Some thoughts on Cavan’s fleadh

As a naïve of Cavan town I naturally hope that this year’s coming of the Fleadh is a great success. A lot of people, many of whom will never be mentioned or who hope never to be mentioned, have worked hard to bring this about.  It provides a perfect showcase for performing traditional Irish music in an informal environment and the efforts of our local musicians, many with reputations that transcend the local like Martin bin Laden, should be commended. The following comments should not be viewed as carping, or an attempt to piss on someone else’s parade. They are my heartfelt comments, and I don’t see why they should be discarded, merely because they make a small handful uncomfortable.

 The Gonzo Theatre

 I am unfortunate enough to have mobility problems, which I am endeavouring to overcome. A number of events associated with the fleadh are to take place in locations to which I (along with other disabled people) would have trouble gaining access. One of these is The Gonzo Theatre above the Imperial. This sounds like a really cool place, while pictures appearing in Fuckyez Magazine suggest that it offers numerous possibilities for the practising ornithologist. As far as I know you can only get into it by a flight of stairs. This is not Philip Doherty’s fault. Philip is an exceedingly talented writer who has the rare gift of being able to work in a variety of genres. Philip has furthermore undertaken to help me get to the Theatre, something that would be possible as stairs do not present an impassable barrier to me. I am sorry that, until now, I haven’t felt well enough to take him up on his kind invitations.

Lie down croppy boy!

There are, I feel, some associated with the Arts in Cavan who are not in the least worried whether I can get there or not. Have I not bitten the hand that fed me? They may be surprised that “a cripple” or someone in a wheelchair would want to attend a show, along with “normal” people. Why can’t “they” be content with their own entertainment provided in venues like the IWA centre in Corlurgan, featuring plays that have been written especially about them? Or they could “shadow” (for free) consultants and “access auditors” employed by the county council (no doubt not for free) to draw up reports pointing out access black spots.

Coming to terms

Maybe I’m writing this because I am angry, or because I haven’t “come to terms” with my disabilities. True, if “coming to terms” with my disabilities means participating in a racket whereby the disabled are bribed into a state of submission as they wait for their number to come up in a council house lottery, I have not “come to terms” and never will. But I do not accept that I should “come” to someone else’s terms.

“Them” and “us”

I was ill for a number of months but I now feel much better. I am able to walk further than I ever could and I am determined to the best of my abilities to use a wheelchair less and less, partially because I see its use as a label of imposed separation. I do not and never have considered myself as belonging to that group referred to dismissively as “them” but rather to the collectivity of Cavan’s town people called “us”.

Very few people can share the sense of outrage and despair I suffered last year as I saw people from outside my town being invited to speak on its history. These experts “had their degrees” i.e. they had PhDs. But do I not have a PhD awarded in 1992? Maybe there are some who cannot “come to terms” with the fact that a PhD could be earned by a partially sighted individual?   Don’t get me wrong: I am not preaching a narrow parochialism or stating that only Cavan natives should be allowed to talk about its history. But when there is a Cavan native who can talk about it, and in an entertaining way, why should that person be ignored just because he has been blacklisted by some cowards in the council executive or because his father is not a town councillor?

Please forgive me if I have stepped on some people’s corns. I used to play an active part in the cultural life of this town: I would love to do so again.

Epilogue

(By the way, readers needn’t worry about “who he’s getting’ at”. I’m only getting at the same crowd of superannuated, impotent, God-forsaken fuckers as usual. Apologies to anyone who can’t rise to the occasion or get a hard on; I honestly didn’t have you specifically in mind.)

Enda the lawyer lashes out at the Druids

 

Some are calling Kenny’s tirade against Vatican interference in Ireland’s affairs a historic moment in the history of church and state. Certainly there are few – but they exist – who would disagree with the Prime Minister of a so-called liberal democracy castigating a state founded by a fascist government, which is ruled by old men and where there is no pretence of democracy which has sought to undermine efforts to protect his citizens from acts of sexual abuse. But, and there is a big but, why has it taken so long for an Irish government to get touch with the Vatican? The crimes of commission by a handful of priests and the crimes of omission committed by their bishops who protected them or moved them to locations where they could continue their foul deeds, have been known about by the dogs in the street for decades. It would only be a radical lefty with no hope of getting anywhere in Irish politics who would have given voice to such “slanders” against the church. The former bishop of Kilmore Dr Francis McKiernan, was never in any doubt that secular authority was always subservient to religious authority, and I don’t think he was unique amongst the Irish hierarchy in this.

