Year: 2012 (Page 2 of 3)

Things I learned today

27th October 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

Well I learned something new today, I learned that it is important to tell one’s doctor that one has had an abortion. Just in case. Wow! I’m trying to imagine being in a situation where I might have to tell a virtual stranger something intimate about my life, knowing there is a risk that person will condemn my actions. To be honest, I’m struggling a bit. I just can’t imagine being so vulnerable, that I might have to endure the prejudices of someone I rely on for medical care.

Being a bit of an arrogant prick probably doesn’t help me imagine that. Also, I think that being a 38 year old single man, if I hadn’t got up to some naughtiness and suffered some bleakness, my doctor would probably be concerned that I was a shut-in. I also have a job, medical insurance and a car, so if my doctor did presume to raise an eyebrow out of turn, he would immediately become my former doctor.

And today I realise how thoroughly grateful I should be, to have that level of freedom and choice. I am grateful, that through nothing but good fortune, I am not reliant on the good opinion of a medical professional. And today I am for the first time aware, that many vulnerable women, my fellow citizens, do not share that freedom.

A woman who experiences a crisis pregnancy, has to plot a very careful and circumscribed path to a resolution. A path strewn with vicious ideologues, intent on imposing their theology on all and sundry. And now I know, that advice I would have assumed to be helpful, might now be considered less than ideal. Thankfully I have never had to advise a distraught women on her options regarding a crisis pregnancy, but after today, my first question would be, do you trust your GP?

In this climate of virulent condemnation, created by a cabal of toxically self-satisfied anti-choice activists, vulnerable women are reduced to subterfuge, to nods and winks with those who are trying to support them and they are confined, in too many cases, to silence. Today we are reminded that this is no longer a satisfactory route for women who experience crisis pregnancies. Today we learned that discretion is no longer an option. Today we learned that if the men who run this country are too cowed or too in awe of their own ideas, to provide abortion services in this State, then they should at least find the grace and backbones to support women accessing services abroad and also protect them from any consequent medical unprofessionalism.

And today I am reminded to be grateful that organisations like the Irish Family Planning Association exist. Try to imagine what it would be like for women in this country without the IFPA. Now imagine the glee being felt by some who are imagining that. Then imagine that lot being in charge of your womb.

Trojan Horses

24th October 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

I like to think of myself as principled. I like to think that principles are not arbitrary, that they have some basic logic to them. Others may say a moral basis, but as an atheist, I prefer logic. My principles say that in a crowded world, where I lack the skills to look after myself from birth, to the gentle death, in a clean bed, that I am hoping for, I must rely on the help of others. I can attempt to take that help, pay for that help, or look for mutual cooperation. I live in a country where we attempt a mixture of pay and cooperation. It’s far from perfect, but malnutrition, homelessness and violent crime are now incredibly rare here. So rare that every murder still merits headlines. Not every country is that fortunate.

I’ve never encountered a set of principles, which I could consider to be a logical alternative to our present mishmash of capitalism and socialism. Even the magical thinking of nationalism and religiosity would be difficult to replace or wholly dispense with (at the moment at least). We couch this strange mixture of compromise and silliness in a system called democracy and hope that its inherent contradictions will work themselves out.

How does majority rule, stop itself from becoming a dictatorship of the majority? How far is it right to expect an individual to go, in compromising their principles, in order to retain their access to the community’s resources? Fortunately I am not a philosopher, a leader or a pregnant woman, so I do not have to plot a practicable path through that mire. The laws that offend me, but are imposed on me by the majority, are easily circumvented by me. Thus I am really just an armchair rebel. Worse comes to worse, I can always head off to Switzerland.

I am never going to be told, that what is inside my body is the business of strangers. The business of the majority. And as someone who has been irresponsible, has overindulged, has dared, I think myself more than fortunate that I am not a woman. A woman who might face being told that what is inside my body is someone else’s business. Oh the heady joy of being born a man. Oh the strangeness of having my insides protected by my gender.

In this jurisdiction, we are not even sure what the majority thinks about imposing their views on another person’s insides. We don’t even know for sure what the legal situation is concerning a woman’s insides. We’ve had referendums with ambiguous wording and we have a spineless, cowardly, male dominated legislature, which wishes to please everyone, because a legislature, is where principle goes to die, to be replaced by populism and very fine pensions.

What we do know for sure, is that many of us have decided that there are good reasons to impose another person’s principles on what happens to the insides of a woman, and then there are perhaps less good reasons to impose one’s views on a woman’s insides.

