At least I've woken up

http://ciarantierney.com

When the politicians started colluding with the bankers and the developers, I did not speak out.

When they went into a frenzy, an "orgy of greed", I did not speak out.

When they locked themselves in a tent at the Galway Races, flying over our heads in helicopters and laughing at the peasants outside, I did not speak out.

When the bank manager persuaded the family member to buy a property he could not afford, I did not speak out. (Sure, everyone told us it was the "smart time to buy".)

When the economy collapsed, because of those bankers and developers, I did not speak out.

When faceless bondholders were prioritised over ordinary people, I did not speak out.

When my nation lost its sovereignty, and the ECB and IMF came to town, I did not speak out. (I was watching from Nicaragua, where people seemed to have a better idea of what was happening than the people back home.)

When almost an entire generation moved to Canada and Australia, just as most of mine moved to London or America in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I did not speak out.

When the Government imposed a Universal Social Charge, I did not speak out.

When it added a Local Property Tax, I did not speak out.

When my pay was cut, I did not speak out.

Carrying the coffin of Irish Water

When young people were asked to work for €50 a week, I did not speak out. (The cynical among us called it ScamBridge, not JobBridge.)

When I saw old people lying on trolleys in a dangerously overcrowded Emergency Department, I did not speak out.

When it took me six months to get over a procedure which should have taken six weeks - because of the state of my local public hospital - I did not speak out.

Sitting in long queues, day after day, it was clear that fear was a motivating factor. Who wants to complain out loud, when a loved-one is waiting on a list for life-saving treatment?

When a single mum was thrown in prison because she could not afford a TV licence, I did not speak out.

When none of the bankers, developers or politicians who caused the crash seemed to face any punishment, I did not speak out.

When bankers started evicting ordinary, decent people from their homes, I have to admit I did not speak out.

When a bank which is 99.8% State owned asked for a third of the workers at my firm to be let go, I did not speak out.

When the TV news and the newspapers seemed to ignore the despair all around me, I did not speak out.

When the videos circulating on YouTube and Facebook never seemed to appear on the TV, I did not speak out.

When Irish Water was set up and the senior executives decided they were worth €200,000 per year, I did not speak out.

When others pointed out that Irish people already pay for their water, well, I agreed with them but I did not speak out.

When the people at the top of Irish Water decided to award all the plum jobs to their best friends, I did not speak out.

When there were huge question marks about how the contract was awarded to install the water metres, I did not speak out.

When people in Roscommon could not even drink their water, I did not speak out.

When protesters were hauled from their beds in 7am dawn raids, I did not speak out.

When the 'Public Order Act' was invoked against people who objected to a private company installing water metres right outside their homes, I did not speak out.

When people were arrested just for standing on footpaths, I did not speak out. 

But, when the water metres arrived, and I finally decided to go and join a protest march, I became a subversive, labelled as a member of the “Sinister Fringe”. 

When I met 100,000 others who felt like me, I was told it was an attack on democracy. That we were undermining everything people should hold sacred about Irish life.

Some people might say it's too late . . . but I’m suddenly quite glad that, at long last, at least I’ve woken up!


For journalism work, social media strategies, content writing, 'ghost' blogging, or public relations, contact Ciaran at ciaran@ciarantierney.com

Good news at a time of renewal and change

On the first day of Spring, with a longer stretch evident in the evenings, renowned Shaman Midie Corcoran asked a group of us to pass through a giant St Bridget’s Belt to mark the passing of Winter and the hope of renewal which comes with this time of year.

As I left the weekly meditation class, I realised the depression which had gripped me through much of the Winter had all but disappeared. My health was improving and it was great to share my hopes for better fortune with a wonderful group of people as we marked the start of February.

Sometimes life works in mysterious ways. Since taking voluntary redundancy from the Connacht Tribune I have had surgery twice on a serious shoulder injury, had to visit the public health nurses about 70 times since Halloween, and found myself gripped by fear through the dark winter months.

Instead of taking up a job I had been promised, but which subsequently fell through, or helping out the poor of Nicaragua – where I found such fulfilment four years ago – I found myself facing my demons in wintry Galway with a lot of time on my hands.

People had read my blog and said I was too hard on myself, which I definitely was. And sometimes, in the midst of pain and suffering, it really is hard to believe that everything happens for a reason.

But now I’m convinced of it. The start of a new life after 22 years in the same job did not mean I had to run away to the other side of the world, much as I love travelling and experiencing different cultures. Not straight away, anyways. Perhaps I needed time to face the fears I had avoided by being busy for so long. 

