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Goodbye… (maybe)

We’re sorry to say that the Anti Room is going on indefinite (and possibly permanent) hiatus.

We may return at some stage in the future, but in the meantime, thanks to all our contributors and readers.

Design by @martin_gleeson

Tonight, our film club is showing Young Frankenstein in the Workman’s Club. Doors are 7.30pm, it’s free in and it’s a classic. Everyone welcome.

Sinéad and Anna

A recent global survey funded and endorsed by the university of Twitter on the subject of football and romantic relationships delivered inconclusive yet interesting findings. It did, however, provide a blanket bundle of both heart-warming and frustrated tales to give an insight into how the most popular spectator sport impacts on one or the other halves lives.

Emotional attachments running as deep as the Pacific Ocean are written all over the lives of fans and players, football really is all-consuming. A love affair spawned long before the hormones were tugging at the need for human intimacy; the feelings and compulsions associated with club and country over ninety minutes border on obsessive for some and this, like any creature, being or pastime that is so distracting can seriously impact on personal relationships.

The female contingent of the 1 billion or so people interrogated in the recent Twitter study* stand united and very clear in their response: singletons unequivocally want partners to share their passion for football, they also prefer their lover to support a different team; the main reason cited is it ignites even more passion, my oh my. Imagine the neighbour’s soundscape on rival super shagging Sunday. All those living in paper-thin ‘70s builds, beware the blissfully happy young couple wearing different football shirts.

It is estimated that the demographic of football lovers runs approximately 75:35, leaning towards the male, but women have that added emotional Red Bull kick when it comes to their devotion. One girl responded with a romantic report of how her boyfriend supports the same team and they go to all the matches, home and away. The Twitter survey unearthed tales of wives baking cakes with the Manchester United badge on, loving supporters of their husband’s European stadium tours (one Steve Fuller attended ten games in two weeks) and the labour of love parents put into youth football deserves a special golden booted mention. Most couples who work the 9-5 shift generally want to spend their weekends together but don’t always share the same interests. Shopping for one is often hell for the other, as are theatres, garden centres, children’s parties, art galleries or trips to the in-laws. So many anecdotes of a wife’s hatred for football filtered through the male element, I empathised as my mother and I have frequent disagreements about ‘how football takes over my life’. I have no desire to castigate her love of gardening or meaningless trips to the supermarket. I would not interrupt her soap viewing marathons with such rude judgement, she has, after all, been watching Coronation Street since she was seven.

It seems easier to shake off a mother’s criticism than that of a partner, there is almost always an undercurrent of having to take partial responsibility for their state of happiness and the amount of head and heart space football takes up is relentless. Walk into any pub alone and within a few minutes there will be someone willing to debate anything from Joey Barton’s dress sense to Jackie Charlton having a sideline ruck with the linesman at USA ‘94. For me it has always been a glacier-breaking pick axe, for those who are not magnetised by the lure of 22 people kicking a ball around there is little hope of engaging them, unless of course they are an aspiring WAG then a share of £150,000 a week will do the trick.

Along the winding road of this illustrious Twitter study many stories of love and hate were churned up, several men decided the last thing they would want is a football-loving partner, football is theirs, they enjoy owning that time without input or competition. As with anything if obsession negatively impacts on the relationship or wider family there is a valid case that something needs to change. In my experience football has always connected us, I even get to spend the odd evening with my brother going to a lower league match and weekends are invariably taken up by my Dad and I commandeering the television to make the most of an expensive Sky subscription. As is in the game is true in real life, football unites, football divides.

*Terry Whitter, Felicity Fox, Gina Male, A.P Macintosh et al. 2011.

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Like many women, on an average day – in other words, pretty much every day – I don’t bother wearing make-up. I turn up for work with my blemishes unconcealed, my cheekbones uncontoured and my eyelashes unlengthened. I do the school runs and the supermarket slogs with unglossy lips and without any light reflecting off my under-eye shadows. My eyes don’t “pop”. A bit of moisturiser and I’m good to go. Some days I go mad and use the one containing the “skin firming complex” that promises to “reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles”. But that’s usually it.

