I’ve been trying to understand the decision of the UK electorate to leave the EU. I’m tempted to dismiss those 17 million people as stupid, mad and racist, but while I think they are, I know that there’s more to it than that.

I’m a Europhile. There was a time I’d imagined the EU expanding to include all of continental Europe, its islands, the Middle East and North Africa. The logic of union always seemed obvious to me. Surely in late 20^th and early 21^st century Europe, nationalism would be seen for what it is, ancestor worship mixed with racism.

I was wrong. Nationalism and racism remain the norm. But I can’t blame Brexit on this ideology alone. I wish I could. We must look at another ideology. Another destructive belief system, neoliberalism. A system so successful few even realise it exists, nor its impact on their lives.

Neoliberalism is an ideology of unrestrained capitalism, of a reduced State and the belief that the creation of wealth by a few, is enough in and of itself, to improve everyone’s lot. It hasn’t worked. There has certainly been more wealth created, but whole swathes of the US and the UK have become economic wastelands. But its influence can be seen in the move right by social democratic Europe.

I offer this criticism of neoliberalism not as a lifelong social democrat. Far from it. For most of my adult life I was a believer in neoliberalism. I even flirted with libertarianism and knocked on doors for candidates hoping to reduce the size of the Irish state.

Though I am working class, I’ve not been a victim of globalisation. I’ve never experienced poverty. I’m old enough to have received a free education, I’ve a good pension waiting for me, I’m protected by a strong labour Union and an ironclad contract of employment, I can afford private health insurance and my mortgage is manageable. I do not know desperation. I do not need someone to blame or hate or fear.

So I must admit I didn’t really engage with the Brexit debate. I’d assumed the Brexiters would fail. It hadn’t occurred to me that politicians in the UK would, like here, blame all domestic ills on the EU. Nor had it occurred to me that there were many in the UK, desperate enough to believe these lies.

The galling thing is that the diminution of borders and national sovereignty has been to the benefit of neoliberalism, which sees the world as a market and communities as customers. Yet this deepening Union has also made war impossible to imagine.

But because a European war is unimaginable a united Europe has lost its lustre. We could address this by teaching our children to form an emotional bond with the EU, much as we instil nationalism in them. The very idea of it makes me shudder. Loyalty is a dangerous animal. What I’d prefer is for the EU to earn only the respect of its citizens.

Respect isn’t a thing of flags or curriculums. It is the decades long, boring work of ensuring that every citizen enjoys a standard of living that makes desperation an unfamiliar paragraph in an unread history book. The EU remains one of the most fabulously wealthy entities that has ever existed. This should be reflected in the lot of those with the least. At present it isn’t.

The EU has ended war in Europe, to survive it now has to end desperation. And I have to stop dismissing all those Brexiters as stupid, mad and racist.

There was some suggestion that the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland football teams should join together. Though as both teams have reached the knock-out phase of the tournament in France, discussion of this possibility has been muted. There is nothing like success to make the status quo seem that bit more attractive.

It is however an interesting topic. On a purely logical level it makes a great deal of sense to unite the sides. Neither jurisdiction is blessed with an abundance of players or resources, so joining together will increase the pool of players that the team could call on. Then there are the administrative costs. Instead of two Associations, with all the resulting costs, there would be one all island body. The extra money could be ploughed into the grassroots game, generating even more players that may one day represent this island. And if there is one team there might as well be one domestic league, which might even help our clubs go that little bit further in Europe.

This all Ireland team would be able to call on the resources and support of over six million people. It still wouldn’t be a heavy weight in world football but qualification for tournaments might become a lot more common. The logic of a united team is inescapable.

Of course, logic and football are rarely on speaking terms. If I was logical I would’ve stopped supporting Liverpool about twenty years ago. A football team, be it domestic or international, is less about the brain and more, so much more, about the heart.

The colour of the jersey will be easy and we could probably get away with simply calling the team Ireland. After that it gets complicated. It would have to be decided if Ireland was absorbing Northern Ireland or if this was a genuine union of two associations. To get mathematical, this is either A+B=C or A+B=A.

If it is the latter and the IFA are content with this, then no problem, but a union on the other hand poses many difficulties. Well, three in fact, anthem, flag and quotas. If two sides are combining to form a third, then all the symbolism around an international team will have to be examined. Is it appropriate for either God Save the Queen or Amhrán na bhFiann to be this new team’s anthem or should both songs be played before every game? Or should a new song be chosen? The same applies to the flags. Tricolour, Red Hand or a new flag? And finally should there be a certain minimum number of players, from each jurisdiction, on the team, so that it is truly representative of this new entity?

I suppose one could throw in location of Home games as well, Dublin or Belfast, or strict rotation? Probably less contentious than the other three as both cities are relatively close to each other.

I really don’t know how one addresses these issues, but I guess the reason no one seriously expects a united Irish team to happen is because no one else knows how to address them either. But it is interesting to think about on occasion.

A gorilla has died and the twitterverse has noticed. The details of his death are clear. In Cincinnati Zoo, a four year old child found his way into Harambe’s enclosure and the staff shot the 400 pound silverback to save the child.

The condemnation is lighting up social media. The zoo has been criticised. There are calls to prosecute the mother. The decision to kill rather than tranquillise Harambe is disputed. The child was rescued almost unscathed by the way.

The child is alive and yet this is a tragedy! I’m not saying that to condemn those who are enraged by Harambe’s slaying. I say it to remind myself that perhaps my priorities are a tad askew. My first thought on reading this story was a kind of grief, followed by anger. There was not a thought for the child or his family. Why is that? Why such callous disregard for the fate of a little boy doing what little boys do? Why do I mourn for a dangerous animal that could quite possibly have killed that little boy?

