second force is the performance-heavy culture of Ireland. When that devil puts on his makeup and drags his podium out to the street, he’s certainly hoping to make some money, but he’s also putting on a show, and I think that part is equally important to him, if not more so. I saw another busker who had put together a sort of robot statue costume, complete with a massive throne covered in interactive and playful props, like an octopus made from an old umbrella, which he (or she) would activate and manipulate for children. That kind of energy and effort speaks more of a performer hoping to be recognized than a beggar performing for money. A living statue I saw pulled none of the usual tricks, stealing hats or moving surreptitiously. He simply stood, stock still – showing off his skill and hoping for a crowd to gather and watch. If they reward him, it’s a sign of a job well done. Just as actors in a play don’t accost the audience for not applauding loud enough, I got the sense that Irish buskers simply take it in stride if the audience is feeling closed-pocketed.
Cultural Journal 6 - Accessability
The Giant’s Causeway was an amazing site to visit, and I am thoroughly please that I was able to do so. But one thing that troubled me here was the lack of handicap access to the site. It’s something I noticed more than once in Ireland, visiting historic and cultural sites in relatively remote areas; often I would see a sign noting that the area was not accessible. I can see both sides of this issue, and wish that I had been able to get a solid answer as to why accessibility wasn’t present (the answer I got was, essentially, that it would mar the site).
On the one hand, putting in accessibility for wheelchairs (to take the obvious example) would irrevocably alter a landscape that the Irish government has clearly taken great pains to preserve. In order for someone with limited mobility to visit the causeway itself, they would first have to be transported down to the base of the cliffs. This could be accomplished using the trams (in modified form) that already exist to carry visitors from the top to the bottom. Next, they would have to make it across the landscape to the pillars, requiring the installation of some kind of walkway which was not only wide enough to permit simultaneous entrance and egress, but gentle enough of a slope to make it useable. Any such structure would need to be anchored, requiring holes to be bored in the pillars themselves, or at the very least heavy and wide struts to be installed. It would also need to be weatherproof, and given the ocean exposure of the site this would be no mean feat. Many tourists would likely make use of the ramp even if they are perfectly capable of traversing the landscape, putting extra wear on the structure. This would be an expensive endeavor.
But on the other hand, it’s a shame that people with limited mobility are effectively barred from the site, unless they can be helped or even carried by others. The Causeway is such an amazing place that it is a damn shame that some are denied viewing it, and there is a large part of me that feels like it would be worth the expense and relatively slight alteration of the site to enable them to reach it. I suppose that’s the American in me (heaven forbid!) crying out that everyone should have equal access at almost any cost, but I think it’s a valid perspective. Of course, I’m not Irish, and I don’t know the internal decisions and struggles that have surely arisen form this very issue, but my instinct tells me that where there’s a will there’s a way, and that the heritage trust (who I believe oversees all sites in both Northern Ireland and the Republic) would be doing a wonderful thing to find a way to make this and other sites accessible.
On the one hand, putting in accessibility for wheelchairs (to take the obvious example) would irrevocably alter a landscape that the Irish government has clearly taken great pains to preserve. In order for someone with limited mobility to visit the causeway itself, they would first have to be transported down to the base of the cliffs. This could be accomplished using the trams (in modified form) that already exist to carry visitors from the top to the bottom. Next, they would have to make it across the landscape to the pillars, requiring the installation of some kind of walkway which was not only wide enough to permit simultaneous entrance and egress, but gentle enough of a slope to make it useable. Any such structure would need to be anchored, requiring holes to be bored in the pillars themselves, or at the very least heavy and wide struts to be installed. It would also need to be weatherproof, and given the ocean exposure of the site this would be no mean feat. Many tourists would likely make use of the ramp even if they are perfectly capable of traversing the landscape, putting extra wear on the structure. This would be an expensive endeavor.
But on the other hand, it’s a shame that people with limited mobility are effectively barred from the site, unless they can be helped or even carried by others. The Causeway is such an amazing place that it is a damn shame that some are denied viewing it, and there is a large part of me that feels like it would be worth the expense and relatively slight alteration of the site to enable them to reach it. I suppose that’s the American in me (heaven forbid!) crying out that everyone should have equal access at almost any cost, but I think it’s a valid perspective. Of course, I’m not Irish, and I don’t know the internal decisions and struggles that have surely arisen form this very issue, but my instinct tells me that where there’s a will there’s a way, and that the heritage trust (who I believe oversees all sites in both Northern Ireland and the Republic) would be doing a wonderful thing to find a way to make this and other sites accessible.
Cultural Journal 5 - Green!
Why is it that people in Ireland seem to be so much more concerned about conservation and the environment than in the USA? I’ve stayed in hostels that have push-button showers, requiring you to keep hitting the button to keep water flowing, and the shower in our home has its own pump and heater to keep water consumption regulated. Many of the toilets I’ve encountered have two flush buttons – one gives a little water, the other a lot, depending on what exactly you are trying to get rid of. The streets are lined with metal rubbish bins, many with a receptacle of some kind built in for cigarette butts (ostensibly to prevent fires). I’ve seen more motion/occupancy sensors on lights here than I tend to see in the US. Servings are smaller, packaging is more compact, and many stores charge a small fee for a plastic bag (the National Trust does the same thing, at least at the Giant’s Causeway). Most tellingly is how CLEAN it tends to be – the streets, although not devoid of litter, seem far cleaner than in Chicago or DeKalb.
