02 November 2021

Helping those who've gone before us

Today is the feast of All Souls, or The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, as my missal has it. It's a special day in the Church calendar dedicated to trying to help those we've loved, and even those we've conspicuously failed to love, and so many who we've never known, to make their way towards God and towards becoming who they were truly created to be.

The word 'Purgatory' may not appear in the Bible, but that doesn’t mean the doctrine isn’t there, readily drawn out from references to prayers that help the dead, to how nothing imperfect can enter heaven and a fire that purifies us after death, and to a prison where souls go till their debts are paid. Just as it’s for the Blessed in Heaven to pray for us, so it is for us, then, to visit those souls in prison but guaranteed to share in the Blessed Vision, praying for those destined for heaven that they may more quickly reach the top of Dante’s mountain of hope. Having done the Camino de Santiago, and even the three-day pilgrimage at St Patrick's Purgatory at Lough Derg, I have a better sense nowadays than I used to have of how we're all in this together, and obliged to pull together to help each other to the finishing line. 

With that in mind, then, I have a lot of people to pray for today, just as I hope lots of people, here or up above, are praying for me, since we all need each other's help.

Many of these, I'm sure, don't need any prayers at all, but it certainly can't hurt, and I want to start by calling to mind all those I can remember who've been lost to us over the past year, starting with my mam, Veronica Daly, who we lost at Christmas, and my cousin Susan Daly Stanek, who died following an accident in America just a few months later. If they need any help at all, I do hope my prayers will give that, in whatever meagre way they can.

I pray for Molly O'Callaghan, the heart of Palmerstown; for Ollie Cosgrave, who mended my boots more times than I care to remember and who gave me two good friends and workmates, one sadly no longer with us; for Ultan Sinclair, a neighbour taken far too soon; for Matt Garrigan, the finest line manager I've ever had; for Nora Hanrahan, who I hope will join Joe in a blissful eternity; for Paschal Dunne, who I hope will likewise be joined with his wife Angela and daughter Susan; and for Denis Keating OP and George Kiely, who both stood by me at times when I needed true support.

I pray for Francis Kennedy, Sean Forde, and Anne Fitzgerald, all taken in the great Covid wave early this year; I pray for Ned's mum Maura Hughes, Tadhg and Mick's dad Frank Coakley, John's dad Gerry Duffy, Eamonn's dad Packie McGarty, Claire's mam Cis O'Brien, Jason's mum Marlene Crowley, Jean's dad Kevin Callaghan, William's dad Billy Callaghan, Sophie's dad Johnny von Pfluegl, and Neasa's aunt Marie Doyle.

I pray too for Sr Margarita Schwind OP; for Dawn Foster, who I hope to meet in the afterlife since I failed so miserably to do so in this one; for Dan's wife Naima Jackson; for Mike's sister Katie Lewis; and for Steve Greydanus's father Robert.

Ending the list of those lost to us here this year are Francis Benedict Pyles and Margaret Mary Hill, neither of whom is in need of any prayers; instead I ask that their heavenly prayers will help those they leave behind, and all those who can look to them. 


I pray today for Nana and Grandad, all the Dodds, Auntie Maureen, Valerie McKenna, my cousins Philip, David, and Lily; for Auntie Brenda, Auntie Kathleen, Great Auntie Mary, my cousins Janet and Michael, and Richard; for my uncle John, for Mam's parents, for aunt Doreen, and for Monica.

I pray for Mary and Paddy Hoare, for Mr Harwood, for Mr and Mrs McCourt, for Mrs Carrigan and for Michael Carrigan, for Mr Gahan, for Mr and Mrs Reeves, for John Ryan, Mick Doyle, Mr Lyons, Jim Freeman, Mrs Gibson, Mr and Mrs and Bernie Flanagan, Mrs Mannelly, Mr Doyle, Elizabeth Kenny, and Matt and Clare O’Reilly.

I pray for Johnny McGrath, Delores Spittal, Dick Molumby, Frank Beggan, and Dessie Breen; for Joe Hanrahan, Dave Leavy, Frank and Mrs Towey, Jack Farrelly, Shay Lord, Jim Skerritt, David Fitzgerald, and Gary Kennedy from the Silver Granite; for Mary Ward; for Tom Corr, Sean Mitchell, Eamon Woulfe, Liam Glynn, Padraic Naughton, and Bro. John Hyland from Moyle Park.

I pray for Gavan Nugent, Padraic Ryan, Anthony Desmond, Sean Kenny, Paul Brown, Conn Murphy, Marie Plisnier, Agueda Pons, Michelle Cosgrave, Kathleen Griffin, and Susan Dunne; for Julie Yipp and Kevin Hunneybell from my Camino, and for Francis McKenzie from my visit to Peru.

I pray for Val Grant, Alex Walker, Theresa MacDonagh, Gerard McCarthy, and Alan Gilbert from the University of Manchester; and for John, Kathleen Bibby, Mary McFaul, John and Agnes Ainsworth, and Kate Gregg from Wilmslow.

I pray for Sr Mary David Totah; for Fr Con Curley, Fr Gerard Byrne, Fr Flo Lynch; for Fr David Lumsden and Fr Martin Ryan; for Fr Tom Heneghan; for Fr Simon Roche OP, Fr Martin McCarthy OP, Fr Dermot Brennan OP, and Fr Bob Talty OP.

I pray for Jenny Daly, and Sr Agnes, and Helen, and all the other ladies from Mam's nursing home.

I pray for Fritz Schult from Pollatomish; for Steve's wife Ruth Southall; for Sarah's grandad Alan Martindale; for Laura's grandad Tony Adams; for Christopher's mum Mary Dawson; for Michael's mother Ann Kelly; for Colum's dad Joe Keating, for Aidan Higgins' father Colin, for the fathers of Daron Higgins, Claire O’Brien, Lucy Corcoran, Dara Gantley, Blaithin Ni Giolla Rua, Martin Brady, and Bridget Martin; for Breda Polly and Tom Crotty; and for Polly and Dan’s friends Will Scott and Dominic Crisp.

I pray for the souls of all those dear to those I love, for the souls of all those dear to me, and for the souls of all those whose names and faces I have forgotten. 

May the Lord God almighty have mercy on their souls, and may his perpetual light shine upon them; may they rest in peace.


31 December 2020

Farewell to a wonderful mother: a funeral tribute


A long time ago, Mam said that she wanted me to speak at her funeral, when the time came. ‘I want you to talk,’ she said, ‘and to make everyone laugh.’ I don’t think I can promise that, and with most people joining us today doing so remotely I’ll probably never know, but here goes.

Veronica – or Vera – Hynes was born in Liverpool in April 1939, just a few months before war broke out, the third daughter, after Doreen and Brenda, of William and Sally. She grew up in and around Scotland Road – Scottie as it’s fondly remembered by locals – and with William serving in the RAF during the war, it fell to Sally to keep the girls safe when the docks were being bombed, whether by hurrying them to a local bomb shelter or even taking them away to stay with Auntie Mary in the then-peaceful suburb of Fazakerly.

Mam was only three or four when her eldest sister Doreen died, aged seven, from diphtheria, but Brenda and herself weren’t to be only Hynes girls, joined as they were by Eileen and a few years later by Joyce.

Dad came to Liverpool in the 1950s, working as a fitter in the docks, and gradually getting involved in the social life of the city, including the ceilidhs organised at St Alphonsus’ Parish, where his friend Martin McNamara introduced him to Brenda, later telling him about her younger sister. ‘She’s like Brenda, but she’s mad,’ he said.

Dad was immediately taken with Brenda’s clever, laughing younger sister, but thought no more of it, though as the years passed and Dad got to know the Hynes girls better, with him always getting a warm welcome in the family home, whether in Liverpool proper or eventually in Kirkby’s Lognor Walk, he began to realise that maybe, just maybe, there might be something there.

Over these years, aside from being fun at ceilidhs and dances, Vera displayed the quick wits and organisational gifts she’d later be well known for, especially loving her time working at PSN – the Pacific Steam Navigation Company in the iconic red-and-white Albion House just off Liverpool’s Pier Head. Mam was always proud of her time there, and last time she passed it she told her taxi driver of how she had worked there when she was young.

During this period Vera was heavily involved with the Young Christian Worker movement, organising the younger groups and being the teenage co-ordinator for Liverpool. It was in connection with this that she travelled in Rome in 1957 as part of a large English and Welsh delegation to an international pilgrimage. One of those who filled St Peter’s Square to hear the Pope of the day, she didn’t cope as well as she’d have liked with the Roman heat, while worse was to come on the way home, with her train across France being derailed in an accident that saw her knocked unconscious and briefly hospitalised.