We see something similar in the US. Their Supreme Court ruled that woman’s insides are always her business and never anyone else’s business. But now there are ‘principled‘ men, powerful men, who think that there are good reasons to, in many cases, interfere with a woman’s body, in the interests of principle.

The irony of course, is that in this jurisdiction, some of us have conceded that sometimes it is ok to interfere with a woman’s body, in the hope that if the principle of sometimes not interfering with a woman’s body is conceded, then one day this will lead to a woman always being left alone by principled men. While in the US, the principle of sometimes being allowed interfere with a woman is being pushed, in the hope that one day, this will lead to a woman’s body never being left alone by men of principle.

Hurling

22nd October 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

An article I wrote about Hurling, which the good people over at balls.ie were good enough to publish.

One of my first sporting memories is tears. I cried like a baby in 1982. I was eight years old and I knew two things for certain; Kerry did not lose and the five-in-a-row was our destiny. Eight years old and I was already marked as one of those people who is emotionally involved with the actions of men in shorts, playing with balls. It is a sad life, caring so much about events over which one has no control. We can shout and roar, and wear our lucky underwear, but which way the ball flies, remains something over which we really have no control.

And when it comes to following a GAA side, we don’t even get a choice of which side to support. Worse, we don’t always even get to decide which sport. I’m from Lixnaw, County Kerry. My first love is hurling. My teams are Lixnaw and Kerry. There are less than ten senior hurling sides in Kerry and yet, in over a century, Lixnaw has won only seven County Championships. Kerry itself, hasn’t won the All Ireland in hurling, since 1891. And don’t think for a second we still don’t talk about that.

We don’t even have a football side in Lixnaw. We send our footballers to Finuge. And when I say our footballers, I mean our hurlers who like to play soccer, football and any sport that’s going i.e. normal young fellas. The difference of course, is that some of our hurlers, who go to play with Finuge, come back with All Ireland Medals. The be all and end all, of GAA competition, a Senior All Ireland Medal. We have gone so far as to give the Kerry footballers a manager, Eamon FitzMaurice. A hurler from Lixnaw.

The strange thing now, is that I support Lixnaw, Kerry and hurling. And as I get older, it is hurling, more than Kerry and Lixnaw that holds my loyalty. When the draw for the Munster Championship is held, my attention is to the hurling side. Before the boom ended, I would join my Old Man and his posse, in Munster wide journeys, the Gaelic Grounds, Semple and Páirc Uí Chaoimh were regularly visited. Circuitous, traffic avoiding routes chosen, sandwiches eaten and the last minute remembered pens, for the keeping track of who scored what, for the post-mortems.

Without computer graphic, without computational egg-head, the game and it’s statistics were parsed in ways I have yet to see matched on any TV. Just on the strength of ticks against names and a few centuries of experienced witness. It was analysis I could never hope to emulate. I was content to sit and listen, keeping my usually loose lips shut and my ears open.

And I learned that these neutrals, loved hurling above all else. No team, no player, no era, mattered more, than the hurling itself, than its long term future. It took me a while to realise that. I have invested a great deal of my affection for hurling in Kilkenny. I am near blinded by their greatness. I have even made the pilgrimage to Nowlan Park to watch them rehearse their battle plans. I count it a great privilege to live in this era, this Kilkenny Age.

It is an enthusiasm not shared by my Father and his friends. In fact, their joy in hurling is dimmed. Where I love Kilkenny’s dominance, they merely respect their prowess. For in their hearts they nurse a fear. A fear that the narrow base upon which hurling rests, will be further eroded by this Kilkenny tide.

I’m not sure I share their worry, but then I am not old enough to remember a time when the Kerry hurlers could beat Galway. Could compete in Munster without humiliation. I’m not old enough to remember someone, who’s father won that one Hurling All-Ireland over a century ago. Now Kerry, nor its clubs, play in any senior competitions in Munster, while our footballers bring back an All-Ireland every three years or so.

Does the brilliance of Kilkenny risk putting hurling in the shade? Is the culture of hurling, too shallow, to long endure a single dominant force? I don’t know. Dublin and Clare have come to the fore at underage level in the recent past. Galway and Tipperary have interrupted Kilkenny’s winning streak. And a county like Cork, does not take many years to build an All-Ireland winning side, even if from scratch.

I cannot however, dismiss concerns about hurling’s long-term future as paranoia. Hurling is just too damned important and peculiarly Irish, not to warrant constant concern and nurturing. But I’m still going to shout for Kilkenny next year and in twenty years from now, I hope to the gods, that I get to bore the arse off of some young fella, about the greatest team that ever played, the greatest game that ever was.