Photo by Zen, on Flickr

That’s not to say I’m without vanity; far from it. But for me, make-up is all about dressing up, glamour and escape from the workaday routine. I love its transformative power. I get a real kick out of the positive reaction and comments I get from people the first time they see me in full-on slap. If I wore it all the time, I would miss that element of surprise.

What fools we’ve been, we ladies who choose to venture bare-faced into the world. Because according to this, people have been judging us all along. As less competent, less trustworthy and (sob!) less likeable than our made-up sisters. A Harvard University study has found that people make more positive value judgements about women who are wearing even minimal make-up, compared to those wearing none. And they can make these judgements based on a glance lasting just 250 milliseconds.

Am I going to change the habits of a lifetime and start getting up earlier to wield the makeup brushes? Probably not. I fit squarely into the ‘Not A Morning Person’ bracket. I’m just left to ponder on the undreamed-of success and popularity I could have achieved in my life if only I’d worn mascara and lippie every day.

Thanks to @CanuckJacq for posting the link to the NY Times article on the Tweet machine

In 2001, writer and performer Mike Daisey had a big hit with his one-man show 21 Dog Years: Doing Time @ Amazon.com. The monologue told of Daisey’s time as a disaffected early-years Amazon employee, where he and his workmates became increasingly distressed as the ‘books website’ moved away from books and towards algorithms, whilst they themselves remained inert and, essentially, too greedy to leave until their Amazon shares matured.

‘Resting and vesting’- waiting out your time in your tech job until you were allowed to sell your shares and ‘retire’ on the proceeds –  was a relatively common West Coast phenomenon a decade ago; it was often referred to in the Bay Area as the ‘New Gold Rush’ for the ability of  nimble-fingered 20-somethings to get rich quick.What differed at Amazon.com was that a slew of people who worked there had originally been hired not for their coding prowess but because they were writers and editors.They were content providers, back in the day when the content was decided by editors’ picks rather than bought by extra discount.

I saw 21 Dog Years in 2003 in a little theatre in Seattle, HQ of Amazon.com, so to say that Daisey was playing to the home crowd is an understatement. Nobody was further than two degrees of separation from an ex-Amazon employee; the laughter that met Daisey’s gags was that of recognition. Seattle, as well as being home to big tech companies, is frequently voted the most literate city in the US; people really got why it mattered that Amazon hadn’t really been about books after all.

This trend towards technology, towards programmers essentially choosing the ‘best books’, was genuinely upsetting to the laid-back hippy types who had thought that, after years of industry, decent jobs in the arts had finally come to the Pacific Northwest. I know, I know; we can all look back and laugh at such naivety now; but imagine how it felt, to be the first-ever books editor in this brave new world.  I had a co-worker in those days who had once been offered a job by Jeff Bezos, to be Amazon’s first Managing Editor. She’d turned it down on the basis that ‘it was a bunch of guys working out of their garage’ and ‘I had a great job I loved’. I’ve been thinking about her again recently, and about Mike Daisey, with the news that Amazon’s increasing its publishing programme. 

Not just picking and packing any more...

Much is being made of what this means for the author-publisher relationship; is Amazon essentially cutting out the middle man? I’d argue not. What they’re doing is becoming the middle man. Whilst Amazon’s Kindle publishing programme does allow self-published authors the freedom, should they wish, to forgo all forms of editorial control and put their book straight up onto the site, the newly-created Amazon Publishing is crucially different. Amazon aren’t bypassing publishers; they’re setting up as publishers. The entire editorial process that normally happens for a book will be in place for Amazon’s titles – which are being published both as ebooks and as print books. If anything, Amazon’s almost returning to its roots. It’s treading away from technology and towards a place where actual ‘manual’ checks and balances once again come into play. The fact that it can then harness this to epoch-defining online retail and the currently-peerless Kindle may be infuriating to established publishing houses, but it shouldn’t be surprising. The surprising bit is only that they’re going analogue, returning to the fundamentals of publishing. Let’s see what Mike Daisey makes of that.