Mam and Dad married in 1960, moving to Ireland where Dad worked on Boora Bog, and where they had a little house in the Bord na Mona cottages in Kilcormac. It beggars belief, really, to think of this young Liverpool woman moving to a tiny town in the very centre of Ireland, where she was probably the only Englishwoman in all of Offaly, but somehow she made it work, learning to ride a bike, getting involved in the Irish Countrywomen’s Association, and throwing her herself into local social life. Decorating her new home was a delight for her, and when Dad apologised for not having got a slightly bigger house, she was incredulous: people like us, she said, live in one-room apartments!

A couple of years later Vera and Eamonn moved to Dublin, settling in Palmerstown where they began to raise a young family in Anita and Colette – neither of whom, sadly, can be here today because of Covid restrictions – and then Liam. Mam got involved in the local youth club over those years, which seemingly meant that family A, as the older three would become known, would occasionally get soft drinks other than at Christmas, Mam now and again having bottles of Fanta or Coke stored in the house. She tried learning Irish too, with help from the girls, but she never made it much beyond a simple ‘How are you?’ or ‘Shut the door,’ the latter being pronounced ‘done on dohras’ rather than the more conventional ‘dún an doras’, perhaps because of the girls having a slightly Liverpudlian tilt to their own accents at the time.

The real driver of the family back then, Mam had energy, brains to burn, and a determination that things should be as good as possible. She may not have been a football fan, despite coming from a blue background in Liverpool, but she’d clearly imbibed the Everton motto ‘Nothing but the best’.

Trips home to Liverpool were a regular feature of those years, with Mam typically taking the ferry to Holyhead and the train across North Wales, which she loved; the girls, meanwhile, loved the playground behind their grandmother’s house in Kirkby. There were even a few family holidays back then too, first in Ardamine in Wexford, then in Ardmore in Waterford, and in 1974 in Castlegregory in Kerry, where several days of incessant rain saw the family decamp from their soaked canvas tents to a caravan!

1974 was also the year where Mam first got involved in a movement that in many ways would define much of her life, and would shape many of ours, as Dad opened an account at Palmerstown Credit Union, and then suggested that Mam do so too, and even that she might enjoy helping out there too. To say she took to it like a duck to water would be an understatement: over the next 33 years she would be a volunteer teller, a session supervisor, and a clerical worker there, as well as being on a host of committees and spending almost 30 of her years on the local board of directors, where she served as vice-chairperson and secretary, with Palmerstown nominating her to serve on the national League Board in 2000. Over the years she held every single position at the regional chapter level too, taking in all the credit unions of West Dublin, even stretching into Kildare and Meath.

Mam was hugely devoted to the whole credit union ethos, promoting it through art competitions and quizzes – especially schools quizzes, which she really loved – and even around the dining room table, memorably hosting people in the house for dinner who’d come over from Birmingham to learn how to set up their own credit unions. Just hours after her death the other day, a friend of Elaine texted her to say that the odds were that Mam was probably busy with Frank Beggan and Molly O’Callaghan, who died just weeks ago, setting up a credit union in Heaven. They might have a trick working out the common bond, Liam pointed out, but I don’t think that would stump them too long; as Dad says, if he’s someone who tends to see problems, Mam was always someone who could find solutions.

The social side of the credit union movement shouldn’t be played down of course, and I don’t just mean the dinner dances that felt like a constant of my childhood! She made so many wonderful friendships in her decades involved in Palmerstown Credit Union and Chapter 25, and would have been a well-known figure at national conventions too. Conventions seem to have been a marvellous blend of work and play, and it was fun to hear Mam talk of how John Hume, who famously saw his role in introducing the credit union movement to Ireland as his greatest achievement because of how it helped so many people pull themselves out of poverty, would bash out ‘The Sash My Father Wore’ as a party piece there.

Myself, Elaine, and Adam would be family B, of course, coming along a decade or so after the first batch, so we were very much credit union children in this way – Adam perhaps most especially, with his playpen set up in the office – and ours in many ways were different childhoods: if trips to the beach for older siblings meant piling into a train to Galway, for us it meant sitting in the back of a roasting car and driving to Malahide or Loughshinny or somewhere. I’m told it was on one of those Galway adventures, complete with an obscenely early start and a mountain of Tupperware-packed salad sandwiches, that Dad tried to teach Mam how to swim. He held her chin while she tried to doggy paddle in the Atlantic at Salthill, and after she had proudly covered a few feet she nearly choked when Dad said, ‘Watch out, the Statue of Liberty is just over there.’

Having a car also meant Mam could boost one of her greatest talents, as Dad could now ferry infinite numbers of cakes all across Palmerstown and much further beyond. Mam catered for events, as it happens, even doing so right up to 2010 or so, but it was baking she was best known for. Indeed, when they heard of her death, it didn’t take long for neighbours from over the road to start reminiscing and salivating over them: ‘She was a fun person and a great cook… such a great person and neighbour, I have fond memories of her famous coffee cake, Black Forest Gateau, and mince pies… she was a great baker, fond memories of her coffee and the occasional mint cake, remember her coming over for a chat and a smoke with Ma… Jesus, the coffee cake!’

The kitchen at home could be an industrial operation, with hundreds upon hundreds of mince pies or hot cross buns or Vienna whirls or – before my time – apple fritters, donuts, and Eccles cakes, not to mention the grand Black Forests or coffee cakes or lemon meringue pies or extravagant birthday cakes shaped like castles or palaces or log cabins adorned with battling cowboys and Indians long before such things were cool. I’d say ‘when doing so was neither popular nor profitable’, but I know Mam’s cakes were hugely popular, and I’m pretty sure they were at least a bit profitable. I hope so, anyway, given the work she put into them.

Mam had a real gift for making pennies go a long way, and aside from her cakes, the house could sometimes seem to be a knitting factory – especially once she got a knitting machine, though her Aran jumpers preceded that by a while. And of course we’d all do our bit: no pocket money for us, but at least in the summers we could sell rhubarb from the garden, so a fair few of us over the years would tramp round Palmerstown to friends of Mam to sell them a dozen or so juicy sticks of rhubarb for the princely sum of 50p. It was cheaper than the shops, in fairness, and better too.

Mam was pretty proud of her garden too, and especially her flowers, whether in the ground or in hanging baskets. She tended them lovingly all her life, able to keep doing so even as her dementia started to take a toll. Liam’s dog Sally was great company for her in those final years, and in truth Sally stood in a long line of dogs Mam had loved about her: Laddie in Liverpool, Tony, Captain, and in my lifetime Sandy especially. Dad’s habit of taking excellent photographs really pays dividends here, when I think of photos of Mam sledding down a snowy slope in Glenauline field and Sandy running and yapping about her. If there’d ever been a shadow of a doubt of how much fun she could be, just one of those shots should dispel it.

If she loved flowers and she loved dogs, well, she loved people more. Yes, there could be a bit of confusion between the two, and I’ll always remember Dad’s incredulity at Sandy being promoted to a person when Mam said that ‘Nobody was allowed to disturb Liam in the front room except for Adam and Sandy.’ Many of our older neighbours have passed on themselves in recent years, including such beloved ones as Mary and Paddy Hoare next door or Matt and Clare O’Reilly from over the road, but reading the tributes from their children online over the last few days has been deeply moving, as have those from her credit union friends and so many others whose lives she touched. A lovely lady, they say, a great neighbour, a truly wonderful human being of a sort who comes along very rarely.

She loved us all: Dad and Dad’s family – where she made some real friends, with Rita’s immediate reaction on hearing of her death was to cry ‘Ah, me pal!’ – her children and in-laws, her sisters and brothers-in-law and nephews and nieces and cousins and friends, whether in Ireland or at home in England, and over recent decades and years her grandchildren in whom she absolutely delighted: first Aaron, Ciaran, Devon, and Quinn, and then Ciara, Eleanor, Nathan, and most recently Dexter, who Adam was able to bring in to Mam the last time he saw her.

Again, there are images that stay with you, and one I love especially is of Mam in her stairlift, grinning broadly as an ecstatic little Eleanor sat in her lap, thrilled to be going upstairs in what she called ‘Nanny’s train’. She loved every single one of us, and did her best to encourage us along the way in whatever we were doing – Liam’s art and love of birds, say, or Colette going into nursing with Mam missing the Big Snow of 1982 here because she had accompanied Colette over to England when she was starting her studies. She did this even when we thought we didn’t have a chance, and she consoled us and cared for us when we fell along the way. For years I had thought that her sitting up whenever I came home from work in the Silver Granite in the early hours of the morning was just down to her not sleeping well; I had no idea that she was just waiting for me, making sure I came home okay, and would chat with me awhile before heading up to bed.