 But there is one other aspect of Kenny’s speech which renders it more hypocritical. The Catholic Church, quite rightly, must be condemned for what it has done. If we were to believe Kenny it is the church and it alone who is at fault. What about the state authorities, the police, the health boards etc. who were also aware of what was going on, and who did sweet FA about it? Another area of deafening silence (excuse the cliché, but when talking of dishonesty I feel it is the most appropriate language) is that child abuse is continuing in Ireland as I write this, but the worst villains aren’t priests, but agents and employees of the state who work in centres charged with the “care” of young adults and children, or those involved in foster-care. The One-in-Four organisation has alleged that as many as nine out of ten reports of child abuse are not being investigated by the Health Service Authority, while the foster care regime in Dublin has been described as being in crisis, with many fosterers’ backgrounds not being checked.

 Those people who abuse children, the vulnerable, or indeed old people in nursing homes are truly evil, as evil as Josef Fritzl. But there are certain government departments, some of whose staff members are equally evil and cowardly. I sometimes think that such evil is a necessary prerequisite for their promotion. They often have free rein in committing acts of evil against those they believe to be too weak or frightened to defend themselves , and in a climate of economic hardship they can defend any action that saves money – and may very well be rewarded for it. Politicians seem either unable or unwilling to do anything about this. However many members of the church, the many good priests that Diarmuid Martin rightly talks about, are made fully aware of the victimisation of the poor and vulnerable carried on by the state. But no religious person would be allowed to defend them, as their criticisms of government policy would be swiftly swept aside with a remark such as “Who are you to talk?”

There is however a litmus test to Kenny’s sincerity. Does he support a possible Papal visit next year? This would be an opportunity for those elitist and narcissistic elements in the Vatican to come to Ireland, to strut their stuff, maybe to check out “The scene”. It would also be an opportunity for those whom Diarmuid Martin rightly refers to as a “cabal” within the Vatican and the Irish hierarchy to be rewarded for protecting child abusers. But there is one very practical reason why it should not go ahead. We can’t afford it.

Disability in Cavan 3

 One of the most egregious examples of the way in which the achievements of Cavan’s disabled have been rubbished came last March. The National Council for the Blind, the largest Irish charity working for the benefits of blind and partially sighted people in the country, wanted to hold a meeting in Cavan’s County Library, run by Cavan County Council. They were encouraged to organise a talk on “local history”. However, they didn’t turn to the partially-sighted holder of a PhD in history in their midst, someone who had years of experience as a writer and lecturer on the subject, (myself) but to the council’s dream-boy Dr Brendan Scott, son of Councillor John Scott of Belturbet. Unfortunately the NCBI’s organiser here in Cavan, Ms Helena McDonald, did not realise how she was being set up, and I didn’t realise what was happening until I received an invitation to the event, featuring the aforementioned Scott as “special guest”. Alas Dr Scott, though holding a doctorate in history, is such a craven example of humanity that he felt it was but one more occasion for him to humiliate me and to repay me for the “trouble” that had existed between me and the museum (though before his time), that he jumped at the occasion to give a talk on Cavan’s “Franciscan abbey” (wherever that was). He accepted this invitation so as to rub in my disability to me and at the same time to say that, even though I had a doctorate and considerable experience as a historian, he stood higher amongst the miserable scum of Cavan Co. Council’s establishment. Years of experience has shown that many of the greatest academics are not people you’d willingly associate with, but I wonder do Dr Scott’s colleagues realise what a craven piece of excrement he is? I’ve never met him but since his appointment to Cavan’s County Museum he has pursued a vendetta against me, something in which he has been aided by many in the county council’s executive, including its highest members.