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Next film club!

Next Wednesday, we’re hosting our fourth Anti Room film club. In tribute to Halloween, and so as not to scare the bejebus out of anyone, we’re watching Mel Brooks’ classic Young Frankenstein.

So here’s what you need to know:

What: Anti Room screening of Young Frankenstein

Where: The Workman’s Club, beside the Clarence Hotel on Dublin’s quays.

When: Doors 7.30pm, starts 8pm sharp

Anything else? Yes, it’s completely free and anyone can come along, have a drink and hang out.

Oh, and here’s our amazing poster.

Designed by @martin_gleeson

 

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Reality TV has foisted a great number of ugly things on us – step forward, Big Brother and Jersey Shore – but it still remains the best way to journey into somebody else’s life in a totally new way.

Thanks to reality TV, those of us who are a bit ‘curious’ (or nosey, as some unkind folk like to call it) can get a close-up look at someone else’s life, and all without moving off the couch.  My latest programme of choice is US TV show Sister Wives, which focuses on polygamous husband Kody Brown, his wives Meri, Janelle, Christine and Robyn, and their 16 combined children.

Polygamy is illegal in United States – but this particular Utah family belongs to the Apostolic United Brethren Church and only one of the marriages, that between Kody and Meri, is legal. The rest, we are told, are ‘spiritual’ unions – though this hasn’t stopped the family being investigated by police for allegations of bigamy.

Spiritual and faith are key words in this arrangement – the family says their polygamy is based on faith, not on Kody’s need to have four ladies to choose from each night of the week.

Watching Sister Wives, which over two seasons has given us a look at day-to-day life in the Brown household, one thing becomes pretty clear. They’re just like us, except with, er, the whole four wives thing. Oh, and they’re pretty cheery, this lot- even for a family who chose to announce their controversial polygamous lifestyle to the world via television, after years of semi-secrecy.

When you take a look at their daily routine, it’s frightfully normal – the daily drudgery of school, work (for Janelle and Kody), minding children, and looking after the house and various pets.

While not exactly everything about their marriages is explored in this show, we see that the Browns share one big home, which has distinct areas for each family. Kody spends each night with a different woman and the childcare is split between the sister wives, with Christine happily taking on the bulk of this.

The most striking element is the emphasis on the word ‘sister’, and all its implications. The wives see themselves as sisters, not friends or even sisters-in-law, and take very seriously that connection. By entering into a polygamous marriage, they did so knowing that they were not only taking on one husband, but a number of ‘sister wives’, and that these relationships would be as important as the one they have with their spouse.

Refreshingly, rather than pretend that all is harmonious, the women do admit there is jealousy – and no better time was this obvious than when Robyn joined the family. Christine, Janelle and Meri had all been a family for the last 16 years before Robyn came along. She was divorced, younger than them and living four hours away from the Brown family home. A totally smitten Kody would drive every week to her house during their ‘courtship’, which culminated quite quickly in an engagement.

The fact that Kody – whose motto is the eyebrow-raising ‘love should be multiplied, not divided’ – kissed Robyn pre-marriage and had a hand in choosing her wedding dress was incredibly upsetting for some of his wives. Yet even though they clearly were not happy with some elements of the relationship, they generously welcomed Robyn into the fold.

It appears that the women were drawn to polygamy because of the family structure and instant female companionship it provides. In the Brown family, things could not work well without the women all working together, and the affection and respect they have for each other appears to be completely genuine.