Of course, we all have our own memories and our own stories to tell: I think of endless cups of coffee and a very particular spoon, of a wooden spoon that terrified me as much as it must have delighted me through the meals it helped prepare, of the sound of Mam’s finger tips on the rim of a her ashtray or clacking lightning-fast on the keys of an office calculator, of Coronation Street and Frank Sinatra, of going to the cinema together to watch Gone With the Wind, of having the story of Lourdes explained to me when we watched The Song of Bernadette, or having eggs for breakfast after morning Mass in Lent, or having my whim that I might be an altar server rightly dismissed: ‘You? You don’t even pay attention at Mass!’ And she was so much fun too, and funny with it, sometimes intentionally, when – say – she’d refer to Anthony Hopkins at one point as ‘the man who owns our telly’ and sometimes not, when she’d mix up her words and call my friend Heinrich ‘Heineken’, or Groucho Marx ‘that Moncho fella’, or send me to the video library to rent out ‘Not The Glen of the Downs’. It’s probably not a great sign that it took me no time at all to realise she meant Dancing at Lughnasa.

It’s a source of deep pain to all of us that so few of us can be here today. She deserves a vast funeral, just like her beloved Brenda had last year or Dad’s sister Mauren had earlier this year, with the church packed down the aisles and out the door with family and friends and even people who just loved her cakes, a host of us to pray for her soul, to console each other, and to celebrate her life. But these are strange times, and it’s not to be. She’d have understood that. In truth, I’m sure she understands it now.

Her last few years were quieter ones, of course, as her dementia crept up on her. As the years passed she played Scrabble less, so her made-up words didn’t brighten evenings as they once had, though she stayed at her jigsaw puzzles a good while longer, and as I’ve said, kept tending to her flowers – I couldn’t help but think how much fun she’d have had with my own mother-in-law if they’d been able to meet, with such shared passions! But then, I’ve wished so often she could have got to know my own wife Julie, as I think they’d have truly loved each other.

Five years ago things got to a point where she couldn’t be cared from properly at home any more, and she moved briefly to St James’s hospital, before moving to Highfield in early 2016, where she’s received the most wonderful care over the last few years. It’s been a real community, and Mam really was loved there. Indeed, it was marvellous to visit and spend time there with her, and for a long time seeing her help care for other women who were further along than she was, sometimes just by holding their hands, or talking gently with them, or stroking their hair.

Mam’s last years were harsh on her, and so much she’d have valued about herself was stripped away: her ability to think properly, her memories, her speech. But we are more than these things, and while we’ve all missed her advice and guidance and wit and comfort, those of us who’ve had the privilege of visiting her often and spending lots of time with her will also have had lots of fun with her. Her hands, so rough and painful for so much of her life, became soft and smooth and a pleasure to sit and hold; she would laugh so often even in her final weeks; and her smile – her beaming, warm, radiant smile, with those twinkling eyes – never went away.

And perhaps most precious of all, every so often – and so rarely – there’d be a sudden, magical glimpse of her as she had been, with the fog clearing and her responding as she used to. I told her one day, not expecting any response, of how at Mass that morning the priest had told the only joke I’d ever told her that she’d gone on to tell herself – she’d normally respond to my jokes my tossing her head and snorting ‘comedian’ – and then, to fill the space, I told it simply myself; there was a quiet pause, and then Mam smiled, said ‘I remember that,’ and started to laugh.

Sometimes these windows were just fleeting things, a sceptical look, a raised eyebrow, a laughing nod towards the television when fretting staff were trying to figure out which of the residents in Mam’s unit was in trouble and Mam realised the alarm sound was coming from the telly. Sometimes it was absolutely joyful, as when she was at a concert in Highfield just before last Christmas, and sometimes rather sarkier, as when Julie and I came back from our honeymoon, and I asked her did she like my new shirt. Cue a level look and a dismissive ‘Not particularly.’

Last time I saw Mam was at the end of February – I was on the bus in to see her again in early March when I got word that the nursing home had had to close – but when I did, I got the first sentence from her in a few weeks, maybe since when she’d described that Christmas concert to me as beautiful. I was holding her hand, and chatting away, telling her what little news I had and generally just filling the air. I think I may have gone on a bit too long.

‘Oh,’ she said, rolling her eyes, ‘would you ever stop talking!?’

I will now. Goodbye, Mam. We’ll miss you.

– A tribute read after Mass in St Matthew's Church, Ballyfermot, 30 December 2020.

02 November 2020

Helping each other up the mountain of hope

It being November, today is the feast of All Souls, or The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, as my missal has it. Back in the day, when I was a Dominican, I wrote a blogpost in my private diary blog in which I mapped out some thoughts on purgatory, on All Souls, and most importantly on those I keep in my prayers. Sometimes I can forget people, so I thought it as well to call them systematically to mind again now as best I can -- and in doing so, give myself something to refer to. 

The word 'Purgatory' may not appear in the Bible, but that doesn’t mean the doctrine isn’t there, readily drawn out from references to prayers that help the dead, to how nothing imperfect can enter heaven and a fire that purifies us after death, and to a prison where souls go till their debts are paid.

Just as it’s for the Blessed to pray for us, so it is for us, then, to visit those souls in prison but guaranteed to share in the Blessed Vision, praying for those destined for heaven that they may more quickly reach the top of Dante’s mountain of hope. Having done the Camino, I have a better sense nowadays than I used to have of how we're all in this together, and obliged to pull together to help each other to the finishing line.

With that in mind, then, I have a lot of people to pray for today, just as I hope lots of people, here or up above, are praying for me, since we all need each other's help. I can't pray for the faithful departed in Mass today, of course, given the situation at the moment, but I can pray for them here, and later on I can light a candle for them and pray for them in presence of the Blessed Sacrament, and I can join my prayers with those being prayed in Masses across the land and around the world today.

Many of these, I'm sure, don't need any prayers at all, but it certainly can't hurt.

I pray today for Nana and Grandad, all the Dodds, Auntie Maureen, and my cousins Philip, David, and Lily; for Auntie Brenda, Auntie Kathleen, Great Auntie Mary, my cousins Janet and Michael, and Richard; for my uncle John, for Mam's parents, for aunt Doreen, and for Monica.

I pray for Mary and Paddy Hoare, for Mr Harwood, for Mr and Mrs McCourt, for Mrs Kerrigan, for Mr Gahan, for Mr and Mrs Reeves, for John Ryan, Mick Doyle, Mr Lyons, Jim Freeman, Mrs Gibson, Mr and Mrs and Bernie Flanagan, Mrs Mannelly, Mr Doyle, Elizabeth Kenny, and Matt and Clare O’Reilly.

I pray for Johnny McGrath, Delores Spittal, Dick Molumby, Frank Beggan, and Dessie Breen; for Joe Hanrahan, Dave Leavy, Frank and Mrs Towey, Jack Farrelly, Shay Lord, Jim Skerritt, David Fitzgerald, and Gary Kennedy from the Silver Granite; for Mary Ward; for Tom Corr, Sean Mitchell, Eamon Woulfe, Liam Glynn, and Padraic Naughton from Moyle Park.

I pray for Gavan Nugent, Anthony Desmond, Sean Kenny, Paul Brown, Conn Murphy, Marie Plisnier, Agueda Pons, Michelle Cosgrave, and Kathleen Griffin; for Julie Yipp and Kevin Hunneybell from my Camino, and for Francis McKenzie from my visit to Peru.

I pray for Val Grant, Alex Walker, Theresa MacDonagh, Gerard McCarthy, and Alan Gilbert from the University of Manchester; and for John, Kathleen Bibby, Mary McFaul, John and Agnes Ainsworth, and Kate Gregg from Wilmslow.

I pray for Sr Mary David Totah; for Fr Con Curley, Fr Gerard Byrne, Fr Flo Lynch; for Fr David Lumsden and Fr Martin Ryan; for Fr Tom Heneghan; for Fr Simon Roche OP, Fr Martin McCarthy OP, Fr Dermot Brennan OP, and Fr Bob Talty OP.

I pray for Jenny Daly, and Sr Agnes, and Helen, and all the other ladies from Mam's nursing home.

I pray for Fritz Schult from Pollatomish; for Sarah's grandad Alan Martindale; for Laura's grandad Tony Adams; for Christopher's mum Mary Dawson; for Michael's mother Ann Kelly; for Colum's dad Joe Keating, for Aidan Higgins' father Colin, for the fathers of Daron Higgins, Claire O’Brien, Lucy Corcoran, Dara Gantley, Blaithin Ni Giolla Rua, Martin Brady, and Bridget Martin; for Breda Polly and Tom Crotty; and for Polly and Dan’s friends Will Scott and Dominic Crisp.

I pray for the souls of all those dear to those I love, for the souls of all those dear to me, and for the souls of all those whose names and faces I have forgotten. 

May the Lord God almighty have mercy on their souls, and may his perpetual light shine upon them; may they rest in peace.


08 July 2017

Dubious dubia, or, when you make smoke and claim fire...

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about the dubia again, not least following Stephen Walford’s most recent article — which I’ve liked a lot, and I thought I’d get some thoughts down. I might be wildly wrong here, of course.