I suppose one explanation could be that Ireland is an island, albeit a big one. Completely surrounded by water, any resources that are unavailable or exhausted here must be brought in by boat or plane, a relatively costly method (in the case of drinking water, costly desalinization would be even more vital if fresh water sources were tainted or destroyed). So it would be in their best interests to place minimal demands on their resources, natural or otherwise, in order to reduce their dependence on importation, and thus their dependence on petroleum, international trade, etc. Added to this is the fact that Ireland is part of Europe, which has been heavily settled for a far longer time than North America. The resources that exist here have been relied on for centuries or even millennia and have on occasion vanished, which might spur a more conservational mindset. In Ireland specifically, it might also be a result of their past as a colonized and exploited nation. Britain harvested wood and other resources for export back home and for centuries, before relinquishing control. This might have ingrained in the Irish people a sense of real ownership of and responsibility for their natural resources, a desire to preserve them for their own present and future use rather than stripping the land of its riches at the British once did.
I suppose one explanation could be that Ireland is an island, albeit a big one. Completely surrounded by water, any resources that are unavailable or exhausted here must be brought in by boat or plane, a relatively costly method (in the case of drinking water, costly desalinization would be even more vital if fresh water sources were tainted or destroyed). So it would be in their best interests to place minimal demands on their resources, natural or otherwise, in order to reduce their dependence on importation, and thus their dependence on petroleum, international trade, etc. Added to this is the fact that Ireland is part of Europe, which has been heavily settled for a far longer time than North America. The resources that exist here have been relied on for centuries or even millennia and have on occasion vanished, which might spur a more conservational mindset. In Ireland specifically, it might also be a result of their past as a colonized and exploited nation. Britain harvested wood and other resources for export back home and for centuries, before relinquishing control. This might have ingrained in the Irish people a sense of real ownership of and responsibility for their natural resources, a desire to preserve them for their own present and future use rather than stripping the land of its riches at the British once did.
Cultural Journal 4 - Caring About Football (Soccer)
I don’t watch sports at home; professional sports weren’t part of my upbringing, so they aren’t part of my life the way they are for some of my friends and relatives. But something about the sports culture here appeals to me. I found myself in Cork on Friday night, hanging on every moment of the end of the match, which had gone to a shootout. I cheered when Ghana made a shot, groaned when Paraguy made one, lamented when Ghana’s players decided to aim for the goalie and gnashed my teeth as Ghana’s goalie consistently dove AWAY from incoming balls. I complained for hours, even arguing with a classmate on the subject. This was a sport and a team I hadn’t given two thoughts to a month ago, yet suddenly I felt like I had a personal investment riding on them. The next day, I cried out in joy as Germany scored early in the game, pumped my fist when I heard they had won 4-0, and sat with a good view of the TV for the match later that night.
What is it about the soccer culture that draws me in? For one thing, 90 minutes is about as long as I’m willing to watch anything on TV. More interestingly, I’ve noticed that although you can easily identify which team various groups in pubs are rooting for, there is tremendous excitement whenever a goal is scored. There’s no heckling or booing, just enjoyment of the game. When I have been in a bar at home during a game, my experience has been that people get really aggressive about supporting their team and denigrating the other. This extends to derision of that teams fans, and in the case of Chicago Sox fans it seems inevitable that Cubs fans will be dragged through the mud, whether their team is playing or not. Sports in America have always seemed like a divisive force to me, pitting city against city in a race to the top slot. Soccer in Europe has that in the form of clubs, but the World Cup gives every country a chance to band together behind a national team, competing against other nations for genuine world dominance of a sport. American athletes remain, for the most part, isolated and insular – the best football team in America has never had to travel to France to prove their dominance in the sport, and the World Series is the worst-named competition in the country. I guess a big part of what I like about soccer over here is that come World Cup time, differences are put aside as a nation backs its team, and if that team is eliminated, everyone picks a new team, or two, or three to support for as long as they last.
What is it about the soccer culture that draws me in? For one thing, 90 minutes is about as long as I’m willing to watch anything on TV. More interestingly, I’ve noticed that although you can easily identify which team various groups in pubs are rooting for, there is tremendous excitement whenever a goal is scored. There’s no heckling or booing, just enjoyment of the game. When I have been in a bar at home during a game, my experience has been that people get really aggressive about supporting their team and denigrating the other. This extends to derision of that teams fans, and in the case of Chicago Sox fans it seems inevitable that Cubs fans will be dragged through the mud, whether their team is playing or not. Sports in America have always seemed like a divisive force to me, pitting city against city in a race to the top slot. Soccer in Europe has that in the form of clubs, but the World Cup gives every country a chance to band together behind a national team, competing against other nations for genuine world dominance of a sport. American athletes remain, for the most part, isolated and insular – the best football team in America has never had to travel to France to prove their dominance in the sport, and the World Series is the worst-named competition in the country. I guess a big part of what I like about soccer over here is that come World Cup time, differences are put aside as a nation backs its team, and if that team is eliminated, everyone picks a new team, or two, or three to support for as long as they last.
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