Hot Politics
Is it just an Irish thing to feel a little bit resentful when someone tells you they’re going, or have just been on holidays? I don’t get to go away very often but when I do it’s entirely deserved but there’s this feeling of guilt and shame about it if I wind up telling someone about it.
I feel this especially with elderly people who are stuck in their homes, between the same four walls day in day out with no way of escape without the assistance of a kind family member or a local club of some sort. They don’t complain about it much, so I’m not about to rub my freedom into their faces.
I got lucky though, I really did. My cousin works as a professional warrior for human rights and gets to travel the world organising protests and attending seminars, she frequently asks me to join her. I usually tell her that I can’t due to work and family responsibilities but this time she was quite insistent, and booked the flights before telling me I was going.
So, at the weekend I found myself in Seville. Summer in Spain is no joke, especially in Seville which got nicknamed ‘The Frying Pan of Europe’. No kidding. At its peak, while I was wandering around the districts I saw a billboard outside a pharmacy declare the temperature to be 45 degrees Celsius. I drank three or four litres of water a day but only pee’d once. Sitting down in the shade became problematic because lone tourists attract beggars and chancers, so I had to keep moving. I covered about 10km a day exploring the place in all its historic glory.
The first day, I had local beggars chasing me down for business but by day three I was brown enough that Spanish women would mumble complaints about the price of the fruit beside me in supermarkets thinking I was one of them. At least I think that’s what they were saying. They could have been KGB for all I know. I was just happy to blend in.
On the final evening, it was declared that I would join a protest with my cousin and some other equally powerfully spirited people. Entry into the world that evening was like opening an oven door, the sweat began to bead on my forehead instantly, and after fifteen minutes my heart began to race making my brain giddy. A permanent river ran down my back as I held the banner, but the energy of the crowd drowned out any discomfort and a woman with a knapsack tank sprayed us all down periodically.
It was fantastic. Such passion and gusto for the protest was highly infectious and before long I heard myself shouting along..
“END FLOWERY FAXES!”
… for I am not very good with politics and wasn’t entirely sure what I was angry about.
I used to think that protesting was quite pointless. Fat cats aren’t going to pay attention to them, it’s just a whole lot of noise to create awareness I thought. Now I realise that even if they aren’t effective at face value, they’re effective at holding a line and preventing things from going backwards. I sensed a fragility at the truth, a fighting fatigue. Some of these people had been fighting for decades not really getting anywhere. I learned very quickly to shut my mouth and listen to what they had to say but all I really learned was that the spirit of the people at events like these are shatterproof, and my respect goes out to them for what that’s worth.
I’m not a protester by nature but I can see now that it’s not futility I sensed before, but shame. Self resentment for not fighting for important things maybe. Bad things will always happen around me and I can’t change them, but if enough of me shouts about it, maybe there’ll be a tipping point.
I’m curious to hear if anyone out there reading is a protester, how did you first begin, and do you get the fatigue? What keeps you shouting about the flowery faxes?
I guess there must have been some French input into my ancestry in the dim distant past. Given my Dad’s family were from Pimlico that’s a possibility. Hence I look slightly French with a large nose and olive skin, and I tan easily. Hence I understand the encounter in the supermarket. On holiday in France, I have been accosted quite a few times by strange women variously consulting me on what wine to choose, or my opinion on cheese!
As to protests, I’ve never been on one in my near-76 years. While at university doing engineering there were plenty of opportunities, but engineering is an intensive subject and so I didn’t have time. Since then, earning money and raising a family got in the way even though there were plenty of times when I felt strongly about issues. These days I’m still too busy doing a bit of part-time work and helping out with my herd of grandkids.
Whether protests work, I think they probably do. You Irish seem to be doing a fine job protesting immigration.
Oh man, this immigration situation is really dividing people. The Irish seem to have completely forgotten the struggles we faced when we were forced abroad and needed welcome. I did a college course last year with some immigrants and my mind was blown at the abuse they put up with from Irish people, it turned my stomach. Their living conditions are often dire in direct provision, their poor kids are seeing things they shouldn’t. The angry protests should be directed at the government for lack of planning, not at the immigrants themselves.
Morning Kate.
Well done you, both for getting a break from routine, and for making a stand against something.
I’m a great believer in the right to protest, although I’m also certain that it is not always effective. I suppose that is why many protestors get the fatigue you mention. It is of course misused a lot too, as in the case of Trump’s supporters invading the white house after his last election defeat, or the riots after the killing of those three little girls in Southport last year. Unfortunately mob rule is often portrayed as protest. 🙁 I suppose that is why we have laws, although these too are subject to abuse.
I joined CND back in the early 1980’s. Nuclear conflict seemed pretty close then and the ridiculous numbers of available missiles on the earth at that time (I remember an estimate saying that the combined power of them all was enough to wipe humans and most other life off the planet 600 times over!), seemed to make the stupid Mutually Assured Destruction policy seem particularly M.A.D. The British government at that time wanted to replace its Polaris nuclear subs, the cost of which was estimated to be about the same as the cost of building 75 new city sized hospitals which since the NHS was suffering cutbacks even then also seemed pretty stupid. This was Maggie’s time in government if you remember.
The only link to Britain’s nuclear program here in Northern Ireland was a tracking station at a small RAF base at Bishop’s Court, (it’s on the coast, not far from Downpatrick). The protests were centred there, sit downs to block the gates, petitions presented etc. It was all pretty mild, but well organised, with the police notified well in advance, and we kept good relations with them. It did seem pretty pointless to me, given the fairly remote location of the base, and the remote links it had to anything of importance or influence, but the good natured gatherings were also great fun, and a good way to meet like minded people and to discuss the issue. There is a great beach there too, and some beautiful walks on the local cliff tops. When walking back to the permanently manned peace camp, complete with an old caravan, (extremely drunk after a night in the tiny local bar, followed by an invite back to a local residents home for yet more booze), Myself and another drunken protestor even foiled a break in at the bar, so became minor local heroes for a day or two. someone had been trying to gain entry through the roof.
Protest is a very necessary part of the democratic process, but yes, protestors need to play by the rules.
I can imagine how terrifying Nuclear threat must have bern back then. We even got iodine tablets through every letterbox back then though I was too young to realise the enormity of what it meant. It sounds like a fantastic memory to join in on CND protests. That’s another part of the protests I forgot to mention.. the camaraderie. I suppose it’s to do with increased isolation in the world, we’re losing our sense of community which is something protests provide in spades. My grandmother (Dad’s mum) was a great woman for waving placards and sitting in the paths of bulldozers, it’s a lost passion in our family!
“It’s a lost passion in our family!”
Oh I don’t know. Perhaps it just skipped a generation. 🙂
You definitely seem to have the passion for it.
hummm… if someone gets paid to protest doesn’t that mean that they’re not so much “protesting” but “marketing” for whoever is doing the paying?
And, who actually is that “whoever”? (also see USAID…)
Yes. See there’s the muddy underbelly of my ignorance showing, oversimplifying things. My cousin works for an NGO which doesn’t pay her way but rather enables it. She has work elsewhere so most of the activism comes from her own pocket. Given that I was her guest on this expedition, I wasn’t allowed to ask how much things cost or who was paying for it so remained blissfully ignorant.