Marriage Equality (Letter 3)

4th October 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

As appeared in Letters – The Kerryman – 3 October 2012 edition

I note that some of the commentators who have expressed their opposition to legalising gay marriage base their argument for continuing to discriminate against gay people on a supposed link between procreation and marriage. How very Henry VIII of them.

Procreation has never required marriage. When we lived in the trees and even in the caves, babies were being born, but marriages, Church or Civil, were not taking place. Indeed I hear tell that there are babies born, even today, without there being a marriage.

Marriage involves and encompasses issues to do with private-property, succession rights, tax incentives, joint-custodies, infidelities, powers of attorney, financial dependency, people choosing to marry and not have children, people choosing to marry and not being able to have children, funeral arrangements, mortgages and pensions.

Marriage is about society recognising the status of certain relationships. Marriage is about the State giving a legal endorsement to certain relationships. Marriage can also be about romantic love and it can be about providing a stable and loving environment for raising children.

We tried linking marriage to procreation and that got us into a situation where we locked women up and sold their babies. Fortunately we have, for the most part, left that kind of religious zealotry and ignorance behind. Today children can experience different kinds of family model. One being, a family with same-sex parents. Access to marriage in that instance, allows these families to enjoy the full protection and rights afforded to other families.

I doubt Mister Whelan wishes to restrict marriage to fertile couples who’ve promised to procreate, so I can’t understand why he is content to see gay people continue as second class citizens.

Deep Space 9

13th September 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

(This is an article that the good people over on ramp.ie were kind enough to publish on their site)

It ever been thus, that our species will divide on issues of fundamental import. Lord of the Rings versus Star Wars. Old Testament versus New. Side-parting versus centre-parting. Ryan Turbidy versus a punch in the genitals. None of these conflicts however, can compare to the flame war that breaks out among Trekkies, regarding Deep Space Nine.

On one side are those who think DS9 represents the apotheosis of boldly sainted Gene Roddenberry’s vision. A true frontier being explored. The worthwhile adventure of pushing the boundaries of Federation civilisation and values, so that they encompass and protect the ravaged planet of Bajor and it’s slowly recovering people. Not blundering around in the fucking dark, wondering what shit Q is up to now. Pitting the values of The Federation against the rapacious and recalcitrant Cardassians. Against the genocidal Founders. And most importantly, against the superstitions and atavism of the traumatised Bajoran people.

On the other side are the witless wrong.

Why does Deep Space Nine, resonate with those of us who are on the right side of this divide? The Good Trekkies for short. Ultimately it is all to do with Bajor. A world we first learn of through the character of Ensign Ro Laren. As a recurring character in Star Trek, The Next Generation, we discover that Bajor has been occupied by the Cardassians for decades and that this occupation has been brutal in the extreme. Costing millions of Bajoran lives. The bitterness engendered is so strong, that a women of strong convictions and loyalty, like Ensign Ro, will betray Captain Picard, her mentor, to continue her war with the Cardassians.

Ensign Ro, deserts the Enterprise to join The Maquis. A terrorist organisation, which was created as a plot-device, to facilitate a clash of cultures in Star Trek, Voyager, becomes a rather wonderful sub-plot, because, for the first time, we are introduced to an enemy of The Federation, which one could contemplate supporting. A comprehensive Peace Treaty, is signed between The Federation and The Cardassians Union. As part of this Treaty, several Federation worlds are ceded to the Cardassians.
The Federation citizens, on these planets, are offered resettlement, but many choose to instead, arm themselves. Choosing to fight the Cardassians, in defiance of The Federation. They were ‘sold out‘ by The Federation, for the common good after all. Difficult not to feel a certain sympathy.

So we meet Commander Benjamin Sisko. A man charged with running an abandoned Cardassian Space Station, as the Cardassians have left Bajor. A broken man, yet who fulfills Captain Picard’s one wish, he protected Bajor. Threading that razor sharp path, between Federation idealism tinged with pragmatism and Bajor’s brutalised spirituality. A task only made possible, by his relationship with Major Kira Nerys (my favourite of all the Star Trek characters). A Bajoran resistance-fighter who must attempt to make an accommodation between her desire to be a traditionalist and the reality of her seeing compromise and The Federation as Bajor’s best hope for a safe and secure future.

All the other characters add to this grand narrative-arc in their own way, while also telling compelling stories of their own.

In Doctor Julian Bashir, the callow idealist, we learn in Episode 1, that this is a frontier posting. Not, ‘Helm, Warp 6, engage.’ No, this is a Fort, built in hostile territory and designed to establish a presence and protect the locals. The good doctor is sharply rebuked for his gurning excitement by The Major. Reminding him, that this is also her home.