Looking at the dubia letter, the quartet starts with what they deem ‘A Necessary Foreword’:
‘The great Tradition of the Church teaches us that the way out of situations like this is recourse to the Holy Father, asking the Apostolic See to resolve those doubts, which are the cause of disorientation and confusion.’
Are the cardinals really saying that the doubts are the cause of disorientation and confusion? Because that makes sense to me. Mueller, for instance, has denied that Amoris Laetitia itself causing confusion, and said that insofar as there is confusion around the exhortation, it was confused interpreters who were producing confused interpretations.

In that same interview, Mueller also advised that those talking too much about Amoris, including those bishops who he says were interpreting the Pope’s teaching in their own fashion and those who were taking individual tiny passages from the exhortation and looking at them out of context, to start by looking at what the Church itself teaches about the papacy and the episcopacy.

From the first dubium, then:
‘It is asked whether, following the affirmations of Amoris Laetitia (300-305), it has now become possible to grant absolution in the sacrament of penance and thus to admit to holy Communion a person who, while bound by a valid marital bond, lives together with a different person more uxorio without fulfilling the conditions provided for by Familiaris Consortio, 84, and subsequently reaffirmed by Reconciliatio et Paenitentia, 34, and Sacramentum Caritatis, 29.
‘Can the expression “in certain cases” found in Note 351 (305) of the exhortation Amoris Laetitia be applied to divorced persons who are in a new union and who continue to live more uxorio?’
I’m deeply uneasy with how this question has been phrased and framed, as in ways it looks like two questions rather than one, and it seems to contain a numerical shift that’s hugely important when it comes to addressing it.

If this is one question, and I’m not sure it is, the question must be the second part, in which case I think the first bit should be treated as a kind of explanatory note, intended to set up a question where we think of an individual in what might be deemed a hard case – a woman or man has remarried and can’t realistically promise abstention from the marital bed without alienating their spouse in such a way that could lead to violence or to children suffering.

On this basis, if we had to answer this ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as per the conventions of dubia, such that we can’t qualify it by emphasising ‘in some cases’ I think the answer would then have to be ‘yes’.

The thing is, I’d be very uneasy with this kind of answer, not least because the question contains a numerical shift. The introductory statement pertains to individuals, and is explicitly singular in nature, whereas the question is a plural question, and pertains to couples, inviting the question of why a couple who both wanted to come fully into the Church couldn’t jointly strive to live as brother and sister?

Saving the kind of precise exception spelled out in my Aquinas, Trent, and Amoris piece in The Irish Catholic, I’m not really sure that couples where either party is divorced-and-remarried could as couples be granted absolution and receive Communion without doing this. And, as such, I think the answer would have to be ‘no’.

In general, I think a lot of confusion around Amoris surrounds people who persist in reading as plural terms that are meant as singular. In this case the issue seems actively blurred. I don’t blame Francis for not answering this one. My answer, if I were him, might well have been ‘define your terms’.

Then there’s the second dubium.
‘After the publication of the post-synodal exhortation Amoris Laetitia (304), does one still need to regard as valid the teaching of St. John Paul II’s encyclical Veritatis Splendor, 79, based on sacred Scripture and on the Tradition of the Church, on the existence of absolute moral norms that prohibit intrinsically evil acts and that are binding without exceptions?’
I don’t think St John Paul said at that point in Veritatis Splendor that certain absolute moral norms prohibit intrinsically evil acts without exceptions. Rather, as far as I can see, he said it was wrong to claim that the immorality of acts can only be considered in connection with intentions and foreseeable consequences, with the key thing being whether acts are capable of being ordered towards the good and indeed towards God himself. And I don’t think that’s at odds with Francis’ point at all. In fact, and maybe I’m missing something massive, I don’t see how it could be.

So I can see that this would have put Francis in an awkward spot.

Again, if I were him I’d have been tempted to answer, ‘Well, if you’re asking whether we should regard St John Paul’s teaching in Veritatis Splendor as still valid, then yes, of course, but if you’re asking whether we should regard your take on it as valid, well, then we might need to have a chat. Also, what’s with the whole “based on sacred Scripture and the Tradition of the Church”? That sounds to me as though you’re daring me to say “no”, as though by doing so I’d break with the Church. Was that kind of snarky threat intended?’

Anyway, then we’ve a third dubium, as follows:
‘After Amoris Laetitia (301) is it still possible to affirm that a person who habitually lives in contradiction to a commandment of God’s law, as for instance the one that prohibits adultery (Matthew 19:3-9), finds him or herself in an objective situation of grave habitual sin (Pontifical Council for Legislative Texts, “Declaration,” June 24, 2000)?’
I genuinely can’t even see where this question comes from. They seem to be asking whether Amoris gives a blanket excuse such that it would be impossible to say that habitual behaviour is ever a mortal sin.

The Church already teaches that habit can be a mitigating factor – essentially one’s will is less one’s own that it should be – but not that it’s a blanket excuse for all people in all situations, and I don’t see that Amoris even touches that for a second. Nor, for what it’s worth, do I think the Maltese bishops or the bishops of Buenos Aires or anyone else has ever suggested that.

I think the answer here, surely, is ‘Of course it’s possible. Yes. Why on earth wouldn’t it be? Yes!’

And so to the fourth dubium:

‘After the affirmations of Amoris Laetitia (302) on “circumstances which mitigate moral responsibility,” does one still need to regard as valid the teaching of St. John Paul II’s encyclical Veritatis Splendor, 81, based on sacred Scripture and on the Tradition of the Church, according to which “circumstances or intentions can never transform an act intrinsically evil by virtue of its object into an act ‘subjectively’ good or defensible as a choice”?’
Right, once again, what’s with this ‘based on sacred Scripture and the Tradition of the Church’ malarkey? If I was Francis, I’d kick furniture on reading this. It’s so obviously a snarky comment which sets the whole question up for the paraphrase ‘Are you rejecting Church teaching?’

Offensive implications aside, it seems to me that what’s going on here is that the lads are comparing apples with oranges. They’re saying ‘Given what Amoris says about responsibility for acts, is the Church’s teaching on the morality of the acts themselves still valid?’

The Church, of course, has long distinguished between such things as the morality of acts and the extent to which this morality can and should be imputed to the actor: if it did not, the Church would only have one criterion for considering whether a sin is mortal, that being ‘grave matter’; ‘full knowledge’ and ‘deliberate consent’ wouldn’t even be part of the discussion.

As such, my answer to this would be, ‘What? Of course John Paul’s teaching on this is still valid! Yes! Of course! Why on earth are you even asking this? You do know that acts and responsibility for acts are not the same thing, right? And seriously, what on earth are you playing at, asking whether I accept things that are based on Scripture and Tradition?’

Finally, there’s the fifth dubium.
‘After Amoris Laetitia (303) does one still need to regard as valid the teaching of St. John Paul II’s encyclical Veritatis Splendor, 56, based on sacred Scripture and on the Tradition of the Church, that excludes a creative interpretation of the role of conscience and that emphasises that conscience can never be authorised to legitimate exceptions to absolute moral norms that prohibit intrinsically evil acts by virtue of their object?’
I think this is probably a rather better question than the previous ones, but again it’s marred by the snarkily gratuitous reference to Scripture and Tradition and ultimately leaves me wondering why this would confuse people.

Veritatis Splendor talks of how conscience can’t be applied creatively so as to engineer exceptions to the moral law, allowing people to do things that are intrinsically evil. Are intrinsically evil acts also objectively evil acts? I’d have thought they are. I wouldn’t have thought intrinsically evil acts could be anything other than objectively evil ones. Yes?

Bearing this in mind, what Amoris Laetitia says is the following. Some situations are – objectively – not what the Church or indeed God wants of us, and our consciences can enable us to realise this. However, it says, our conscience is capable of doing more than identifying whether a certain state is good or bad: it can also identify whether a certain direction is good or bad. That is, it can do more than name a destination; it can show us the way, recognising that this way is God’s way towards the destination that God wishes us to reach.

I don’t see that this is wildly different from, for instance, Pope Benedict’s comment about how a prostitute starting to use condoms could ‘be a first step in the direction of a moralisation, a first assumption of responsibility, on the way toward recovering an awareness that not everything is allowed and that one cannot do whatever one wants’. In other words, I think, while we’re not talking about choosing lesser evils, we are saying that within objectively sinful scenarios God can lead people by stages towards a way out, and sometimes can write straight with crooked lines.

So, as an answer were I Francis I’d be very tempted, to respond as follows: ‘Do we still need to regard as valid the teaching of the pope who had me consecrated as bishop and who appointed me as a cardinal, and indeed who I canonised as a saint? Yes, yes I think we do. I really can’t see why you’d ask me otherwise. And I can’t see why you’re pointing out that his teaching is based on Scripture and Tradition unless you’re somehow trying to suggest that mine might not be. But anyway, I’m tired. Leave your hats at the door on your way out, please.’

