This was in todays Irish Independent, Our crippling need for booze is not a joke -- it's a disgrace
By Kevin Myers
Wednesday June 30 2010
The number one enemy of the Irish people isn't Fianna Fail, and it isn't bankers, and it isn't the IRA, and it isn't the Brits, and it isn't public service unions, and it isn't capitalism, and isn't feminism, and it isn't the Catholic Church. It's our need for booze.
Our immature relationship with alcohol almost defines Ireland and the Irish. It went far beyond parody a couple of years ago with the wave of applications for bar extensions for First Holy Communion parties. I feel that this is a joke of some kind, and that a punchline follows: but no. It was reality. Parents wanted to celebrate a Comm-union by planning to get hammered in the company of the little communicant.
It's the planning bit that troubles me most of all. Catholics are Catholics: and the central feature of Catholicism is the Mass, and the consecration of a piece of bread and a cup of wine into the body and blood of Jesus Christ Almighty, the Redeemer of All Mankind. These are not my words, or my capital letters, or my beliefs: they are the words, the capitals and the creed of all Catholics.
The greatest moment in a Catholic's life comes with the taking of Jesus Christ's body into the mouth. The Last Supper is relived, Calvary is re-enacted. And on The Third Day, He Rose Again, and then, as planned, mam and dad got paralytic.
Such sacrilege is even worse than drink driving. Because if you actually believe that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, gave His life to redeem mankind from our sins, getting drunk to mark the induction of a child into the most holy rite in all of Catholicism is to insult Him profoundly.
And then what power resides in the word of God, or the Ten Commandments, if you regard the occasion of His torture and murder as worthy of revelry? The font of all morality is thus contaminated, and all else may follow: no rule is sacrosanct if worshippers are unable to distinguish between Calvary and Sodom.
To be sure, the drunken Communion party is the extreme end of the spectrum: but we all know the spectrum exists in a way it doesn't exist in mainland Europe. It does exist in Britain: but that is a relatively recent phenomenon, and is far from being universal. Last weekend's Glastonbury Festival, with 100,000 people, apparently passed without a single case of recorded drunkenness. Is it possible to get 100,000 Irish people together for an entire weekend without anyone getting blotto?
From tomorrow until Sunday Sligo is hosting Ireland's first alcohol and drugs free festival (see LovinLife Festival | Home Page). It shouldn't be necessary even to have an alcohol and drugs free festival: the event itself should provide the liberation people require.
But this clearly isn't the case -- which clearly indicates that Irish people (contrary to virtually all perceptions, both our own and of others of us) are deeply inhibited, and can only remove the shackles of personal restraint with alcohol.
This is especially true for Catholics, whose social inhibitions are so powerful as to render them utterly mute when asked to sing a hymn in church, or even a Christmas carol. The crushing, pathetic, cowardly, craven and abject mumbling of a churchload of Catholics when called on to raise their voices to honour Jesus Christ is surely one of the most telling insights into the Irish psyche.
It seems that most Irish Catholics prefer to insult their God than to earn the mockery of their neighbours: an odd choice, but a revealing one. He, after all, forgives. Humans, apparently do not -- well, Irish ones anyway.
For the opinion of others is the greatest censor of all in Irish life: what need of despotism if fear of the consensus enforces obedience? The silence in an Irish Catholic church during a hymn is almost the silence of the mob, awaiting mobilisation.
So, yes, this week's affair in Sligo might seem a little worthy and solemn -- but only to the inhibited, the damaged, the immature; those sad folk who can only sing when they're half locked.
Remember, the terms we use for great social events -- feast, festival, carnival -- are all Mediterranean words. They come from the culture of the vine: yet you will never see drunkenness at the great festivals in Spain, France or Italy. But incoherent drunkenness is almost a defining characteristic of Irish get-togethers, whether at a fleadh, St Patrick's Day, a wedding or -- God help us -- these days, a Communion.
In the absence of alcohol, what are Irish people really like? How many Irish people are capable of socialising without alcohol? How many "friendships" are based entirely on the consumption of booze? How many young people only have sex when drunk? So the real issue in Irish life isn't alcohol, but the crippling need for it.