But underneath the happy families and relationships is the unsettling realisation that this is in no way a balanced union, no matter how much the wives say it is. After all, Kody can marry whomever he wants. The women can’t. He is the head of the family – they even refer to him as the ‘leader’ – and is a powerful presence whom the women love. But can they ever be equal to him, when he is allowed to make a decision that they can never make – that to take more than one spouse?

When people think of Mormonism and polygamy, they may think of figures like Warren Jeffs, or the various sects, fundamentalist or otherwise, that separated themselves from the mainstream church and developed their own rules. This series gives polygamy (which is not allowed in the mainstream LDS church) a new, softer, public face, and its ‘they’re just like us’ message is extremely effective.

What’s clear from this show is that what is most important to the Browns is family – and family is what we all have in common, regardless of our marital status or religious beliefs. Plus, Sister Wives presents polygamists as more than ‘just’ polygamists, bringing a human element to a very controversial subject.

Families come in all shapes and forms, and this polygamous family has more in common with monogamous households than some might like. But whether a polygamous family will ever be seen outside of certain religions as anything other than a strange curiosity – or dangerous aberration – remains to be seen.

 

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  • Good morning! Just a quick reminder to those who are not blue in the face hearing about it, this evening is the launch of my latest novel The Chosen.  The launch is being held at The Gutter Bookshop in Temple Bar, starting 6:30 pm. As some of you also know, The Chosen is the first novel released by Portnoy Publishing, the company I set up last May with my husband, Andrew. If you are in the vicinity today, do please pop by.

I get emails every so often that are not for me. Here’s a house you might be interested in, it meets your specifications as outlined in our conversation last week. Here are the classes we have at the gym – and an invoice for the last round of fitness training. As discussed, Claire, here’s the outline for the wedding and also details of counselling to attend before getting married. Here are the new healthy eating policies for the school – can you make sure your children don’t bring sugary snacks?

Most of us are inundated with spam – we are used to promises from far-flung lands that if only we provide our bank details we will have a fortune shared with us, or badly-punctuated messages claiming to be from banks or email providers asking us to confirm password details. But I wonder how many of us get this kind of stuff instead – the often highly-personal stuff that is genuinely meant for someone else, a real human being, but not for us?

The woman for whom all these messages are intended lives in South Africa. I am fairly sure it’s the same woman – I’ve only ever received mail for a different Claire from non-.co.za addresses twice (sorry I couldn’t contribute to the scrapbook for Angus’s fiftieth, folks). Sometimes I email back with a “sorry, you have the wrong email address!” In weeks when several messages come through for her, I just delete them. I have grown to resent disclaimers at the bottom of emails saying things like The person addressed in the e-mail is the sole authorized recipient. Please notify the sender immediately if it has unintentionally reached you and do not read, disclose or use the content in any way. I have grown to suspect that South African Claire Hennessy does not know her own email address, or else that there are a wide range of organisations and individuals that can’t read her handwriting.

A student of mine recently emailed the address she thought was mine, and a ten-year-old girl responded, letting her know she had the wrong address. (“Unless,” she said suspiciously, “it was really you and you just didn’t want to reply…”) I began to wonder how many other alter-egos I have out there, possibly occasionally receiving email intended for me. I wonder if anyone else out there is irritated by personalised emails arriving into their inboxes.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same responsibility with emails as we might with posted mail, diligently returning it to the sender or into the post rather than throwing it in the bin. It’s so easy to just delete, particularly when it happens over and over again. It’s so easy to delete, when many people don’t treat email addresses with the same care they would with postal addresses – one letter or number left out can mean your correspondence ends up in an inbox halfway around the world, rather than in a letterbox across the road.

Online, the right spelling takes you to the right website, your correspondence to the right person. The wrong spelling throws you off-course and lands possibly-confidential, possibly-personal details in strangers’ laps. I wonder if primary school teachers are using this yet as a justification for their weekly Spellings and Tables tests…

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Lots of people’s lives were changed by Steve Jobs – but Lisa Domican, the mother of two autistic children, has a special reason to thank him.