When you have a crazy, busy life, like I had, you may never have time to really look at yourself in the mirror. Rushing from job to gym to social event, which is the life of a busy journalist, can mean there is little time for taking stock or recognising what’s really important in life.

Over Christmas, I was delighted to meet old friends, but I also wallowed in self-pity over the troublesome shoulder and the fact that I no longer had a job. It was probably a good thing that all the antibiotics kept me off the demon drink!

I almost had to reach rock bottom to realise the importance of living for today, right here, right now, rather than worrying about what life will be like in six months or a year.

I hit a low point when I applied for a job which was far too similar to the one I’d left, simply because I wanted to stay in the comfort zone. As the wind howled and the rain poured down two weeks ago, I began to feel sorry for myself.

At times like that, it’s hard to reach out and engage with the world. Friends and family might not even realise how much they helped to lift me out of the Winter blues.

Then I remembered the dignity of friends like Karl and Liam, friends who have tackled far more serious health issues than I have with far more bravery than me over a much longer period of time.

Over the past few days, since the start of Spring, I have come to realise that leaving the ‘safe harbour’ could yet become the best decision I ever made. It’s a chance for growth, for change, and there is nothing fulfilling about staying in the same place for too long, even if being unemployed or self-employed can be scary at times.

On the second day of Spring, I jumped out of bed. The Public Health Nurse who had seen me most over the past three months had made an appointment for me, even though there was no onus on her to see me since the second operation two weeks ago.

After knocking me out cold, the surgeon had given me the kind of stitches which dissolve by themselves. But she wanted to make sure everything was ok after seeing me wallow in despair for a few weeks.

On a bright Monday morning, she had great news. It looked as though the injured cyst, which caused a serious infection, had finally healed. Two more weeks and I might even be back in the swimming pool for the first time since Halloween. As I left the clinic, I was on Cloud Nine.

Then I went for an interview for a ten week course, which is all about starting an online business. It will give me skills in Search Engine Optimisation, pay per click, and website design, exactly the kind of skills I will need after leaving the regional newspaper behind. 

And the course is allowing me to meet a wonderful mixture of people from a variety of backgrounds, all seeking to change their lives and careers. Looking at them, seeing how keen they all are to learn, has brought it home to me that there should be no stigma attached to being unemployed.

One lady told me she had been made redundant three times. Change, and how we cope with it, is fundamental to all our lives.

I now know that I will be in Galway for the next 12 weeks and the course has given me just the focus I need as I start to move on with my life. Nicaragua can wait, while I sort myself out and come to terms with how much anxiety the redundancy and shoulder injury brought up in me over the past few months.

On the same afternoon, a person I had admired from a distance for years met me for coffee to talk about changing careers. He gave me so much wonderful advice and wanted nothing in return. He, like nurse Joanne, reminded me that there is so much goodness in people if you only ask them for a helping hand.

Afterwards, I walked the fabulous Salthill promenade, revelling in the extra bit of sunlight and the flat calm sea. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I was not in Nicaragua or Thailand this winter. I was enjoying a wonderful walk in my home town and filled with gratitude for the uncertain life and new adventures which lie ahead.

Yes, three months of pain, antibiotics, and daily visits to the clinic were not part of the post-redundancy plan. But they taught me so much about my own fears and frustrations that they may really stand to me in the long-term. 

They also taught me to never, ever forget that good health should never be taken for granted. It’s far more important than a job or career.

We all have magic inside us, but it’s hard to find the magic if you spend your life rushing from job to gym to gig, or flying off to escape in the sun.

Spring is in the air and, instead of rushing off to save the world in Central America (much as I’d love to yet), the freak shoulder accident and subsequent surgery have taught me so much about appreciating what I already have in my life.

I might never get a chance to spend wintry Wednesday afternoons hanging out with my elderly parents or two year old nephew again. I might never get a chance to hook up with unemployed friends for leisurely coffees and chats down by the sea.

So January has come to an end. It is hard to imagine how dark and bleak Winter in Ireland was for our ancestors in the days before the electrification of the countryside. No wonder they used to dance with joy when St Bridget’s Day arrived.

Happy Springtime . . . the Winter was long enough this year, but dark days are necessary in order to appreciate the light.

After three months of pain and self-pity, this was a very good week.

Destroying the present with irrational fears

Fear is such a strange thing.

It can grip virtually all of us in different ways and different settings - and it's truly amazing to note the different ways in which people react to day-to-day situations.