Then there is the enigmatic Odo. A Changeling, a Shapeshifter, a Founder. A Member of a species, so paranoid, so sociopathic, so xenophobic, that it feels no compunction about eliminating entire civilisations, just to make a point. In contrast, Odo is almost Cardassian in his moral rigidity, but is saved from the extremes of Cardassian and Founder morality, by his empathy. I was ‘shipping’ for him and Kira from early on. Their final scene together, made me cry. She had finally met some worthy of her…anyway moving on.

Of course there is Chief Miles O’Brien and the most profound bromance on TV, ever. The O’Brien/Bashir Show. For some, this relationship had a cheesy ‘look at the Brit and the Paddy getting along so well, if only we blew the populations of Ireland and the UK into space, all would be peace and loveliness,‘ feel to it. I didn’t get that. All I saw was that for a Kerry Man to find his equal, he must find someone who has been genetically engineered. A burden? Yes. But one that must be shouldered with grace and modesty.

Glamour was provided by bon vivant, dilettante, purveyor of bon-mots and shoulder spotted, Jadzia Dax. Referred to as “Old man’ by Sisko, due to her being the seventh host of the thinking worm, that resides within her. She is uniquely his mentor and his subordinate. And she is proof positive that Sisko is so evolved, that he does not see boobs, only age. She was a warrior scientist, the very epitome of Federation values.

And she conquered the heart of Worf, son of Mogh. In Jadzia, Worf finally found a mate that could help him overcome the identity crisis he had always suffered, was he of the Empire or The Federation. With Jadzia’s guidance, he learned to be both. Their bond was such that when the Host Jadzia was killed, Worf and the new Host, Ezri, ignored an enormous cultural taboo, to continue their relationship. Makes you wonder about the nature of the host-symbiont relationship doesn’t it? No really, doesn’t it?
Comic relief was provided by the über-capitalist Quark, of the Ferengi Alliance. A brutish looking individual with a brutish business philosophy. His relaxed attitude towards other people’s mores, brought him into constant conflict with Odo. Inevitably leading to mutual respect and friendship. We even witnessed a growing morality in Quark, despite his best efforts to resist the taming hold of The Federation.

As counter-point to Quark, was the Station’s resident enemy, Garak. This menacing tailer is a disgraced former Cardassian spy. And not some low-level watcher. He was a spy’s spy. And he represented that politically correct school of thought, that even a dangerous, possibly murderous person, is allowed feel pride in their culture, just so long as they try to keep the massacring down to a minimum.

There were then three major villains. Gul Dukat, a man so insane one just knew he was going to die screaming, falling into a pit of flames. Kai Winn, a religious leader of such conviction, that she found in herself all those qualities, she felt most represented the Gods she served. And finally the Founders, who engaged The Federation in an existential conflict, of such overwhelming destruction, that one could be forgiven for wondering why the Borg didn’t try their hand at this point.

Why this grand departure from the usual Star Trek format worked, was because it was part Western and part soap-opera. And it yanked hard on the fabric of Federation idealism. Fraying it, sometimes even ripping it, but never casually discarding it. The Federation supported Bajor, even if that meant remaining outside The Federation during a war. The Federation never once relaxed it’s campaign against The Maquis, despite individuals deserting, despite whatever sympathy one felt, despite, being on the same side as the Cardassians. And while they procured allies and advantage in their war against the Founders, in ways that compromised Federation values, a genocidal counter-strike was quickly discounted once a more civilised resolution became available.

Perhaps its greatest strength, was that in the story-arc of Bajor, who I maintain was the central character of this story, there was a beginning, a middle and an end. There was back-story and there was enough information to make an educated guess about the future. Bajor, a planet and people, that drew the special interest of Captain Jean-Luc Picard. A people the great Captain cared about. A people, let us not forget, that never once appeared in fucking Babylon fucking 5.

Liberalism versus Secularism

22nd August 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

I started following Kenan Malik on twitter a few months ago and I have to say, it has been something of an education for me. Describing the dangers of illiberal liberalism as we struggle for a truly secular world, has been a been an eye-opener. Take for example the Hijab. Intellectually and emotionally I find the very existence of this garment, offensive. But can I, as a liberal, condone it’s proscription? I thought I could, or more accurately, I thought I could without thought. Can I justify the State interdicting the transmission of values and mores I find offensive, from parent to child? Can I censor all religious utterances I find objectionable?