I’m really not surprised that Cardinal Mueller said he thought confused interpreters were provoking confused interpretations and how the dubia cardinals have said their doubts are causing confusion. Given how dodgy these dubia are, these seem fair observations.

Originally published at Mark Shea's blog.

14 December 2016

On applications of Amoris Laetitia, and dubious reporting about said...

It increasingly seems to me that there are few more poisonous elements in the modern Catholic Church than the nest of vipers that is churchmilitant.com – there are reasons, after all, while Philadelphia’s Archbishop Charles Chaput has said it and another site are ‘destructive’, tending to ‘sow division wherever they tread’. Indeed, Archbishop Chaput’s diocesan office is said the site is ‘not interested in presenting information in any useful way’, its ‘sole desire’ being ‘to create division, confusion, and conflict within the Church’. 

Philadelphia’s observation that Church Militant’s ‘reports are not to be taken seriously’ sprang to mind this afternoon as I’ve seen people linking to an article on the site, declaring that, ‘Following a diocesan synod, Bp. Robert McElroy has ordered priests in his diocese to post invitations in parish bulletins welcoming divorced and remarried Catholics to “utilize the internal forum of conscience” when it comes to receiving the Eucharist.’

Supporting this claim, the article linked to one of the parish bulletins in question, and indeed if you read down the article you will at least see the relevant passage, which, in summarising the diocesan synod, says:

‘The delegates spoke movingly to the need for the Church to reach out to divorced men and women at every moment of their journey, to support them spiritually and pastorally, to help them move through the annulment process, and to assist those who are divorced and remarried and cannot receive an annulment to utilize the internal forum of conscience in order to discern if God is calling them to return to the Eucharist.’

The bulletin, in other words, describes how delegates at the synod said they believed the Church should help people to see if they are called to return to Communion. Granted, you might think this imprudent for various reasons, but even so, if you're honest you'll admit that the reality is not quite the same as the headline description. And yet, if you didn't bother to click through, you might think that initial claim was a fair.

It’s funny how people get things so wrong when it comes to San Diego’s current bishop. 

Only the other week, Ross Douthat was talking in the New York Times about what he calls ‘the teaching document recently produced by San Diego’s bishop, the Francis-appointed, beloved-of-progressives Robert McElroy, following a diocesan synod convened to discuss the implementation of Amoris’. 

He then proceeds to quote from – as he had linked to – Embracing the Joy of Love, a document Dr McElroy issued in May of this year, just a month after Amoris Laetitia had come out, as he makes clear in the opening line, and most certainly not after the diocesan synod that took place at the end of October.

There’d be a lot less craziness in online Catholicism if people only took the time to read things properly.

14 July 2016

Brexit aftermath: an advisory referendum?

There seems to be some debate over whether or not the Brexit referendum was always intended to be advisory rather than binding. Yesterday, for instance, a friend told me on Twitter, "And that 'advisory' caveat has only emerged since folk have wanted to reverse/ignore [the poll result] -- we heard no talk of it before the referendum, or when Remain were strong favourites."

He's not been alone in taking this line, but I think this may be a case of "what you hear depends on who's doing the hearing", because I'd certainly heard and understood that the Brexit referendum, unlike, for example, the AV one, was purely advisory, such that regardless of the result it would be for Parliament, which in British democracy is sovereign, to decide whether or not the UK would leave the EU; individual MPs could and should take the referendum result into account in deciding how to vote, but they would not be bound by what was going to be, in effect, a glorified opinion poll.

Here is The Guardian, for instance, reporting in February that "Legally the referendum is advisory but in practice it is binding, and may even prompt the resignation of the prime minister." There's a distinction here between legal and political realities, of course, and the latter need serious pondering, but there's a clear statement that as a matter of law the referendum was to be an advisory one. 

Business Insider, more than a week ahead of the referendum wrote that "Parliament doesn't actually have to bring Britain out of the EU if the public votes for it. That is because the result of the June 23 referendum on Britain's EU membership is not legally binding. Instead, it is merely advisory, and, in theory, could be totally ignored by the UK government."

And around the same time, David Allen Green was writing for the Financial Times that, "The relevant legislation did not provide for the referendum result to have any formal trigger effect. The referendum is advisory rather than mandatory. The 2011 referendum on electoral reform did have an obligation on the government to legislate in the event of a 'yes' vote (the vote was 'no' so this did not matter). But no such provision was included in the EU referendum legislation. What happens next in the event of a vote to leave is therefore a matter of politics not law. It will come down to what is politically expedient and practicable."

Also in advance of the Referendum, the Telegraph reported that, "A spokesman for the electoral commission said that as the result was an advisory election, rather than a binary one, it was a matter for the Commons.

'It's an advisory referendum so Parliament is likely to advise but it's a matter for the Government,' he said. 'It's what's referred to as an advisory rather than a binary result.'

That piece also quoted Nigel Farage as recognising that a 52-48 outcome would be anything but decisive, saying, "In a 52-48 referendum this would be unfinished business by a long way. If the Remain campaign win two-thirds to one-third that ends it."

Ahead of the Referendum, The Week wrote that, "In the extremely unlike result of a mathematical tie, it seems likely that Parliament would decide the matter – not least because the referendum is not, in fact, legally binding."

Strikingly, on the day of the Referendum, the Israeli daily Haaretz asked "Is the referendum binding?
" and answered "No. Parliament isn't legally required to abide by the vote, but there would be strong political pressure to do so, especially if the result of the referendum is clear-cut."

I'm not saying that the fact of the referendum being a non-binding advisory poll was sung from the rooftops in the run-in to the vote. I am, however, pointing out that this fact wasn't invented -- even in the old sense of 'discovered' -- in the aftermath of the vote or even when things were looking bad for the cause of remaining in the Union.

Let's face it, if the Israelis knew well before the votes were in that the referendum was  not something that parliament would be obliged to implement, but only something to be engaged with and take into account rather than be obliged to implement, any English voters who didn't to grasp this only have themselves to blame.

What happens next is a matter of politics, not law. The fact that an English majority a few weeks back said they wanted to leave the EU is an important political reality. It's not the only one.

24 June 2016

After Brexit, what now for the North?

I was troubled last night to read people expressing delight at the huge queues at polling booths across the UK. Such a massive turnout, seemingly, was a triumph for democracy. I wasn't so sure. There's far more to democracy than just casting votes, and those who act as though democracy is something that happens but on rare occasions and purely in the privacy of the polling booth do a disservice to democracy. 

If democracy is to mean anything -- if our votes are to mean anything -- we have to participate in an informed way. I was pretty sure that wasn't happening: how valuable are votes cast on the basis of a mythical £350m a week, or to ward off Turkish accession, or in the belief that EU laws are made by unelected bureaucrats, or that there's no way to remove the European Commission from office, or because of the belief that British fishing collapsed when it joined the EEC, or any of a host of other lies? 

The 'Leave' campaigners lied and lied egregiously throughout the Brexit referendum campaign, and did so tapping into decades of popular poison from the British press, and if lots of people who've long felt disenfranchised and ignored should have been willing to go along with this kind of stuff, well, maybe that should have been expected.

I've less sympathy for others, for those who take the pains to be informed of things they care about, but who on other issues prefer instead to listen simply to those whose political views conveniently tally with their own judgments and to shout down calls for them to inform themselves as mere elitism.

So for those who make much of their pro-life credentials, and who dismissed my concerns and those of others about the lives and livelihoods of those in Northern Ireland being actively endangered by a vote to quit the EU, here are just a handful of things they might look before they next put themselves forward to speak as Catholics or pro-lifers, or even just look in the mirror.

Not for nothing has The Irish Times said, "Of all the things that could happen to an Irish government short of the outbreak of war, this is pretty much up there with the worst of them."

Then there was The Guardian a couple of days back, observing that, "Great Britain may be able to weather a Brexit, but Northern Ireland simply cannot."

Lucinda Creighton may not be everyone's cup of tea, but she had a point when she said the other day that, "Brexit poses the greatest threat to the Northern Irish Peace Process since the Good Friday Agreement was signed in 1998."  

For a more cautious take, unsurprisingly from a pro-Brexit paper, The Telegraph warned, "The scenario of the UK leaving the European Union, when a majority of the population of Northern Ireland have opted to remain (and especially if there has been a decisive vote in favour among the nationalist community), may exacerbate tensions, fuel demands for a border poll on Irish unification and challenge the durability of the peace process."  

Then we have from the Centre on Constitutional Change the observation that "a British exit from the EU risks undermining the very self-determination and national sovereignty that its adherents believe it will bring about", continuing, "This is because it risks shattering the fragile balance and stability of the UK by threatening the peace settlement in Northern Ireland ".  