When I worked as a volunteer in Nicaragua, I was amazed by the irrational fears of many North Americans. They didn't trust the local people, because they lived in such poverty, so they would do whatever they could to avoid them on travels around the country.

They would pay $25 to get a 'gringo shuttle', a minibus which was only for foreigners, for a two hour trip to the coast, whereas I had no problems spending €2 to travel the same route on the 'chicken buses' favoured by the locals.

If anything, I found the local buses to be much better fun, watching people haul chickens or bags of cement or half a dozen children on board. They would pass the children around among strangers, because Nicaraguans don't really understand the concept of 'strangers'. Their community spirit reminded me of my Granny's home village in East Galway. And it seemed so alien to the irrational concerns of the American expats.

It helped that I spoke Spanish, but the truth was that interacting with the locals was half the fun during weekends away. If I'd listened to many Americans, and their fears, I would have missed out on such adventures. People had warned of car-jackings or tourists being forced to withdraw cash from ATMs after taking 'collectivo' taxis.

Nicaraguans themselves have a fear of silence. Which is why bus drivers get to install huge sound systems and you can have salsa and reggaeton blaring for the entire journey between two provincial cities. Even 70- and 80-year olds prefer loud music to total silence on their journeys around their land.

I was amazed, too, by the irrational fear many Americans in Central America had of Muslims. I lost count of the amount of North Americans who would ask me how many Muslims there were in my country. Most of them had never been to Ireland and I found it really strange that it was one of the first questions they would ask about my native land.

It seems that, post-9/11, Muslims have become some sort of new enemy. Or we've regressed to the era of the Crusades.

When I told people from Texas or New Mexico that I had been to Egypt a dozen times, and loved the place, they would be shocked at my perceived bravery. They would not believe me when I said it was a very safe country (at the time) or that the locals were lovely people.

People would also be shocked that I had scuba dived over 300 times. Some people simply have an irrational fear of water, others of anything that involves change. I myself was gripped by fear before I went to Central America and all my fears were completely unfounded. Despite travelling alone to many parts of Nicaragua, and staying out late in Granada, I was never robbed or held up at gunpoint.

There seems to be a fear of Muslims gripping the people of Europe now, in the wake of the horrible attack on the Charlie Hebdo staff in Paris.

At the weekend, I heard one old friend say that she "didn't like Muslims" ... as though she meets many of them in her day-to-day life in Galway. She would not rent out an apartment to them, for example, she told me.

Yet blaming all Muslims for the crimes of a tiny group of terrorists is completely irrational, just as it was wrong for the leaders of the world to march in solidarity in Paris while ignoring a horrific attack by extremists which left 2,000 people dead in Nigeria on the same day.

That sent out a terrible signal: that some lives are more important than others. But I guess we have all known that if you contrast the reaction of the western world to 2,200 deaths in Gaza or 2,000 in Nigeria to those of less than 20 in Paris.

When leaders from Egypt (where Al Jazeera journalists are in jail), Israel (which murdered 17 journalists last summer) and Saudi Arabia (where a man has been flogged because of what he wrote in a blog) march in Paris for "freedom of expression", you know there is something terribly wrong.

Muslims are not the enemy, fear of the unknown is.

The reason why the conflict went on for so long in Northern Ireland is because Catholic and Protestant people never mixed at work, school, or in terms of the games they played. It's far easier to hate when you don't know the people living on the other side of the street.

If you go to different schools, play different sports, work in different places, and live on different streets then it's easy to build up irrational fears about the other side.

As for me, the scuba diver who has travelled through so many parts of the world, I still have plenty of fears of my own. I have ridden through Phnom Penh on a motorbike at 4am or walked the back streets of Granada, alone, at 3am. I have done so many of the things foreigners are told not to do in poor countries such as Cambodia or Nicaragua.

And yet I have fears about the future after leaving my job. I have fears about my health after being told I need surgery on my shoulder for a second time, 11 weeks after spending four days in hospital.

Post-redundancy, my life has not gone to plan. It's no fun to have to get a wound dressed every day for almost three months, while wondering where this crazy adventure called life is going to take me next. Sometimes the 'comfort zone' or the safe harbour can be the scariest place of all.

And yet my recent set-backs have taught me a few lessons and maybe given me a real resolution for 2015. It's time to conquer my fears ... or at least take a look at why worries over the future can take away from enjoying life in the here and now.

Life should always be seen as an adventure because, ultimately, none of us knows what's next to come around the corner. Who can really guarantee where they will be 12 months from now?