I was terribly sad to hear of the passing of Steve Jobs last Thursday. And before you ask – yes, I read about it on the Twitter App on my iPad as I was having my first coffee of the day. Yup, I’m an Apple Fangirl but unlike the many others who took a bite of Apple Artistry and found they wanted more, I came to iWorld by a different route.

Lisa with WMB's Rosemary Delaney after receiving her Women Mean Business Award

You see, I am the mother of two autistic children who have both had severely delayed communication and as a result, extreme behavioural challenges in their lives. Both eventually learned to communicate their needs using “pecs” which stands for Picture Exchange Communication System. To put it simply; when someone is not talking they often develop other techniques for getting what they want. They might start by leading you to the fridge or cupboard to get them a drink or snack, but if they can’t get your attention they can try grabbing, dragging, pulling hair or biting you or themselves. Your natural reaction to quickly get what they want reinforces the negative and pretty soon you have a very challenging and frustrated child.

The picture exchange system teaches them to hand you a picture of a drink, which you quickly reward and little by little you replace that negative behaviour with a vocabulary of different pictures for different things, all of which have huge value to the child. At the same time you are pointing to the picture and saying the name of each item in order to encourage the development of speech. My son learned to do this at age four, and within three months he had started speaking without the pictures and no longer needed the prompts.

My daughter who is a year younger than her brother was introduced to it at age three. She took to it well, and by the age of six had over 400 pictures in her vocabulary – but could barely say a word. Her pictures were stored in a book that I had to carry everywhere, or risk the return to tantrums and it was a huge commitment that was difficult to keep up.

Then I met my first Steve;

Staring out of the window of our car as we paused at the lights on the Stillorgan Dual Carriageway, I noticed a huge O2 advertisment on the side of the 46A. The ad was for the iPhone, but what grabbed my attention was the little pictures on what appeared to be a glass screen. And I wondered if it would be possible to put Gracie’s pictures on that little screen. I was lucky enough to meet the CEO of O2 at an autism event shortly after and blagged myself this wonder of technology with the little glass touchscreen. I admit, I was afraid of it at first. I knew windows and could handle Word etc, but could not be described as a “tech” person in any sense.

However, the real wonder of it was that as soon as I had worked out how to turn those 400 pictures into jpeg, put them in an album and transfer them to the iPhone, Gracie could access them. She didn’t care about the ten years of research, development, prototypes, company takeovers and new CEOs. All she wanted was a croissant and at the squeeze of a home button and swipe of a touch responsive screen – she could point to the picture and get one. Simple. Useful. Beautiful

Now, instead of carrying a giant ugly A4 folder of crumb covered velcroed pictures everywhere, or deal with the tantrums if we didn’t, we just had my iPhone. The pointing, the prompting and her developing vocalisations could now happen consistently wherever we went. And Gracie’s world began to grow.

Many people would say that this would have happened eventually anyway without Steve Jobs’ Apple, but I don’t agree. Yeah, there were touch screens available and the technology to install stuff on them but they were draggy to use, the programs were expensive and inflexible and not very inspiring. Steve Jobs was the one who brought the best out of the designers and engineers, who told them to start again when it wasn’t beautiful, and useful and simple and perfect. Steve Jobs was the inspiration for the millions of fan-boys and girls and devotees who wanted to take this new world of Apps and become part of it themselves…

And that’s where I met my second Steve; The (VERY) young iPhone games developer who was only 10 when Gracie was born, who got his first Mac for his 7th birthday and who read my email asking for help. He met me, listened to my story and seemingly intuitively interpreted my vision for a single app to replace that big picture book.

Steve Troughton-Smith coded and co-created the Grace App that has genuinely given her a voice of her own. Steve Troughton Smith was the first person to tell me about this “Tablet” thing that was coming, would be perfect for teaching younger children to use pictures to communicate without anyone ever having to photograph, print, laminate and velcro a picture to create a sentence board again.(And Grace App was one of the first iPad Apps in the store on the DAY that iPad was launched)

Yes, Gracie might have learned to talk using the old pictures eventually. But my interest, energy and commitment were waning and we were not prompting her consistently where ever we went.