 Now I had thought of Cavan County Library as a home-away-from-home and its ever-helpful staff as friends. I had enjoyed carrying out research there. Sadly, one of the other users of the library did not feel I belonged there, and complained of my whispering into my hand-held tape-recorder. I do not know the identity of my accuser, but I think I’d be able to pick him out in an identity parade. Libraries can be noisy places, yet I ensure that I do not add to the existing background noise level in any way. It was quite clear that I was a wheelchair user and that I needed to use a low-vision aid in order to read text, but a fellow human being responded to my plight not by seeing whether he could help me in any way, or even ignore me, but by making a complaint that I was causing a disturbance. I can assure my readers that my whispers were less loud than the noise made by him and his troupe of hangers-on, who seemed to think that they owned the library’s research area and to resent the presence of strangers there. This was disturbing, but more disturbing was the fact that the library authorities took these vexatious complaints on board. This was enough for me to be banished from the library to the eyrie of the Genealogical Office that has a rather disturbing view over the County Council car park, and it can only be reached by a rather narrow and awkward lift. I was rather embarrassed when I was told of my fate, for no matter how justified I personally felt it was as if I were a schoolboy who had been caught out picking my nose during Morning Assembly. My non-presence ion the public parts of the library frees the county library of the obviously too distressing visage of a partially sighted library user. How capricious is Father Time. I have in my possession a photograph from the Anglo-Celt from a number of years ago, showing me using a piece of magnification equipment in the main body of the old library. I am obviously an inappropriate fixture of the newer library.

 (Let me add that I do not blame the rank-and-file of the library’s staff for this sea change in my fortunes. I feel that this has come from higher up, and from those who do not like being called “Whacko Jacko”. Let me assure him that this epithet is mild compared to the one I feel he is more entitled to.)

Disability in Cavan 2

As I have said before, Cavan’s disabled are to be seen and not heard. They are not expected, and indeed are discouraged, from adopting too independent a stance. Those confined to a wheelchair should see this as their fate. What’s more they should not complain about just how bad footpaths are in Cavan, or the bizarre location of dished footpaths: “Society” owes them nothing. Instead they should pursue a paternalistic lifestyle, perhaps under the aegis of the local branch of the Irish Wheelchair Association. They should accept their role as second-class citizens in Ireland, as the manifestations of the accursed of God. They should not attempt to mix within society as a whole, but should see their world as inhabiting a shadow-world, where they are collected each day by the IWA bus, the Cuchulann, and are driven to the IWA headquarters at Corlurgan on Cavan town’s outskirts, there to engage in exercisers and games under the constantly fluctuating moodscapes of the centre’s director. And when their time at the centre comes to an end, they can look forward to being taken home again and dispensed by the aforementioned Cuchulann. Naturally they are expected to feel gratitude for this treatment. (Please forgive me. Many may consider this a worthwhile form of existence and who am I to disagree? But it is the nearest thing to Hell on Earth I can imagine.) They have experiences to tell, but they are like children, and have been presented as incapable of doing this on their own, without the introduction of a professional writer to interpret their grunts and gestures into a format that is comprehensible by the general public

 And what is more they may have been persuaded to add their names to Cavan Co. Council’s housing list – even though few houses are being built. But should they be so rash as to consider complaining about the quality of access for disabled people in the county, their temerity will be dissuaded by the knowledge that they are harming their places on the housing list.

 Perhaps this is their journey.

Disability in Cavan 1

The following are the observations and experiences of one disabled person in Cavan. They do not pretend to be universal, but they should not be rubbished and discarded because they relate just to one person.

 I don’t want to keep going back to the fleadh, but I consider that it was used by some to slap me in the face. I would have been more than able and w2illing to give guided talks about the history of my native town, but obviously the thought that these were being given by someone in a wheelchair was too much for some in Cavan County Council. The Fleadh attracted visitors from far and wide, including continental Europe and beyond, and I would have been able to give such talks in a variety of European languages.

I was due to give a “walking tour” of Cavan town in February 2009. Unfortunately this had to be cancelled at the last moment because of a freak snowstorm. (In fact the County Arts Officer, Ms Catriona O’Reilly was advised by the Gardai to cancel all other events on the day because of the inclement weather.) I was assured that the talk would be rescheduled for a later date. When I heard that the fleadh was going to take place in Cavan town I thought this  would have been a perfect opportunity, but alas the organisers saw differently and both native and visitor to the town were denied the chance to hear an entertaining presentation on the history of the town which I would have been only too happy to give. These people could not say that they didn’t know of me, or that they didn’t know whether I’d be able to give a talk, considering I spoke as part of the long overdue commemoration of the victims of the fire in Cavan’s convent in February 1943. Like many others associated with this commemoration I was anxious that it should not become a finger-pointing or blame-apportioning exercise, but should be used to remember the lives of the unfortunate victims. To be cynical the organisers of the fleadh and their backers in Cavan County Council obviously thought that I had no business talking about any aspect of my town’s history.