The problem for me as a liberal, an atheist, a secularist, a moral relativist and a democrat, is that I have to believe in two contradictory, yet wholly fundamental principles, at once. I hold that the individual is paramount in all things. I also believe that society comes first. It may appear confusing, but I am well aquatinted now, with balancing this nonsensical philosophy of philosophies. I can get by without encountering a personal moral conundrum, which confounds this tension. The problem arises when I have to decide about something like the Hijab.

I don’t think it should be worn and I suspect that many who wear it, do so due to pressure and/or indoctrination. Should women then be required to apply for a license to wear a Hijab? The granting of which involves an invasive psychological examination, which may or may not include interviewing the immediate and extended family, and their Spiritual Advisors. And of course, there is just enough subjectivity in psychology to argue that all things being equal, a woman who chooses to wear a Hijab, is displaying a symptom of a psychological problem.

As much as I may long to see the disappearance of the Hijab, I cannot see how the State can fruitfully intervene in a liberal fashion. Yes, it can vindicate the rights of those women who do not wish to wear the Hijab, by offering asylum and/or criminal penalties, but to do anything, other than react to being invited into a situation where an individual desires to not don this particular item of clothing, is necessarily illiberal. I hate that this may be the only consistent application of my philosophy.

I cannot escape the awful feeling, that in trusting to the eventual victory of liberalism, over restrictive religious practices, that I am condoning the abandonment of powerless women today. Similarly, must liberalism, to remain pure, allow children to be taught hate and fear and disgust? I cannot see a way around it, because to do otherwise is to invite the State into all our homes, into all our heads. To monitor all of our interactions, public and private. Thus, if a major religion has homophobia as a basic tenet, then the State can only seek the ameliorate this sacerdotal hatred, by not endorsing it.

That is what defines a secular state, rather than a liberal one. As an atheist and a liberal, I have to tie myself in knots, to justify not going after the religions for misogyny, homophobia, child-abuse and anything else real or imagined that I can lay at the feet of the religious. A secular State isn’t as emotional.

A secular State, simply doesn’t make laws that reflect the prejudices of atheists, which Roman Catholics must obey, nor does it legislate for Hindu taboos which Moslems must follow. That is the most vital thing about a Secular State, the quality to which, both my atheism and my interfering liberalism must defer, not legislating for one side’s prejudices. Not supporting a taboo by legislation. Not using the law of the land to force Catholics and non-Catholics to adhere to Catholic dogma.

This is the reason I’m never really sure why organisations like the Roman Catholic Church conspire to thwart secularism. Is it because it wishes non-Catholics to obey its rules or is that it wishes the secular authorities to force Catholic to behave like good obedient Catholics?

Is this the reason that Christians are so against people like Tony Nicklinson receiving the help he so desperately wanted? Do they fear that Christians will opt for this service, thus reducing the power of the various Christian Churches? Or is there something even more arrogant and sinister at play? Do they wish for nonbelievers to play by Christian rules?

Many Christians, similarly rail against marriage equality, a woman’s right to choose, divorce and assisted suicide, yet none of these things can be forced on people who do not wish to experience them. In a secular State, I am free to marry whomever I wish and the Roman Catholic Church is free to disapprove, but I am unable to censor their disapproval. In a secular State, a pregnant woman would be free to do as she wishes with her body and I would not be allowed intervene, even if she chooses to forgo life-saving treatment, to protect her unborn child.

In a Secular State I would be free to live my life as a liberal atheist, as long as I did nothing which harms anyone else, without their consent. In a Secular State, a Roman Catholic would be free to practice, proselytise and campaign on behalf of their values, but again, would be constrained by law, from physically or legislatively interfering in the lives of those who do not share their beliefs.

Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure that I am cut out to be a campaigner for secularism. The fate of Tony Nicklinson leaves me too angry and bitter and not a little terrified. Does my future include having to starve myself to death, just to find final surcease? It is difficult to temper one’s words, to engage with respect, to give the benefit of the doubt, to people who have stood in judgement of Tony Nicklinson and the many other men and women who are enduring similar agonies.

You see I can speak about the Hijab and the Human Rights implications, because it is a Human Right i.e. some other human. Similarly I can speak about abortion with a certain detachment, I am a man. Gay marriage, I’m not gay. Divorce, I’m not married. Children’s rights, I don’t have children. But one day I may be afflicted by a debilitating disease. A condition that may render living, finally less attractive, than no longer existing. And the idea that my choices would be restricted by men and women who’s opinions I do not respect, fills my stomach with a raging tension. To be the tortured slave of another person’s prejudices? How does one learn calmness in the face of such vicious infamy?

