Spontaneous Nocturnal Biblical Criticism

I often have peculiar thoughts just before I go to bed, and when they are not sexual, it's not unusual for them to be biblical.

It occurred to me as incredible that anyone ever (myself included) entertained the idea that God's creation of woman was an afterthought, when he had already made all the animals in the world already and made them with their attaching reproductive organs which bear striking similarities to our own [insert 'horse-joke' here].

Why wasn't the idea of making a woman not so glaringly obvious to him in the light of this fact?

With that, I went to sleep.

My Secret Protégés

I don’t have any younger siblings so there is no-one I can truly say I’ve watched grow up, but I have a few younger cousins whose births I remember (one of whom I also remember seeing being breast-fed when I was about seven, which was such a striking image to me at the time, it has faded little over the years) and whose development I took an interest in as I grew up myself. I did this with some sense that my worldly wisdom was sufficiently more mature than theirs to be valuable to them, and not so much older so as to be parental, inaccessible, or irrelevant.

There were two who I was particularly interested in who are now 16 and 18, one from either side of my family. Both are the eldest in their families and I liked the idea of being a surrogate big brother to them as I never had the little brother I had wanted. One of the great perks of this soi-disant role was that it was very much a part-time job as I didn’t see either of them very often, I never had to row with them for any reason like real big brother’s have to do (yes, it’s obligatory), and the best part of it all was that though they served the function of being my surrogate little brothers, my corresponding role only existed in my head and so I was never called upon to do anything of any responsibility.

That said, I was given the job of baby-sitting one of them once and was never given the job again as I was far too permissive a guardian. I cut a deal that was based on the premise that it was fine to stay up many hours beyond ordinary bed-time so long as his mother didn’t find out about it. Of course she did though – my first practical illustration of how the law about entering contracts with minors is very sensible for all concerned.

Anyway, both of these guys are very intelligent. The fact they are both smarter than me became obvious to me at a very early age. I remember being acutely aware of this not only in their general behaviour, but in their extra-ordinary vocabulary (for their ages) and have distinct memories of each of them exposing me to words I hadn’t heard before; namely, “carnivore” and “solicitor” (two words I still use interchangeably as I have not grasped the essence of either yet).

I went for a couple of pints with the older cuz last week and it would be difficult for me to exaggerate how brilliant I think this guy is. Having seen him grow up, it seemed like a great celebration for me that my surrogate little brother is now officially adult, and technically a member of my peer group – however much he eclipses me in intelligence.

I have to admit that I did feel old talking to him and found it difficult to keep my sage and worldly pronouncements to myself – being entirely inappropriate as they are now that we are on an equivocal level. But interestingly, I also felt that I wasn’t at all as well-rounded or mature at 18 years of age as he is now, and when we parted company I began to recall all the stammering social awkwardness of my late teens that my young cousin seems to be by-passing with the greatest ease, filled as he is with confidence and exuberance, tinctured liberally with healthy amounts of cynicism and humour.

It’s great to think that I have future years of us being buddies to look forward to, and it’s also good that he’s turned out in a way that I can be proud of him; but while I will always have the benefit of a few extra years, very much gone are the days when I thought I had a world of things to teach my young cousin. From what I can tell, he has it all wrapped up.

I wonder if the younger one, who has two years of education to catch up to his fellow surrogate, will be quite so impressive. I suppose it’s all good for me either way. It means I can either be just as proud of him, and hope he still likes me, or else I can continue in my subtle benevolence and encourage his flourishing – a job I expect I would delight in.

Some reflections on the bombings in London

It seems like there is no good way to describe a terrorist attack. We seem to self-consciously fail to find the appropriate words. We talk about the date it happened and make vague references to "events" or "attacks". This was the case with New York, and I find myself following similar conventions when I struggle to find the phrase I want, when I want to speak of the bombings in London. I can't quite put my finger on why people are so reluctant to refer directly to what happened. It was a bombing, so let's call it a bombing - however scary that word is.

The difficulty of finding appropriate words was put into particular focus as I tried to go about doing my job - which is essentially finding the right words to describe violence in Irish history. I became acutely aware in the wake of the bombings of the great impact that words have. Every day I talk about the violent reactions that Irish men and women made to the injustices our nation suffered under successive British Administrations over a considerable breadth of time, and while it is in a reasonably distant past, it still has a legacy which is connected with terrorist activity. Activity that I have been exposed to many times in my life in various ways.

I suppose the most disturbing exposure I got to the 'troubles' was when I was in a bomb scare in the London underground in 1992 as a twelve year old boy. I was separated from my father in the crush. It was utterly terrifying. I threw-up my dinner later that night and bizarrely I suppressed the memories of the scare so that I didn't think or talk of it at all until a couple of years later when my Dad reminded me of that day and it all came flooding back.

At times some tourists to the prison where I work think that what I am giving them is the IRA 'line' when it is far closer to the truth to say that I am merely giving them the history of prison and the only reason that this isn't quite the truth either is that I am well aware that there are significant gaps in my reading on Irish history. But hey, cut me a little slack here - there is a bloody lot of it!

I talk about the pre-cilil-war revolutionaries of my nation with pride and admiration. Many of them gave their lives clear-sightedly to change the course of history and I am well aware that their acts of violence ultimately partially produced its desired outcome. I think I would also say that they were not only fair and just, but necessary. Irish people suffered terribly under British administration. Today I passed by the statutes of James Connolly and Robert Emmet, in the course of my day and I saluted them both and thanked them both under my breath for what they did and what they stood and died for. The bombing of London reminded me of the bombing in London that was carried out by the IRA who would also look to these figures with similar admiration, but I think I can say with confidence that these two Irish revolutionaries (my favourite two) would never have advocated taking the conflict from Irish soil and bringing it Britain in the way that the IRA did in the 1980s and 1990s

That said, it seems obvious enough that the bombing of the Baltic Exchange in London's Finacial District (to mention the most significant one), was a major catalyst to the British Government making a concerted effort on the peace process where countless bombs and acts of violence in Belfast left them largely unmoved and politically uninspired.

Of course I would never condone a terrorist attack for any reason and I would only condone violence in the most compelling circumstances, but I do find it difficult not to check myself for hypocracy when I am outraged by terrorist attacks while it is my job to honour and commemorate the men and women who are a clear link to the acts of terrorism that have occurred in recent times. Taking a broad view though, it is difficult to come up with any real moral position. The Unionists and the British hardly have clean hands.

But to return to the new terrorists in London. They are called extremists and evil. They bombed London to make their voice heard. What I find disturbing is that after the bombings, after the destruction of the world trade centre in 2001, I still can't hear their voices. This is considerably different to the IRA bombings. What are they saying, what is their agenda, and what exactly do they want? And why are western governments not asking these questions?

It seems highly hypocritical to me to speak of the 'war on terror'. We don't want wars and violence begets violence. Eagerness to go to war in the past is most likely one of the main causes of the phenomenon of terrorism. What we need, to state the obvious, is an end to violence - but we don't know how to achieve this. Clamping down on the free-movement of individuals; holding people in constant suspiscion, and over-spending on security measures seem to us like a far more achievable 'solution'. We need a little creativity.