Is it genetic? Or is Irish culture perceived to be so judgmental and so intolerant as to require the passport of booze in order to escape from its strictures? Sligo might give us something of an answer.
kmyers@independent.ie
- Kevin Myers
By Kevin Myers
Wednesday June 30 2010
The number one enemy of the Irish people isn't Fianna Fail, and it isn't bankers, and it isn't the IRA, and it isn't the Brits, and it isn't public service unions, and it isn't capitalism, and isn't feminism, and it isn't the Catholic Church. It's our need for booze.
Our immature relationship with alcohol almost defines Ireland and the Irish. It went far beyond parody a couple of years ago with the wave of applications for bar extensions for First Holy Communion parties. I feel that this is a joke of some kind, and that a punchline follows: but no. It was reality. Parents wanted to celebrate a Comm-union by planning to get hammered in the company of the little communicant.
It's the planning bit that troubles me most of all. Catholics are Catholics: and the central feature of Catholicism is the Mass, and the consecration of a piece of bread and a cup of wine into the body and blood of Jesus Christ Almighty, the Redeemer of All Mankind. These are not my words, or my capital letters, or my beliefs: they are the words, the capitals and the creed of all Catholics.
The greatest moment in a Catholic's life comes with the taking of Jesus Christ's body into the mouth. The Last Supper is relived, Calvary is re-enacted. And on The Third Day, He Rose Again, and then, as planned, mam and dad got paralytic.
Such sacrilege is even worse than drink driving. Because if you actually believe that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, gave His life to redeem mankind from our sins, getting drunk to mark the induction of a child into the most holy rite in all of Catholicism is to insult Him profoundly.
And then what power resides in the word of God, or the Ten Commandments, if you regard the occasion of His torture and murder as worthy of revelry? The font of all morality is thus contaminated, and all else may follow: no rule is sacrosanct if worshippers are unable to distinguish between Calvary and Sodom.
To be sure, the drunken Communion party is the extreme end of the spectrum: but we all know the spectrum exists in a way it doesn't exist in mainland Europe. It does exist in Britain: but that is a relatively recent phenomenon, and is far from being universal. Last weekend's Glastonbury Festival, with 100,000 people, apparently passed without a single case of recorded drunkenness. Is it possible to get 100,000 Irish people together for an entire weekend without anyone getting blotto?
From tomorrow until Sunday Sligo is hosting Ireland's first alcohol and drugs free festival (see LovinLife Festival | Home Page). It shouldn't be necessary even to have an alcohol and drugs free festival: the event itself should provide the liberation people require.
But this clearly isn't the case -- which clearly indicates that Irish people (contrary to virtually all perceptions, both our own and of others of us) are deeply inhibited, and can only remove the shackles of personal restraint with alcohol.
This is especially true for Catholics, whose social inhibitions are so powerful as to render them utterly mute when asked to sing a hymn in church, or even a Christmas carol. The crushing, pathetic, cowardly, craven and abject mumbling of a churchload of Catholics when called on to raise their voices to honour Jesus Christ is surely one of the most telling insights into the Irish psyche.
It seems that most Irish Catholics prefer to insult their God than to earn the mockery of their neighbours: an odd choice, but a revealing one. He, after all, forgives. Humans, apparently do not -- well, Irish ones anyway.
For the opinion of others is the greatest censor of all in Irish life: what need of despotism if fear of the consensus enforces obedience? The silence in an Irish Catholic church during a hymn is almost the silence of the mob, awaiting mobilisation.
So, yes, this week's affair in Sligo might seem a little worthy and solemn -- but only to the inhibited, the damaged, the immature; those sad folk who can only sing when they're half locked.
Remember, the terms we use for great social events -- feast, festival, carnival -- are all Mediterranean words. They come from the culture of the vine: yet you will never see drunkenness at the great festivals in Spain, France or Italy. But incoherent drunkenness is almost a defining characteristic of Irish get-togethers, whether at a fleadh, St Patrick's Day, a wedding or -- God help us -- these days, a Communion.
In the absence of alcohol, what are Irish people really like? How many Irish people are capable of socialising without alcohol? How many "friendships" are based entirely on the consumption of booze? How many young people only have sex when drunk? So the real issue in Irish life isn't alcohol, but the crippling need for it.
Is it genetic? Or is Irish culture perceived to be so judgmental and so intolerant as to require the passport of booze in order to escape from its strictures? Sligo might give us something of an answer.
kmyers@independent.ie
- Kevin Myers
awprint: RUBY Imagine yourself doing What you love and loving What you do, Being happy From the inside Out, experiencing your Dreams wide awake, 
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