Marriage Equality (Letter 2)

22nd August 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

As appeared in Letters – The Kerryman – 22 August 2012 edition

Patrick O’Neill (August 8, 2012) seems to defend a narrow definition of marriage on three grounds. First, the Constitution promotes the family. Second, the traditional family unit has been with us since time immemorial. And third, he contends that children are so much better off in traditional families, that to change marriage, would be to selfishly reduce the quality of life, of children, who will be raised by gay couples.

In my view traditional marriage is discriminatory and I think if I was going to use any document to defend it, I too would probably wield our Constitution. A Constitution our Government is keen to drag into the 21st Century. This is the Constitution that did not protect thousands of our poorer children being locked up and used as slaves. This Constitution did not protect singe-mothers being enslaved and their children sold. This Constitution did not protect women from being raped by their husbands. And it did not protect gay people from legal discrimination. That’s our Constitution. A document that now needs amending just so the State will be empowered and obliged to look after children properly.

As for history? Marriage and the Family have been evolving since our species left the caves. The idea of co-equal parents, bonded for life, as father and mother, is as recent as it is rare. Even our understanding of what a child is, continues to develop. And I don’t mean we view children differently today, than we did a century ago, but every decade our attitudes and understanding changes. Some cultures once discarded their infirm children. Other cultures sent eleven year olds to the gallows. We allowed teachers to beat children. There are even some people who still think teachers should be allowed beat children with sticks. But times do change and, for children, it is much now thn has been in the past.

As for children doing better with a father and a mother? Well I have yet to see any credible evidence, which shows that children with mixed-gender parents, do any better than children with same-gender parents. And be assured, people who campaign against equality, are spending huge amounts of resources looking for any evidence that would allow them to say, children will suffer if equality and respect become the norm.

I see no rational grounds for continuing to treat gay people as second class citizens. Quite the opposite in fact. Gay couples up and down the country have children, but exist in a legal limbo as our laws continue to treat them as less than other humans. Marriage is the only institution which can regularise these unions and give legal protection to their children.

Yes the Catholic Church is against recognising the equality of gay people, but this is not about the Catholic Church. This is about respecting all of our citizens and treating them as equals. Science cannot distinguish between the children of gay couples and the children of straight couples. So will we choose to continue to discriminate or will we say to all of our children, that regardless of their sexuality, regardless of the sexuality of their parents or parent, they are all entitled to respect, dignity and equality? I know which Ireland I would prefer to live in.

Holding Hands

17th August 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

An hour to go. She wondered if it would be worth her while making another cup of tea. A quick calculation of caffeine content, the affect of a full bladder, and the desire to have that last chocolate biscuit before the day-shift arrived added up to, tea winning. It had been a dull night. None of her twelve clients had stirred. The reports were written. The morning meds prepared and the handover, ready. She moved quietly over the blue-grey carpet tiles, deciding on one last sweep before settling down with a hot mug.

She would be the focus of some envy come handover. No one got a free-ride on the Millennium ward. A nickname they had all disapproved of, when first coined by that smart-arse young doctor. It had taken him only a few seconds to scan and laughingly declaim in his smart-arse young doctor way, that the combined ages of the twelve patients came to over one thousand years. He had used it disrespectfully, but it became a badge of honour for those who lived and worked on this wing. A thousand years of life. In this one corridor. She never felt anything less than awe, at so much lived life, concentrated in so small a spot.

A sweep was little more than looking through the glass window of their doors. They were a sprightly lot. Yes, there were health issues, there were absences and there were often night-time accidents and there could be querulous confusions. Time consuming all, but rarely seriously medical. She passed Number 12, hardly pausing to look. Her mind already in chocolate. She paused. Turned and returned and looked again.

She opened the door, hand pressing her pocket alarm. He was struggling to breathe. Switching on the light, she reached for the oxygen mask. He pushed her away. Flailing with his wasted arms and crooked fingers. Mumbling and distressed. She grunted in annoyance, then realisation hit. His teeth, were still jarred. The vain fool. She gave them to him, though the anguished rasping of his chest spoke of more pressing concerns. Teeth in, he consented to her administrations. Shock, he kept his lecherous hands to himself.

Looking into his eyes, she saw the terror. She nodded to him. A tear left his eye. They understood each other. Sitting on his bed, she took his hands in hers. They waited. Help arrived. They worked around her. The motions had to be gone through. Chart checked. Chart filled. Only a matter of time now. His hands shook in hers. She held them tighter, smiled brighter.

The day-shift arrived. Matron came to say good-bye. “Will he be wanting a priest at all?”

“No need Matron, he’s not a believer.”

“Will you be staying?”

“I will surely.”

“For him?”

She grinned at the older lady. “Aye, for him.”