Onetime MEP Brendan Donnelly wrote from the London School of Economics, meanwhile, that "it is clear that much potential exists for the destabilisation of Northern Ireland through a vote to leave the EU on 23 June", continuing, "The Good Friday agreement is under more strain from a currently low level of sectarian violence than is sometimes appreciated".  

At the Euractiv site, Paul Brannan hammers this home when he says, "with politics in Northern Ireland already on the brink of breakdown and the Good Friday Agreement in jeopardy, a UK EU exit threatens a total collapse of the peace process".

And for those who think Britain can keep the show on the road, as though it's taken seriously as an honest broker and was never known as 'perfidious Albion', The New Statesman points out: "Funnily enough, the same people who don't trust Britain to administer the peace process would also be unhappy with the EU leaving that process."

I could say more, but that'll do for now. Words seem unlikely to do any good now the die is cast.

20 June 2016

Final Week Brexit Thoughts II - The Threat to Northern Ireland

About a week or so back Catholic Voices hosted a debate in London in which two speakers gave impressive speeches on why the UK should remain in the European Union and two argued in similarly impressive fashion to the effect that the UK should leave the Union. 

Better-humoured, more honest, more thoughtful and broader-minded than almost all engagements I've read or witnessed on the topic, the debate on the motion "This house believes that Catholic values are best served by remaining in the European Union" was nonetheless striking for a complete absence of references to the single most Catholic part of the UK, that being Northern Ireland.

According to 2011 figures, 40.8% of the Northern Irish population is Catholic. This stands in stark contrast to England and Wales, for instance, where, if Steven Bullivant is right, just 13.7% of the population say they were raised Catholic, with a mere 8.3% of the population holding to the Faith now.

I appreciate the Brexit debate is really an 'Exit' debate in that the discussion is primarily driven by English concerns and will be decided by English votes, with the lesser partners in the UK at best hoping to tip the scales if an English vote is finely balanced, but I think that English voters should at least give some thought to how their votes are likely to affect things beyond England.

Northern Ireland's bishops have, of course, warned of the dangers of a Brexit to the North, and their concerns seem shared by Northern Ireland's Catholics. A Millward Brown poll in early June found that 70% of Northern Catholics were in favour of the UK remaining in the EU, with a mere 12% advocating that the UK quit the Union. A more recent Ipsos Mori poll has shown just 56% of Catholics in favour of remaining in the Union, though again a mere 12% seem to back a Brexit

Dividing countries the hard way
Such low support for withdrawal from the Union is understandable in a region where the UK's only land border is to be found, and where there has never really been a traditional border: for centuries, after all, Ireland was united under one form or other of British rule, and even after the Irish War of Independence it was possible for people to cross back and forth without a passport. Under the UK's 1949 Ireland Act Irish people are not considered aliens in British law, and the soft and porous nature of the border has been vital for the North's economy. It's not really surprising that people in the border counties especially might not be looking forward to this ending.

Of course, it's far from obvious that a hard border will be imposed between Ireland and the UK within the island of Ireland. Given the realities of Irish roads, about 200 of which cross the border, and how farms and fields straddle the boundary, it's hard to see how any border within Ireland, even one policed by border guards and soldiers, could bar from the UK anyone really intent on crossing over. And given that immigration fears are utterly central to Britain's EU debate, this is a question that needs pondering.

Cameron engaged with this in the Commons last week, when he answered a question from the SDLP's Alasdair McDonnell by saying that following Brexit there would have to be a hard border. "Therefore," he said, "you can only have new border controls between the Republic and Northern Ireland or, which I would regret hugely, you would have to have some sort of checks on people as they left Belfast or other parts of Northern Ireland to come to the rest of the United Kingdom."

I suspect that in practical terms a functional EU/non-EU border would have to be not in Ireland but between Britain and Northern Ireland, thus splitting the UK and making the Northern Irish second-class citizens, as the alternative would be bringing in checkpoints on dozens of Irish roads with soldiers patrolling the lands and minor roads between them, all of which would be likely to require the kind of security apparatus likely to fire up the republicans again, inviting a return to the kind of protracted low-intensity civil war that previous blighted the North.

Impoverishing the Six Counties
Even aside from the technical issue of the border, there's a high chance that a Brexit vote would impoverish Northern Ireland. Farm subsidies are regional expenditures, and it's striking that Northern Ireland's farmers receive four times the amount of EU subsidies than do England's ones. 80% of Northern dairy produce is exported, and when pondering this people need to remember that no part of the UK exports a higher proportion of its exports to other parts of the EU than does Northern Ireland. Any kind of border would hurt that, as would any imposition of tariffs and any hindering of the currently free trading arrangements. Tariffs on dairy imports to the EU, it's worth pointing out, average 36%.

The EU has played an absolutely crucial role in the Northern Irish peace process, of course, with John Hume detailing in his 1998 Nobel Prize acceptance speech how he had been hugely inspired in his work for peace by his European experience.
"I always tell this story," he said, "and I do so because it is so simple yet so profound and so applicable to conflict resolution anywhere in the world. On my first visit to Strasbourg in 1979 as a member of the European Parliament. I went for a walk across the bridge from Strasbourg to Kehl. Strasbourg is in France. Kehl is in Germany. They are very close. I stopped in the middle of the bridge and I meditated. There is Germany. There is France. If I had stood on this bridge 30 years ago after the end of the Second World War when 25 million people lay dead across our continent for the second time in this century and if I had said: 'Don't worry. In 30 years' time we will all be together in a new Europe, our conflicts and wars will be ended and we will be working together in our common interests', I would have been sent to a psychiatrist."  
"But it has happened," he continued, "and it is now clear that European Union is the best example in the history of the world of conflict resolution and it is the duty of everyone, particularly those who live in areas of conflict to study how it was done and to apply its principles to their own conflict resolution." 
"All conflict is about difference, whether the difference is race, religion or nationality," he said, continuing, "The European visionaries decided that difference is not a threat, difference is natural. Difference is of the essence of humanity. Difference is an accident of birth and it should therefore never be the source of hatred or conflict. The answer to difference is to respect it. Therein lies a most fundamental principle of peace - respect for diversity."
"The peoples of Europe then created institutions which respected their diversity - a Council of Ministers, the European Commission and the European Parliament - but allowed them to work together in their common and substantial economic interest. They spilt their sweat and not their blood and by doing so broke down the barriers of distrust of centuries and the new Europe has evolved and is still evolving, based on agreement and respect for difference," he said, before declaring, "That is precisely what we are now committed to doing in Northern Ireland."
Fine words? Sure, but accurate ones too, and not merely has the European project, with its dedication through most of its history to peace-building through calling people of different communities to work together, inspired peace in the North, but it has underpinned it too. 

As the Ulster Unionist MEP Jim Nicholson wrote the other day, "I will always remember when, in October 1994, just as the loyalist ceasefire was announced, Ian Paisley, John Hume and I met with then European Commission president Jacques Delors. He shared our optimism that Northern Ireland would move to a new beginning away from violence and pledged EU financial support. And he was true to his word -- weeks later, £240m of European funding for peace-building in Northern Ireland was approved. By 2020, Northern Ireland and the border region of the Republic will have received more than €2bn in PEACE funding alone.

PEACE funding only makes up one part of the money the North draws down from Europe, Nicholson continued, and the truth is that the EU has largely rebuilt Northern Ireland since the ceasefires began. Northern Irish prosperity, and Northern Irish peace, in no small part depend on the EU.

(Of course, the EU has done a huge amount in general to support those parts of the UK furthest from London; whether London lets them languish and runs the UK for the benefit of the English South-east you can mull over for yourselves.)

Explicitly undermining the Good Friday Agreement
Those who might doubt that a vote for Brexit is a vote to destabilise Northern Ireland should look too at the Good Friday Agreement, which explicitly rests on the fact of the UK and Ireland being "partners in the European Union".

The North-South Ministerial Council envisages the Northern and Republican governments working together -- at a local level, for those who doubt that subsidiarity matters to the modern EU -- on a range of such necessarily EU-related matters as agriculture, the environment, tourism, transport, and the management and oversight of EU programmes through Ireland's National Development Plan and Northern Ireland's Structural Funds Plan.

It's hard to see how this strand of the agreement can work if Northern Ireland is no longer in the EU, and since the Northern Assembly is explicitly described in the agreement as "mutually interdependent" with the Council, it looks as though withdrawal from the EU could endanger the entire Northern settlement.

And that's not even getting into how under the agreement everyone in Northern Ireland is entitled simultaneously to be citizens of the UK and Ireland, such that following a Brexit they could -- on the face of it -- both be citizens of the EU and non-citizens of the EU. I'm not sure how how much thought's been given in the Brexit camp to Schroedinger's Ulstermen.

Overall, a Brexit vote is a vote to risk instability, poverty, and civil war in Northern Ireland. It's not really surprising that the Northern bishops and the vast majority of Northern Catholics are opposed to it. It baffles me how many in England seem not to care in the least about this. 