 For “the powers that be”, i.e. those with their paws on the lever of power and the sources of funding, it is important though, that Cavan’s disabled be presented as a group on the margins, existing purely by the goodwill of those in authority. They must be shown as having no skills and no ability – unless they are lucky enough to have a parent who is a local politician.

Holy cows in Cavan

Poet Noel Monahan, a good friend of mine (or at least I think he is – I can’t take anyone for granted amongst Cavan’s artistic set) once wrote, if memory serves me correctly, about Black James’ town” where pigs are holy cows. Blessed bovines are a problem throughout Cavan. Certain institutions and events, usually organised by local government agents, take on a veneer of holiness and incorruptibility. They are perfect. No criticism can be allowed because none is warranted. Constant genuflection becomes a canon of and their praise is constantly rehearsed. Consequently anyone who does not join in the adulation, or anyone who (God forbid) might actually voice criticism, is considered a crank, a deviant and an enemy of the people more or less. They are excluded from “official” activity as if they never existed.

 One such long-grazing holy cow is Cavan County Museum. For someone to allege that there had been “trouble” between the museum and an individual (even though it was before his time) is equivalent not so much to a sentence of death but to a sentence of “non life” in Cavan.

 I fear that the recent fleadh in Cavan town is going the same way. Its success was due to the participation of thousands of talented musicians, accompanied by fun-loving and excitement-seeking spectators. It had nothing to do with Cavan County Council, which is now trying to bathe in the glory of the event. Its success was if anything threatened by those publicans who, in spite of having wallowed in County Council largesse still felt the need to charge exorbitant prices. Thankfully many of those visiting the fleadh did not go into the pubs, – they would have had difficulty entering anyway.

 I wasn’t able to attend the fleadh, in part because of access issues. Emma Breidin has produced a survey to discover what these issues were and how they might be addressed, and I will certainly help in a constructive spirit. I fear however that my contribution will be  immediately discarded, not by Emma but by others within Cavan County Council. These are people who recall the vicious rumour that there was “trouble between him and the museum”. This would be enough to invalidate anything I might say, and indeed render useless any contribution I might make as a disabled person. These are people who prefer Cavan’s disabled to be “seen but not heard”. The disabled were given their very own opportunity to contribute they will argue, in the form of Bridget Boyle’s little theatrical piece. Those like myself who have always sought to pursue an independent journey outside the paternalism of the Irish Wheelchair association are ignored.

Cavan’s fleadh

The fleadh taking place in Cavan town will be a great showcase for traditional musicians to display their skills and also to learn from each other. It will also be a spectacular opportunity for the general public to enjoy one of the most important and irreplaceable aspects f our national character. It is such a pity that the disabled are being locked out of taking part.

 Some historical talks have been organised to accompany the fleadh. They are to be given by Dr Jonathan Cherry (a good friend) and the multi-talented Dr Brendan Scott. Both these speakers are, thank God, able bodied. There has been no invitation to the wheelchair-bound and partially sighted Dr Ciaran Parker, who has written about all aspects of the history of Cavan town. But honestly, the sight of him in his wheelchair speaking without notes would not set the right tone at an even which obviously sets so much store by physical perfection.

 The reason why I haven’t been asked to speak is puzzling. Last February I was asked to lead a walking tour of Cavan town by Catriona O’Reilly, the County f Arts Officer, and a member of the fleadh’s organising committee. This was in conjunction with a festival taking place in Cavan town at the time. I naturally agreed, but I was unable to lead the tour because of a freak snowstorm that led to the cancellation of most other events. I was assured that the event would be rescheduled for a later date. A fee had been mentioned, but I wasn’t doing it for the money. Had that been now I know full well Dr Scott would have been invited instead. A snowfall wouldn’t affect him as he can walk on water – he certainly shows no problem walking through the shit he causes. And as for payment, it is only natural that in a time of budgetary constraints the council should ensure that all monies stay within the broader County Council family of employees, members and theitr families.

 Another puzzling aspect is why I was approached by a local writer associated with the fleadh. He sought historical advice and information for a number of short plays he had been commissioned to write for the aforementioned fleadh.   It seems a bit unfair to pump someone for information whom they were going to snub And whose very name was not to be mentioned.. Why didn’t he go to Dr Scott for his intelligence? No doubt because he or his friends knew he’d be disappointed.  I write this so that people attending the fleadh will no what a miserable crowd of back-stabbing, lying cheats have organised it.