Yes, Gracie might have learned to take photos and ask for things independently on another device, but the navigation and interface were lacking in everything we tried up until that first iPhone – and she couldn’t make a sentence with the pictures. Without the dedicated App that was named in her honor at the suggestion of Steve.

Gracie might just be saying “Drink” and “Chocolate” and “TOAST” instead of;

“I Want – Vegemite, Toast, eight Triangles, (and) Apple – Drink”

But the best part, the part that made me sit in my car and cry as I listened to Steve Job’s Stanford address replayed on the radio after his death was announced, was when I was in Australia in February for my Grampa’s 90th birthday and calling home to check on Daddy and Gracie back in Ireland. Daddy held up the phone for Gracie to hear my voice and for the first time, after 11 years of waiting I heard:  “I want – Mummy”

Farewell Steve Jobs. We will miss you but thank you for inspiring Steve Troughton-Smith who along with all the other inspired and gifted “Steves”  will continue what you have begun.

Lisa Domican is a Wicklow based mother of two autistic children. She developed a simple picture communication App in collaboration with a successful Games Developer that allows non verbal people with Autism and other disabilities to communicate effectively, by building semantic sequences from relevant images to form sentences. Her company, Grace App Communication sets out to demonstrate that independent communication support can be affordable, accessible and adaptable. Earlier this year Lisa was awarded the Woman Mean Business Big Idea Award for Grace App.

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I participated in the recent protest in Dublin about cutbacks to Special Needs Assistants (SNAs) in schools, bringing with me half a dozen eggs with the intention of lobbing them at the front door of the Central Bank on Dame Street.  In the event it didn’t seem right to do that in front of the many children who had come along, so I left them instead in the lodge at Leinster House with a request to a gateman that they be given to Enda Kenny with the message that he should consider himself thoroughly, if symbolically, egged.

Timothy Geithner

The other day on twitter the finance and economics expert Paul Sommerville tweeted a post by the Ballyhea Bondwatch site which gave details of a further ‘tranche’ of billions of Irish citizens’ money being handed over to the dead bank, Anglo Irish.  Meanwhile we continue to read stern editorials and commentary admonishing us, untruthfully, that in order to save small fractions of the amounts being paid even to unsecured bond-holders (thank you Timothy Geithner) on a weekly basis, we must obediently suffer any amount of  impoverishing and dehumanising ‘austerity’ the government might impose for years to come. To make the books add up.  We are also being told that these two things are unrelated.

Bullshit.

My 15-year-old son has autism, exacerbated by verbal dyspraxia, severe receptive language difficulty and an IQ of 69 – just inside the level that means he is officially intellectually disabled.  He cannot functionally read or write above the level of a four-year old, tie his shoelaces or play team games – he finds it difficult to follow complex instructions like game rules.  Besides, he also has motor problems – major and minor – and does not understand many of the norms of social interaction.

On entering secondary school he was allocated a full-time SNA and five hours of one-to-one sessions with a resource teacher working on literacy and numeracy skills.  The rest of the time he would have his SNA with him to help him follow whatever was happening in mainstream classes as best he could.  He had to abandon language and other subjects because of the impossibility of being able to participate meaningfully.  In all except for three subjects in which he did well at a modified level, he rubbed along for two years clearly unable to keep up with his peers, making limited but worthwhile educational progress with the vital support of an attentive and conscientious SNA.