The Matron threw her eyes to heaven. All, even the Matron, had been pinched, insulted and generally abused. “I’ll fetch you a cuppa.”

Matron gone, she looked back at him. His hands now still. His breathing shallowing. She leaned in closer, “You’re a notorious prick Sean, but you will not go alone. You will not be alone.”

He heard.

THE END

Day Trip

15th August 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

He shuffled from the kitchenette to the door of the flat. In his hand the bowl of cat food. Setting the bowl down he reached for his jacket. Checking the cat was distracted, he slipped out the door, as fast as his ailing body could carry him. He locked the door. A young man passed him in the corridor, no greetings were exchanged. Down the stairs. Checked the post box. Nothing. Through the front door, to be hit by the fury and fumes of North Circular Road traffic.

Pass in hand he waited alone with all the others. All so young. So young that foreign becomes meaningless. There were all alien to him. A noisy mess of otherness. Things that passed by and around and if they thought they could, then thought him too.

The bus arrived. An impatient grunt told him his boarding lacked the alacrity of a Dublin day. His speckled hand gripped harder the bar, as he searched each pocket for his pass. Panic rising, had he forgotten it after all?

A voice, drip dripping with patronising bonhomie, “It’s in your other hand granddad.”

The chuckles cut. He looked at his hand, tight gripping the bar, crushing the plastic covered pass. He searched desperately for another bar, not wanting to risk a careless driver jerking the bus back into traffic. No longer first in the queue, these aliens had all pushed by. Paying or carding or passing, all transactions done in unconcerned flashes. The driver had already lost interest. Old was old, who would question a man so wrinkled and infirm? The privilege of being a condition.

As he’d expected the bus jerked hard. He kept to his feet, two hands on the bar. This was not how he’d hoped he would reach town, but to move now was to risk sprawl and all, that would entail. A score, perhaps even two, of these aliens brushed by him, entering and exiting by he same door, not seeing him on the way in and not seeing him on the way out.

His knees ached. His back complained. His hands screamed in their vice-like grip of the bar. But there finally was bold Parnell atop his column. And there, that alien antennae, piercing the sky. His stop, one hand then the other, relaxed their hold. He moved into the crowd, disrupting the flow. And like a fallen tree in a running river, a gap opened before him and a jostling crowd began to stack behind him.

One slow foot after the next, and he was street level. He carefully remembered not to take an immediate pause. He moved his slowing frame out of the now rereleased stream. Only then could he take the reward of rest. Breathing and flexing and allowing himself to relax. Minutes passed, before he was ready. He walked to the shiny alien metal and with his back to it, he looked up Henry Street. It was lunch-crowd full. Hundreds of these not seeing things, ears stuck to their communication devices. Their alien speech directed at the never there.

He took out a notebook and examined his list. Name after name, crossed out. He turned a page, then another. He saw yesterday’s mark. Below it, unscored. Today’s target. Putting away the notebook he crossed the road. Around him he sensed only the chaos of speed and disregard. He kept is eyes on the ground, always conscious of being tripped-up by the merest thing.

There was Moore Street. He paused here to look further up Henry Street. In the distance he could see his goal. Jervis Street Shopping Centre. Breath retrieved, he walked. A glacial arrow cutting its way through the madding crowd.

Two more breaks and near endless shuffling and he was there, facing the glass edifice of his quarry. He didn’t wait. He reached out a hand and then took it down again, as the door greeted him by opening unbidden. He didn’t allow the minor unsettling, vex him. He continued, even finding his feet on those soulless moving stairs.

And there it was. A shoe shop. He straightened the long scarce strands of hair, over his bare head. He walked in and paused to identify the men’s section. He walked to it and sat on a chair. Then it happened. Everything slowed. There was a voice.

“May I help you Sir?” It was a young voice. The accent unidentifiable to him, but it was directed at him. He breath shallowed, his heart slowed and his face relaxed into a smile.

“Thank you Miss, I would like to purchase a pair of brown leather shoes.”

“Of course Sir. Do you know what size you take?”

“An eight and a half. I remember a time when I was a nine, but Mother Time takes her toll in unexpected ways.”

Ah, she knows when to laugh as well. His smile broadened. She left for a few moments, returning, burdened with half a dozen boxes. She placed the boxes at his feet and looked at him. “Will I help you try them on Sir?”

He nodded. She knelt and undid his laces. “Did you have far to travel today Sir?”

“No, only a few minutes for me. I live on the North Circular.”

“And you picked a fine day for it. I brought a raincoat and an umbrella to work today. Seems like the weather likes to make fools of us.”