The Raid

One of Leo Tolstoy’s earliest yet finest stories is entitled “The Raid”. It was set in the North Caucasus and includes details drawn from Tolstoy’s own experiences fighting the Chechens. Yet I think a short story of the same namer, though without Tolstoy’s charm and poise, could be written about events in Cavan town, as they unfolded on the weekend beginning June 18^th. At that time, customs and excises officials raided a number of licensed premises in the town and seized alcohol that was being sold there, but for which no duty had been paid, thereby making its purchases price lower and the potential profit from resale higher.

 I have heard that one premises in particular was targeted, and no, I’m not going to repeat it. Suffice it to say that its owners are well connected politically at both local and national level. What’s more the premises’s dining facilities are completely inaccessible toe me and to all other wheelchair uses. This is not a legacy of the building’s age. It should have been diaphanously clear to the planning authorities who signed off on the plans, but sure, who cares about cripples? But the owners should know that there is NO difference between the ten euro note proffered by the cripple and the able-bodied citizen, just as there is no difference between the able-bodied note and the cripple at election time.

 It will be interesting to see if any prosecutions arise. They would be embarrassing to say the least, and for that reason I suspect the ‘phones in the DPP’s office have been ringing loudly. But then as the affair of Ivor Callely shows, there is one law for members of Seanad Eirinn, quite another for the rest of us.

 Going back to the short story I suspect that the denouement of this particular roman will be inconclusive.

What you won’t find in disabled toilets

This week’s RTE Guide contains a very interesting interview with the talented young British actor David Proud. David is of course, wheel-chair bound, and he has used with wonderful skillsto help overcome some of the prejudice and ignorance surrounding disability. He asks why is it that there are no condom machines in disabled toilets? I can answer cynically because it is considered by the £able-bodied” who make decisions, that disabled guys just don’t have sex. They haven’t got the proper kit, it is believed. They are incapable of performing “proper” jobs so it goes without saying that the sexual act is beyond them as well. And then so many of the “Voluntary organisations” which supposedly look after the disabled would never ask such a question, as invariably their patrons include more than their fair share of do-gooders. 

 I’d love to tell David about the plight of a certain partially-sighted guy who couldn’t always see the condom machine, and who was too embarrassed to ask. He knew well that it would be a waste of time contacting the National Council for the Blind of Ireland on this, as on any other problem. What would Archbishop Clifford say?!

 David also mentions another piece of unbelievable ignorance – that disabled people don’t swear. Of course, if they do it is because they are angry and they are still having problems coming to terms with their position as God’s accursed.

Kerb crawling in Cavsn town

Yesterday I had to pay a visit to Cavan town. This was no big deal. I am in a wheelchair and I was going to an address in Wesley St. (not the FAS office). The problem was caused by the kerb, which was so high that my wheelchair couldn’t traverse it. Luckily (indeed very happily) the charming young lady who was with me held my hand as I got out of the wheelchair and gained access to the footpath.

 Cavan town is a nightmare as far as wheelchair and disabled access is concerned. I must ask Where is the Irish Wheelchair association? Its top honcho in Cavan, Bridget Boyle, enjoys a special relationship with Cavan County Manager, Jack Keys, so I’m sure that she could make usual representations. But then what business do I, or any wheelchair user, have to be attempting to follow an independent life? Should the only journeys I make outside of my home not be in the IWA state-of-the- arse” Mercedes minibus to their centre at Corlurgan, where I can spend the day with other wheelchair users, before regaining my seat on the minibus (a sparkling existence)?

 The [problems regarding disabled access in Cavan can be solved cheaply and with common sense. Dished footpaths can be installed, though unless they have a corresponding dished footpath on the other side of the street facing them they are worse than useless. This would not be expensive. I would go so far as to say it would cost less money than the fees and travel expenses paid to “access auditors” from Scotland to come and write glossy reports about Cavan, a location unknown to them. The considerable gaps in their knowledge being supplied by local disabled people who are expected to “shadow” them – for free of course.  ,

 All in all I enjoyed my little trip to Cavan town – a journey most people take for granted. What’s more I had the pleasure of momentarily holding the hand of a pretty lady – sometimes being in a wheelchair has its advantages.