This September, faced with cuts in special needs provision Andrew returned to school to find that the Principal, in reallocating reduced SNA provision, had decided he was ‘over-resourced’ and had slashed his SNA support to 25% of what it had been.  He had to spend much of his time in mainstream classes trying to follow what was being taught without the help he had before. He was unable to take down instructions from the blackboard or to use any printed sheets or textbooks, for instance.  His needs had been extensively and professionally documented on entering the school.  He was bewildered by what was happening to him.  In this state of educational isolation, he also began to feel more keenly how none of the mainstream children wanted to talk or play with him at break times. He was accused of being lazy by other pupils following what we were told was ‘a bust-up’ between him and some of his classmates who resented that Andrew did not do as much school work as they did.  Within four weeks he had become worryingly depressed.  He was troubled about his disability and painfully hurt by the lack of social warmth from the other pupils, whom he desperately wanted to accept him.

The teacher we attempted to discuss the situation with was uncomfortable and defensive, casting around for explanations other than the obvious one: his much needed support had been taken from him. It began to be hinted that his problems were behavioural rather than actual.  Spiteful, untrue gossip about him by other pupils was repeated back to us by a teacher, for what purpose we’re unsure.  On the way to school on his last morning there he said to his Dad ‘it would be better if I didn’t exist – I’m too much trouble for everyone at school’.  He couldn’t stay in that environment a single day longer. We went to the school with flowers and thank-yous for the support Andrew had had before from his SNA and other teachers, determined to finish his school days on as pleasant a note as possible in spite of the circumstances.  When we described how Andrew was feeling and what he had said, the Principal declared icily ‘that’s not an educational issue’ – which in itself went a long way to explaining why Andrew had been so much abandoned by his school. Stunned by that, we agreed afterwards that our decision to home educate him was in fact an imperative rather than a choice.  So much for cherishing the children of the nation equally.  We are faced with an enormous undertaking, we realise, but the many sacrifices we will have to make will be more than worth it if we can do for our son what the Irish education system has effectively put beyond his reach.

But credit where it’s due.  Well done Timothy Geithner, Goldman Sachs, Christine Lagarde, Jean-Claude Trichet and all the rest.  You’ve taught our son a good lesson: divide and rule is a tried and trusted strategy.  It allows you to slink out the door with all the world’s wealth while ever-willing, ingratiating foot-soldiers at the coalface get on with finishing your dirty work for you. (Funny how those foot soldiers are never in short supply, isn’t it?)

There are thousands of children having similar experiences in Ireland this autumn because of the decision of the Labour/Fine Gael government to implement serious cuts in special needs education, defended and rationalised with a lot of faux hand-wringing. What is happening to our country is not economically necessary in many respects.  It is, rather, a vicious exploitation of the banker-caused and privately owned recession of the very richest people – used as an excuse to entrench the same ideology that got them into trouble in the first place while ruthlessly landing us with the bill.  It’s very lucrative and risk-free for them, this ‘socialising the debt’.   They are intentionally destroying much of what is left of our civil societies, the better to monopolise our wealth and resources in future. The recessions they create are also their gold and silver-lined clouds of opportunity.  I read about that in an IMF document: it said the crises they cause are a chance to push through ‘reforms’ they couldn’t get away with at other times, under the guise of pretending they are unavoidable.  It was down there in black and white, I tell you. I wonder does the SNA who wrote in the Irish Times that ‘we all accept these cuts have to happen’ realise any of this?  Are we going to continue submissively to accept that we should give all of our wealth to these people for generations to come? Are these talentless talents, who stamp their feet and demand huge salaries and bonuses for the privilege of doing this to us, really worth the lost futures of our children, destroyed health care, massive unemployment, social breakdown, suicides, stuffed prisons, families broken up by emigration, needlessly ruined small businesses, a devastated voluntary sector and a myriad other assaults on our way of life?

If we want our country back from international finance and banking, we will have to take it back ourselves by whatever non-violent means are available to us. The three main political parties who typically make up our governments have proved beyond any doubt not just that they are one and the same in all but name, but that they are not our representatives in the world but rather the powerful bankers’ here at home.

The author of this post has asked to remain anonymous

 

 

 

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