And yet we can destroy the present with worries and irrational fears.

The final straw

Exactly four years ago this week, I was working as a volunteer in Nicaragua. I was having the time of my life, working among some of the poorest people in the Americas when, all of a sudden, everyone started talking about my home country.

In the volunteer house I shared with a mixed bunch from the US, Holland, and Germany, it became quite a shock when my country’s woes began to dominate conversations.

Ireland’s financial meltdown had become the main story on BBC World News, CNN Espanol, and even the local Nicaraguan TV channels.

The country’s leading newspapers, La Prensa and El Nuevo Diario, speculated that Ireland’s financial collapse could bring down the whole European Union.

In my city centre office, it was surreal when German and Canadian volunteers suddenly began sympathising with me about the state of my homeland.

On the street, a neighbour who had no English told me he’d heard that my country was in ruins.

On the day of the EU-IMF bailout, I gravitated towards Granada’s only Irish pub.

All five of the city’s Irish residents, plus us two long-term volunteers, sat around Tommy Griffin’s TV set at O’Shea’s pub on the city’s main thoroughfare as we watched the Troika come to Dublin.

It was humiliating.

But in their own way, the lovely group of people around me summed up what a failed state Ireland has been, more or less, since its foundation.

There were the older lads in their 50s and 60s, who never imagined that their homeland would give them a living when they grew up in Kerry, Cork, or Dublin; before heading off for new lives in the United States and, later, Central America.

There was the man in his 40s, who had been made redundant from his job in Dublin before opting to buy a little hotel so far from home.

There was the journalist, delighted to be taking a career break because my firm was under pressure due to the economic downturn.

Or the teacher in her 30s, who was travelling for a year because it was impossible to get a steady job back home.

And the publican, in his 70s, who had failed to settle down back home after a lifetime of running bars overseas.

As we sat around the TV screen in O’Shea’s, we wondered what it would take to awaken the Irish people – to stop them from voting for the kind of politicians who put the rights of bankers, speculators, and developers over those of ordinary people.

We watched the coverage of the bailout and we were stunned.

As I looked around, I realised that all of these emigrants had a great spirit of adventure but, in terms of options and careers, Ireland had let them down. I’m the only one of that bunch who has returned home.

A few months later, I was back in Ireland to cover a General Election in which Fianna Fail suffered a meltdown.

FF and the Green Party have been replaced by FG and Labour; people have seen their spending power evaporate further due to a household charge, property tax, and the Universal Social Charge.

Four years on, people are wondering if the Government which replaced the party which caused the mess are any better. It seems that they have become embroiled in one scandal after another and ordinary people are still paying the price for bailing out a tiny elite.

In recent weeks, the mobilisation to oppose the Irish Water charges has been amazing to behold. 250,000 people have marched across the country to say that enough is enough. Many of them would never have attended a protest march before.

Some commentators have expressed bafflement at the campaign.

They wonder why the same people were not on the streets in 2008, when the last Government made the ill-fated bank guarantee.

Or why there were not massive protests two years later, when the Troika came to town and forced the Irish Government to secure the bondholders, while crippling the Irish people with debts for decades to come.

The interest on our bank debt is €1.6 billion per annum.

By way of contrast, they argue that the water charges are a relatively minor issue.

Perhaps they are.

But for many people these latest charges have come as the final straw.

They could not see the senior bankers, bondholders, or speculators who brought this country to its knees, but it all becomes more tangible when contractors begin to install unwanted water meters outside your home.

After six years of austerity, pay-cuts, and job losses, people simply feel that enough is enough.

They get angry when they see the bonuses being paid to senior Irish Water staff and angrier still when protesters who take to the streets are described as a “sinister fringe”.

The wonderful Irish emigrants I met in Nicaragua four years ago asked me why there wasn’t a spark of rebellion in the people who stayed at home. Some of them had not lived in Ireland for 30 or 40 years, but they still cared with a passion about what was happening to their island.

In the past few weeks, I think we’ve seen a sleeping giant awaken. People have been inspired by the mass protests on the streets and they have seen through the official “spin”.

Finally, after six years of hardship which was not of their own making, many people are not willing to put up with austerity any more.

The kind of mobilisation we have seen over the water charges could be seen as a good thing. People do care about the state of their country and want to ensure a better future for their children.

The vast majority of the protesters have been very well behaved.

They did not take to the streets to oppose the bank guarantee or the terms of the bailout, but in the last few weeks they have shown the kind of spirit and determination which was lamented by people who had long since given up on their homeland four years ago.