19 June 2016

Final Week Brexit Thoughts 1 - Brexit: The Movie

Imagine if, during the Scottish independence referendum, a few nationalists with a bit of cash had got together to make a ‘Scexit Movie’.

“We the people,” a gravelly burr would portentously intone, “are being cajoled, frightened, and bullied into surrendering our democracy and freedom. This film is a rallying cry. We must fight for ourselves for the right to determine the freedom to shape our own freedom.”

Imagine, then, a succession of talking heads babbling about how England having 85% of the UK population means the Scots can only influence the direction of the UK when the English are split down the middle, about how the UK voting system means that two out of five English votes can be enough to control the whole UK, and how a free and independent Scotland would be wealthier than anyone could imagine.

And then, having pondered that, imagine a thoughtful-looking Scot on the train from Edinburgh to London, saying he’s on his way to London to find out what the UK is all about, and in London hopping into a black cab at Trafalgar Square, addressing a baffled cabbie with “The UK, please”.
That’s pretty much how last month’s Brexit: The Movie starts, and looking at it again now after a few weeks’ recovery since my last viewing, it’s not matured with time.

Time and again in recent weeks, friends and nodding acquaintances have been flagging video after video online, calling on people unsure of their referendum voting intentions to watch them as though they’re slamdunk arguments for the UK quitting the EU. I’ve looked at a few and found them unpersuasive, typically loaded with fictions, half-truths and contradictions, dependent on dubious presumptions, and assiduously devoid of inconvenient truths.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’ve been impressed by the louder voices calling for the UK to stay in the Union; while prominent Brexiteers have traded in outright falsehoods about the past and present, prominent Bremainers have with depressing frequency tended towards apocalyptic predictions based on worst-case exaggerations, their cases not being helped by – all too often – their own back catalogues of anti-European opportunism.

Sure, I think reckless prophecies are better than blatant and demonstrable lies, but I think we can all agree that neither's especially good.

Given this is my fourth attempt in the last fortnight at trying something on Brexit: The Movie, as life keeps getting in the way, I’ll not be tackling any other high-profile interventions in a head-to-head way this side of the referendum. Instead, if I can, I’ll try to do two or three posts this week on why I think the EU is a good – if imperfect – thing, and why I think leaving it would be an irresponsible thing to do.

First Impressions
When I first watched the film I scrawled 18 pages of notes detailing obvious problems in it, and though I’ll not get through them all now, I think it’s worth starting by pointing out how problematic and telling the map that first appears a little over a minute into the film is.

See the obvious problem? Yep, there’s the EU carefully marked in blue, and there, floating off its coast in ‘rest of the world’ beige, are Britain and Ireland. It’s almost as though the people who’ve made this film don’t realise that most of Ireland is part of the EU and indeed has been independent of the UK for almost a century. 

In truth, it’s almost as if the people responsible for this film haven’t a very good grasp of history at all: they seem to have but the most cartoonishly propagandist understanding of British history up to, oh, 1913 or so, and depend utterly on pub rantings for their knowledge of what’s happened since.
But on that, more later.

As suggested above, the whole “take me to the EU” thing is, of course, as absurd as hopping into a taxi in London and saying “take me to the UK”, partly because you can’t be taken to the EU when you’re already in the EU, and partly because just as there no single building that houses the UK’s governing institutions there’s of course no single building in which the EU’s institutions are found –that's the nature of complex institutions intended to tackle complex things like, well, reality.

For Brexit: The Movie, this is a bad thing: the narrator describes this as where “the EU slips its first cog” since “for a democracy to function there needs to be transparency”. Of course, while the EU has democratic elements, it isn’t a democracy, and I don’t know many British people who would want it to be one, given how this would mean abandoning all British vetoes and any decision-making mechanism beyond the parliament in which they’d never be likely to make up more than 12% or so of the vote.

No, the EU’s structure is basically that of a mixed constitution, a bit like the UK and a bit like the US and a bit like Germany, but overall is something entirely new. Its institutional structure is actually pretty simple in its essence with laws being made more or less as follows:
The European heads of government collectively set the EU’s direction through the European Council;
The Commission then drafts legislation in line with that direction;
These drafts are then sent to national parliaments for feedback;
The directly-elected European Parliament approves, proposes amendments to, or rejects the draft legislation;
Providing the Parliament hasn’t rejected the proposed law, the European governments then through the Council of the European Union actually make the law based on parliamentary feedback;
And the Commission is tasked with implementing it. 
There’s more to it than this, of course, not least as there are different types of laws, but this is the guts of it.

The key thing to note is that it is the elected national governments that collectively set the course of the EU, and that make the laws in combination with – in most cases – the elected MEPs of the European Parliament. These are not “faceless bureaucrats” or anything of the sort. They are elected representatives whose own people can remove from office.

The Commission, despite constant claims to the contrary, do not make the laws. They may draft things, but unless the European governments decide to turn those things into laws, they’re just bits of paper. It is a blatant untruth that “the real power in the EU, including the power to legislate, lies not with the parliament, but with EU officials”: EU officials do not make laws.

If the various talking heads in this polemic don't understand how the EU works, well, maybe this says something about the extent to which they’re qualified to criticise the EU. At this point I'm starting to wonder if it'd be worthwhile paraphrasing Fulton Sheen to the effect that there are not one hundred people in the United Kingdom who hate the European Union, but there are millions who hate what they wrongly believe the European Union to be.

“Would it help if you knew who they were” wails one of the film’s talking heads, continuing, “because you don’t have any power over them, so what’s the point?”

An extensively lobbied and utterly irrelevant parliament?
Cue a section dismissing the Parliament, beginning with Claire Fox of the Institute of Ideas rhetorically asking, “Have you ever known anybody know who their MEP is? No, because nobody does.”

Leaving aside how mine, fwiw, are Brian Hayes of Fine Gael, Sinn Féin’s Lynn Boylan, and the independent Nessa Childers, I think the question doesn’t really work in the UK, or at least in England. English people are used to having “their MP”, such that it’s not always easy to get the hang of having, say, eight MEPs, as people in North West England do. Would Claire Fox require people in that constituency to know the names of all eight of their MEPs, or just one?

Nigel Farage pops up next, claiming that the European Parliament is the world’s only parliament where elected representatives cannot initiate legislation. The fact that the Parliament can ask the Commission to draft legislation – with these requests increasingly being acceded to, reflecting an informal but real growth in parliamentary influence – doesn’t get a look in. 

Next up there are more heads claiming that the MEPs are utterly powerless, and that voting for them is pointless, all of which is rather undermined by a sequence later in the film about how large corporations spend a fortune trying to influence them. Would large corporations really try so hard to woo MEPs if they didn’t matter?

In truth, MEPs have a wide range of powers, can block most Commission proposals from becoming law, and have the power to censure the Commission, forcing its resignation. Yes, democratically-elected MEPs have the power to depose the Commission. None of this, of course, is mentioned in Brexit: The Movie, which instead concentrates on painting a risibly false picture of the British as subjects of unelected bureaucrats who impose laws in which the British have no say.

All of which makes it all the stranger then to see, after a section about how MEPs are given startlingly large amounts of money, MEPs Nigel Farage and Daniel Hannan banging on about how the only reason why local authorities, academics, and people in the arts like the EU is because their support is bought with EU money. 

Yep, people who get money from the EU can't be trusted to tell the truth about the EU, say two people who are very well paid by the EU. I’ll just let that sink in for a bit.

Teach a man nonsense about fish...
Predictably enough there’s a section on fisheries, which talks of huge declines in the numbers of fish being processed in Newcastle while skipping how fish processing often happens at sea nowadays or how more than a third of the British catch is landed abroad, before declaring, “When Britain joined the Common Market it lost control of its fishing grounds. When quotas were imposed, several other European countries lobbied the EU for Britain’s fishing rights to be divided up between them. The British government was powerless to stop this.”

An elderly fisherman then says, “The EU has just obliterated the English fishing industry altogether. The quota system they’ve got now is just mad.” He then gestures beyond a nearby pier to say how a huge Dutch trawler had been there, three or four miles off the coast, entitled to “25% of the whole quota of all of England”. There is still a prospering North Atlantic fishing industry, the film continues, “but only in countries that have retained their independence”.

Now, there's no denying that fishing in Britain is not what it was, but what tends to be glossed over is that the main decline in the industry happened before Britain joined the EEC. The numbers employed in fishing dropped by 55% - 26,000 people – between 1948 and 1970, before basically stabilising and staying more or less the same until 1994, when numbers again began to drop after quotas had to be imposed in order to prevent fish stocks from being wiped out.

The overall decline since 1994 has been less than half that than the years leading up to the UK joining the Common Market.