He took his turn to laugh. In short order he was wearing her first suggestion. He stood, taking her offered arm to help him up. He looked at them. He examined them in the mirror. Their conversation never faltering. After two pair, they knew each other’s names.

After the third, they learned that her people were from unpronounceable Białystok, his from far off Lyreacrompane. By the fourth pair, he was speaking of his late wife. Her slow death and the relief it had been at the end. She showed him photos of her children. Smiling little Polish boys in their Dublin jerseys. On trying the last pair he shrugged and demurred. Nothing was exactly as he wanted. He would try elsewhere, but return for that pair with the extra support for his arches, if he could find nothing that really grabbed him.

She smiled and the world remained slow for a few moments more. Old shoes on, he left the shop. He stepped lightly on the stairs. All was slow. Someone pushed by him and his smiled disappeared. He paused before the doors, took out his notebook and scored through the shop name. He sighed as he contemplated the long journey back to his flat. But no, he would not despair. Today someone heard his voice. Spoke his name. Tomorrow he would visit another shop. He could not be dead if people speak his name.

THE END

Marriage Equality (Letter)

18th July 2012 / Paul W.S. Bowler

As appeared in Letters – The Kerryman – 18 July 2012 edition

I was reading Stephen Fry’s Autobiography recently and was struck by a wonderful anecdote he relates, which demonstrates just how close we are to history. He describes an event he had organised in honour of the journalist Alistair Cooke. They shook hands and Alastair Cooke reminded Fry, that his hand had also shook the hand of Bertrand Russell, a famous English philosopher. Further, Bertrand Russell’s Aunt, had one danced with the Emperor Napoleon.

Think on that, five people linked, from the end of 18th century to the beginning of the 21st. Consider also, that for a great deal of that period, Catholics in this country were second class citizens. It took a Kerry Man, Daniel O’Connell, to mortally wound this vicious discriminatory system, though it wasn’t until 1871 that we were finally rid us of this heinous imposition.

Many of us will have been held in the arms of grandparents, who themselves will have been held in the arms of grandparents, who were alive in a time when Catholics were forced to pay for Protestant Churches. That’s how recently laws were allowed, which harmed and oppressed citizens rather than helped and protected us.

Well that’s not exactly accurate. Everything didn’t become wonderful and equitable in 1871. Neither did it in 1916, 1922, 1937, 1973, 1993, nor yet even today. An exclusionary law, based on nothing more than prejudice and custom, remains on our statute books. We still bar gay men and gay women from marriage.

For centuries, the Protestant Ascendancy felt no quibbles about imposing their values on disempowered Catholics. They were in charge, thus they felt entitled to behave as they saw fit. It took centuries and it took heros like Daniel O’Connell to remove this hated rule from our country. Unfortunately, it seems the lessons that should have been learned and remembered from that short short time ago, have been forgotten or are being ignored.

We appear to feel entitled to impose a singular and narrow version of morality on others. On people without the numbers to resist this discrimination. We persist in condemning gay men and women to second-class citizenship. Would we endure laws which encroached on a Catholic’s marriage rights, inheritance rights, reproductive rights? No, we fought wars to ensure this would never happen again in this country, yet we allow it, nay willfully enact it, against our gay neighbors, our gay brothers and sisters, son and daughters. We allow it against our gay grandparents, who can remember the grandparents who were forced to pay tithes to another person’s Church.

There are many things wrong with our country. Many things that call for our immediate attention. Not least is the struggle many of us have with debt, unemployment and other financial wounds. It can all seem so disempowering, wondering what negotiations are being held in what EU country today and what will our politicians achieve. Did any of us envisage a time when we would have to so care about the economies of Italy, China, the US? Did any of us really think there would be a time when the outcome of the French Presidential election would be assessed in terms of what it added to or subtracted from our bargaining position vis a vis the Germans and the IMF?

It’s like being back in school and being forced to study a subject where the exam will determine the rest of our lives, yet the answers have yet to be decided on. It is in fact a perfect time to stop caring about things that don’t pay the mortgage, the bills and for the new and eye-wateringly expensive school books. But today we are writing the history our grandchildren will be studying. Today we are deciding what our grandchildren will think of us.

We get to decide if our grandchildren will assess our generation as that which fought and struggled for equality, just like our ancestors did, in the midst of economic turmoil, or do we bequeath them a legacy of condemning gay men and women to continued second-class citizenship because we had neither the interest nor the inclination to see past our own prejudices and financial woes to rid our nation of yet another Penal Law.

THIS IS A RESPONSE TO MY LETTER, PUBLISHED A FEW WEEKS LATER