If the little boy had gotten into a crocodile enclosure or into a field with a bull or found himself within a country mile of poisonous spiders I wouldn’t have bothered reading one article on the event. But Harambe was a gorilla and for some reason that matters to me. I had to convince myself to be pleased that a little boy was saved. Read that sentence again, I had to convince myself to be pleased that a little boy was saved.

Why do I feel this? Perhaps not having any children of my own means my perspective is unrounded. But I doubt it is only the childless who are angry about Harambe. Am I one of those who view animals as being the equal of humans? I’m not. I’ve thought about it. I know that since I got a dog, lived with her, gotten to know her, I’ve begun to seriously contemplate vegetarianism and perhaps even veganism. But I enjoyed a slow roasted leg of lamb for my birthday a few weeks ago. I’m not there yet and perhaps I may never get there, but I know that Harambe isn’t worth more or even the same as a child. If it had been an adult, who had gotten into Harambe’s enclosure then perhaps this would be a different conversation.

If it had been chimpanzees I’d be less upset. I love chimps but those are some scaldy fuckers. They are our closest relations, they are being wiped out, they look so much like us, but the threat they would’ve posed is indisputable.

And I guess that’s where the anguish lies. I’m one of those ‘Gorillas in the Mist’ adoring, Attenborough loving, Discovery Channel watching breed of gorilla lovers who feel a connection to gorillas that is emotional rather than rational. We, or I, can’t escape the feeling that if left to his own devices, Harambe would never harm that little boy. Such a noble being, such a wondrous creature, from his paternal embrace, the little boy would certainly have been returned, unhurt, to his mother.

If someone like me had been in charge of Cincinnati Zoo we’d have found out what Harambe would’ve done. There would now, be no uncertainty. The child may have been killed or maimed but we’d know.

Due to human error there was a tragedy (and yes I think Harambe’s death a tragedy) but some tragedies are more tragic than others. A rare and wondrous creature is dead, that we should mourn, but a little boy is alive today who could easily have died. A mother isn’t mourning her child. That is an untrammelled and objective good.

It’s a year since we voted yes, for Marriage Equality. A mere year and what was once considered extraordinary is now ordinary. As the years pass, the pivotal importance of the Marriage Equality referendum will so fade from memory, children will see it in an exam, and get the year wrong. Even those children raised by LGBT parents or children who are themselves LGBT, will struggle to grasp how improbable it was for Marriage Equality to be so overwhelmingly endorsed by the people of Ireland. It’s been a year and I still don’t understand how it happened.

When some future historian sits down to write their thesis on this referendum, I hope they decide to concentrate on Kerry. Not because Kerry was exceptional, it wasn’t. All but one rural constituency voted yes. It merits further analysis because Kerry is geographically far-flung, has a population of approximately 145,000 and is considered to be very conservative. To this, Yes Equality Kerry brought less than a dozen regular canvassers, barely a handful of experienced activists, no trained media personnel, almost zero support from our elected representatives and very little money. Kerry said yes to the tune of 55%. I was there and I still don’t understand how this happened.

Perhaps I am being unfair on the politicians. They did put up posters in Kerry and apparently they canvassed enthusiastically in Dublin. I remember growing heartily sick of the hearing about the canvassing in Dublin. Teams of over fifty people at a time. Twice a day my wife and I would head to Listowel and more often than not, we’d be knocking on doors by ourselves. Every box from Listowel was tallied, every box was a yes. My ego is such that I would love to take credit for that. But I didn’t have to change that many minds and I didn’t endure that much abuse to allow me think anything other than I was pushing at an already open door. I still don’t understand why that was the case.

I loved being part of the campaign, but remain utterly convinced that its apparent necessity was hateful. I often tried to imagine what it would be like to be gay or bi and have to ask and beg strangers to please treat me as an equal. My wife is bi, I saw the toll canvassing took on her, but to this day I cannot approach the empathy required to fully experience the emotion of asking a stranger to vote for my equality. The arguments I heard against Marriage Equality ranged from the facile to the bigoted, yet they convinced 45% of Kerry people to reject equality. I still haven’t got my head round that.

I hope that future historian examines the role of the Roman Catholic Church during the campaign. Yes, it was implacably opposed to equality, but implacably wasn’t all that implacable. The institution may have lost a great deal of its influence for having sheltered so many paedophiles and rapists, but that still doesn’t explain how it mattered so little in the campaign. Attendance at Mass is still high. People still like to get married in churches. Parents go all out for First Communions and Confirmations. The schools remain almost exclusively Roman Catholic and there’s a crucifix in the Kerry County Council chambers. Perhaps too many individual priests, too used to meeting LGBT people, couldn’t bring themselves to go all out against members of their community? I’d like to know for sure.

Our local and national media merits a mention. Its cowardice is something I haven’t yet come to terms with. So lacking in any sense of its role as trumpeters of truth, it relegated itself to mere time keepers. It never sought to examine the veracity of the content spewed, only making sure that each side got equal coverage, equal time, an equal say. No matter what witless bullshit was spouted, it was treated as having merit because it was part of one side’s 50%. A week in, I stopped following the debates. How did one of the most important institutions of our civilisation become so reduced?

How did Kerry so change without me noticing? I suspect it still isn’t safe for two men to walk down a street in Tralee at night, holding hands. But now I believe it will eventually happen. I know Kerry didn’t suddenly become a paradise for the LGBT community, but they are now, for the first time in the history of this State, equal to me, before the law. I’d always thought I had a finger on the pulse, but then this glorious thing occurred a year ago and I still don’t know how it happened.