What's more, it's simply nonsense to talk of how Britain lost control of its fishing grounds when it joined the Common Market; at the time Britain joined the EEC, Britain’s territorial waters extended twelve miles beyond the coast, and this twelve-mile zone is still exclusively British now. If a large Dutch trawler was indeed genuinely operating in this zone, as claimed in Brexit: The Movie, it was breaking the law, and the issue then is one of simple lawbreaking and perhaps an English inability or unwillingness to enforce the law as it stands.

Britain’s territorial waters have since the mid-1970s extended 200 miles from the coast, but this extension into waters where the Dutch,  Scandinavians and others had long fished happened while Britain was already an EEC country. Far from being powerless to prevent others from being allowed to fish in these waters, the UK agreed to this in negotiations.

According to recent statistics, the UK has the second-largest fishing fleet in the EU, and with 30% of the overall fish quota, lands the second-largest catch in the Union.

An invisible empire
A core part of the video is a “historical” section, purporting to explain how “the British” are different from “the Europeans”. Yes, the inverted commas are deliberate.

“The British,” it begins, “freed themselves from suffocating feudal regulations centuries before the Europeans.” Leaving aside how this ludicrously presents feudal class structures as though they were akin to government regulations, the point of this line is to lay down the central thesis of the film: regulation is bad and the absence of regulation is good. 

“While serfdom still existed in large parts of Europe,” it continues, “the free British were carrying out the great commercial and industrial revolutions that gave birth to the modern world. In the 19th Century, unregulated Britain was the pioneer of global free trade, the workshop of the world, dominating the world economy like a leviathan.”

There’s not a word about how the costs of unregulated industry were born by the urban poor, of how diseases, malnutrition, child labour and infant mortality were rife in 19th-century Britain, and there’s certainly not a word about how a lack of regulation and a fetishisation of free market economics contributed to the Irish famine that killed more than a million UK citizens and forced at least as many again to leave their homeland.

Yep, the single biggest disaster in terms of lives lost the UK ever experienced was in no small part caused by a lack of regulation. Good times.

Neither is there even the slightest mention of how all this was utterly dependent on the exploitation of people all over the world, with vast numbers dying in the colonies through famine and massacre. Orwell nailed this reality in 1937’s The Road to Wigan Pier when he observed that “apart from any other consideration, the high standard of life we enjoy in England depends upon our keeping a tight hold on the Empire, particularly the tropical portions of it such as India and Africa”.

He continued: “Under the capitalist system, in order that England may live in comparative comfort, a hundred million Indians must live on the verge of starvation — an evil state of affairs, but you acquiesce in it every time you step into a taxi or eat a plate of strawberries and cream. The alternative is to throw the Empire overboard and reduce England to a cold and unimportant little island where we should all have to work very hard and live mainly on herrings and potatoes.”

With nary a mention of how Britain needed that Empire to maintain what comfort the middle classes and those above them had, the film ignorantly or duplicitously goes on to talk about how things were great till the First World War, when regulations started to creep in, being ramped up in the Second World War, and going out of control after that, strangling British ingenuity.

The 1950s and 1960s, then, are painted as an over-regulated hell, with no mention of how Britain was struggling with the massive costs of the Second World War and was in the business of losing the Empire. Most of Ireland had broken away from the UK itself after the First World War, massively reducing the national territory, and India broke away within three years of the Second World War ending; colony after colony would follow. 

The single most important factor in Britain’s mid-century decline goes unmentioned in Brexit: The Movie, which is determined to hold up regulation as its culprit so it can present deregulation as the saviour of an independent Britain/

Heroic deregulation strikes again
Meanwhile, the film claims, West Germany was blossoming through deregulation, which I think a somewhat simplistic take on the Economic Miracle. Along came the Common Market then, holding up a wonderful tariff-free future. Daniel Hannan leaps in to claim that in the 1970s Britain had loads of problems but looked across the channel and thought “these chaps are doing something right”, almost as though the UK hadn’t been desperate to join from 1960 on.

“But the architect of the EEC wasn’t German – he was French,” the film continues, presenting Jean Monnet as an obsessive planner, partly responsible for having crippled the post-war British economy, and all set to shackle the EEC. Schuman and the other fathers of the European project don't get a mention in this shamefully selective narrative, of course, but maybe that's the nature of polemics: this isn't about truth, this is about winning.

“It soon became clear that the Common Market was so much more than a trade deal,” observes the film, as though this hadn’t been obvious since Robert Schuman’s 1950 Europe speech, explicitly stated in the first sentence of the Treaty of Rome, and praised by a young Margaret Thatcher in the 1960s.

“Its membership kept going up, as the EU assumed greater powers,” it goes on, as though increased membership wasn’t a British objective, before returning to the eternal villain that is regulation. Rather than arguing that perhaps some regulations shouldn’t have to be applied to companies that trade only on a local basis, but the creation of a genuine common market requires common standards for companies, products, and services being traded across that market, the film simply goes for the line that regulation is bad.

EU regulation pushes up the price of everything, we learn, forcing up the cost of living and making Europeans poorer. Now, I think we all know that since the crash of 2007 things haven’t been as they were, but still, if you look at the overall figures I don’t think there are many economists who’d say the figures show that Europeans have gotten poorer since joining the EEC or EU. Certainly Britain hasn't.

The Common Agricultural Policy is another predictable baddie in this screed, but while the policy is by no means unflawed and in some ways has been immoral, there’s no hint in the film of how it exists to ensure that Europe keeps people on the land and can always feed itself if it has to.  It’s worth bearing in mind how much food – not far off half its total consumption – Britain has to import, remembering that food security was one of the reasons why Thatcher said on 8 April 1975 that Britain shouldn’t leave the Common Market.

Still, if regulation is a villain in this film, it’s nice to see the World Trade Organisation appearing as a hero, even if its first head, Peter Sutherland, was previously an EU commissioner and someone who consistently warns against what he sees as the absurdity and destructiveness of British withdrawal from the EU, noting that the current incumbent of his old WTO seat holds the same views.

The WTO is opening up the markets, deregulating and driving down tariffs, the film assures us, claiming that the EU is a thing of the past, a declining trade block, and a macroeconomic corpse. None of these claims about the EU are true, and insofar as the EU has a smaller proportion of global trade than it once did, this mainly reflects how such huge countries as China and India have been playing catch-up, and expanding rapidly in the way that low-cost economies can.

Switzerland is held up as a model of what a Britain outside the EU might be like, with ludicrous lines about how despite not being in the EU, Swiss exports per head are five times higher than Britain’s. Predictably, the film doesn’t discuss how Switzerland avoided such major 20th-century body blows as the two world wars and the loss of an empire, and how this might have benefitted the country. One Ruth Lea rightly says comparisons with Switzerland are “totally bizarre”, but the film storms on to show just how wonderful things can be outside the EU.

Indeed, the film maintains, Switzerland’s secret lies in its radically democratic nature, with its politicians and bureaucrats being kept on a tight rein with – you guessed it – one of the least regulated economies in the world. “Do it like the Swiss,” another talking head says, “have some arrangements with Europe but be independent and look to the world.”

There are others, of course, who would point out that Switzerland offers a genuinely useful case study in why it's not a good idea to thumb one's nose at the rest of Europe. Given how the EU countries responded to Switzerland trying to curtail immigration a couple of years back, is it ever really likely to be the case that the EU will give competitive advantages to a country that turns its back on the whole project?

And finally, the trading fantasy
Nigel Lawson shows up thwarting a straw man when he says “the idea that you have to be in the European Union to trade with the European Union is a total absurdity” – so it is, Nigel, which is why nobody’s saying it.

Onward then, with the claim that “the EU is desperate to keep its goods flowing into the UK”, with German cars as ever highlighted as the key product; the “Germans’ biggest industry needs us to the tune of 16 billion plus every year,” declares David Davis. Perhaps so, but with Germany’s automobile sector having a turnover of €351 billion in 2011, and a foreign generated revenue of €194 billion, I’m not sure how “desperate” Germany might really be.

Besides, we’re told, there’s a big world out there. Anglo-Chinese trade over the last ten years has been growing several times faster than Anglo-EU trade. The fact that less than 3% of the UK’s trade is with China, as distinct from about 45% with the rest of the EU, is conveniently omitted. “They need us more than we need them” declares Ruth Lea, which is a baffling statement given how the proportion of UK exports that go to the rest of the EU is far larger than the proportion of exports from the rest of the EU that go to the UK.

“It’s true that British companies wanting to export to the EU will have to comply with EU regulations,” the film wryly observes, triumphantly continuing, “but it’s also true that EU companies wanting to export to Britain will have to comply with ours.”

Ours? What regulations are these? The fact that the whole film has been holding up the dream of an unregulated Britain seems to have been forgotten. 

I'd hope that most people who've watched the film would realise that that line made no sense whatsoever. Just like the economic models underpinning the films grand aspirations.

More again.