Establishment loses plot in 1916 Mervue stone stand-off

People get silly about 1916. Like, really silly. What went on in Mervue last week was cat melodeon. The local community erected a stone to honour the memory of those who fought for Irish freedom 100 years ago. No big deal, or so you’d think.

But – surprise, surprise – some people who are easily offended got offended by it. And so they complained. And their complaints were listened to. And the stone was boxed-off.

The objectors to the stone said it hadn’t planning permission. The erectors of the stone      ignored them and held an unveiling ceremony anyway.

They took away the hoarding and ploughed on. The kerfuffle made page three of the country’s biggest selling daily.

It’s hard to figure out who was worse. The petty Galway City Councillors, who objected to the unveiling of a stone; or the spineless executive that listened to them.

The wheels of government turn slowly at City Hall – as slow as Christmas. But once the conservative dissenters to the stone cried foul, the Council jumped into gear like a stick of dynamite was deposited under their backsides.

The local authority cordoned off the stone, presumably to spare the blushes of the citizens of Mervue. In true Father Ted style, the Council cited “health and safety” – as if the stone was going to collapse and kill someone. They cited planning regulations for good measure. Just to cover themselves.

But what really happened here was an attack on free speech and should worry democrats everywhere.

The suspicion is that if the erectors of the stone were connected to say, Fine Gael or        Fianna Fáil, there’d be no fuss. But because it was seen as a Sinn Féin initiative, officialdom closed ranks.

Suspicion of the Shinners is endemic in the political system. Fair enough. But the stone was most inoffensive. Objectors pointed out that there was a Republican symbol on it – the Easter lily.

Indeed there was. But what symbol were they expecting to be on a stone commemorating the 1916 Rising? An Orange Order flag? A poppy perhaps?

Councillors wooed

Like a bad smell, Seanad hopefuls are hanging around outside City Hall and County Hall looking for a few arses to lick.

Not just any old arses, mind. It is only important arses they’re looking to get a bit of tongue action with.

The Seanad is an obscure sort of place – full of young aspiring politicians plotting a Dáil bid, or older failed politicians put out to grass.

The system of electing them is even more obscure. But many routes to the Seanad involve votes from councillors from all over the country.

For more, read this week’s Galway City Tribune.