Starry
Starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer’s day
With eyes that know the
Darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now.
(Vincent by Don McLean)
Rummaging through a suitcase of old family photos lately I stumbled on a gem. I had heard stories that my maternal grandfather had served in the army, British Army perhaps. And here in my hand was black and white proof of sorts. That yes he had indeed spent time in the army, but as the uniform and insignia indicated it was in fact the Irish Army.
Further foraging with the help of the Defence Forces excellent and accessible archives confirmed that Jim Sheehan from Maryborough, Leix, as we were then denoted, had been in the army during the Emergency, known throughout the rest of Europe as World War 11.
Along with his brother Frank he cut a dash in his uniform, sam brown belt, and most surprisingly riding boots and spurs. Cavalry soldier’s boots, immaculately polished.
My own Dad, Paddy, also went on to serve a full stint in the army; including time with the UN in the Congo – when it was dangerous to do so – in 1960 with the 3rd Battalion, the Bloods; was dispatched to the border in 1969 by Jack Lynch in those faithful hours as the barricades went up in the Bogside and the North went up in flames. He finished out his stint as a sergeant in the military police on the Curragh. A good soldier, a great shot. He knew his stuff my Dad.
Recently on prime time RTE radio there was an interview with a politician who had previously served sometime in the army, also rising to the rank of sergeant as it happens. The interview did not deal with his experience as a soldier but rather sought his sage advice and counsel on matters of military intelligence, national security, counter-terrorism strategies, the level of preparedness of the State to stave off an ISIS attack and the extent of co-operation between the security services of the State to defend ourselves against a terrorist attack.
In all the years I spent with my father, even all the times in Kildare barracks or on the Curragh camp, with artillery pieces and tanks adorning the vast Curragh lawn; military paraphernalia in the NCOs mess the backdrop to a boys delightful day out with his Dad; of all the countless questions I thought to rattle off as rapid as any machine gun fire, I never thought to ask for his thoughts on State security and counter-terrorism.
I know the answer I would get…
Now back on Today with Sean O Rourke. No such reticence with our politician cum security expert. He had all the answers. Then again, he usually does, on everything. Instead of declining to even go on the programme or to defer to some superior knowledge in the specialist field of national security, intelligence gathering and counter-terrorism our man in Montrose waxed lyrically on all and sundry security matters.
Unfortunately, this is not unusual or a one-off. It is common place and common practice, even on RTE, nay, especially on RTE, the so called State broadcaster.
Experts.
There are experts everywhere.
There is one for everyone in the audience.
Nowhere suffers more from this malaise, this laziness, this self-righteous know-all rise to the top overnight than latter day journalism.
There was a time you used to have to serve your time, your apprenticeship, earn your stripes, but not anymore.
In the age of celebrity, click-bait and the rush for ratings, fake news and the cannon fodder of Facebook, expertise is a commodity with a short shelf life. News is stale after fifteen minutes of fame and with the lines blurred and us all bleary eyed from the information overload and churn, one expert is as good as the next.
Now, call me old fashioned but I believe that in media as in other fields people should stick to what they know best, what they learned, trained, served their time, their apprenticeship and then to flourish in the fields of practical experience which in turn takes more time. But no, in the era of citizen journalism, no one wants to be just a reporter anymore, everyone is a columnist, presenter, and commentator – a f**king expert on everything.
I avoid plumbing at all cost, can hardly wire a plug and can change a bulb only with assistance. I live in dread of getting a flat tyre as there is no way I am going to be able to turn those wheel nuts with a hand brace. I surrender and call for help from the guy with loads of tools and the know-how.
Steven Miller of this parish is a good Editor. He is thorough and conscientious and has put years into learning and honing his craft. He is an expert on sport. If I want to know sport stuff I call Steven. And that’s why the comedy is best left to Mark Doheny, the motors to Bob Flavin, the farming to Colm Fingleton, the fashion and cosmetics to the Two Broke Divas (from who I sneak some tips!!) and the cakes and confectionary to Kelly Lou. All experts, outstanding in their own field.
In current affairs few things matter as much as context. Vincent Browne wasn’t a good journalist, he is a great journalist. Matching his exemplary courage, credibility and conviction was the context he was able to bring to his subject and subject matter. He is arguably the greatest living journalist of his time.
No living person I know has been so eulogised as Browne over the past fortnight and I think even he himself would cast a wry smile of embarrassment and shrug at his premature canonisation. For all his vast and formidable contribution to journalism and public debate I fear that Browne is himself in turn being used to shore up the TV3 brand (a typo almost had that turn out like TV€…) and that he as a consequence is being canonised for all the wrong reasons.
Browne’s stint at TV3 is merely the tip of the iceberg in a long and illustrious career spanning over four decades with the most recent round of programmes serving as a lap of honour. Even the one with Taoiseach Leo Varadkar a sort of testimonial match, for the former Fine Gael member – a factor which never made Browne less formidable, unflinching or unfair.
What Browne managed to achieve in the graveyard slot of 11pm to midnight on TV3 was exceptional. His blend of passion and compassion, sense of social justice and common sense, coupled with his credibility and credentials were perfect for the zeitgeist of the past decade. But he was also gifted journalistic material unequalled in at least 30 years in the rise and fall of Bertie Ahern, the collapse of the Cowen government, the banking crisis, the credit crunch, property collapse, the arrival of the IMF and years of austerity with them, the water charges fiasco, the marriage equality referendum and more recently Brexit and the Trump phenomenon. Some of his appeal must also be attributed to the contrast he presented to the stiff, predictable, benign, staid, conventional, cliched establishment house-style which characterises so much of RTE news and current affairs.
While all that was manna from heaven for Browne whose dogged irreverent style of interrogation won the hearts of an angry and politicised populace, his best journalism came years earlier when Browne earned the right to be so regarded as a great journalist, the real deal, a real expert, the hard way, often at great cost and peril to himself. In more recent years Tonight with Vincent Browne has become somewhat of a parody of itself, a caricature of the distracted hack best encapsulated in the hilarious Mario Rosenstock sketches.
Browne’s early career started with a brief spell on RTE’s flagship, The Late Late Show. At a critical juncture he served as Northern news editor of The Irish Press Group, but his best work came when he founded Magill magazine in 1977. His influential involvement in The Sunday Tribune and later his Irish Times columns and RTE radio programme – where more than anyone he demonstrated how to ‘comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.’ No one tackled the untouchables, the vested interests, the conflicts of interests, stood up to the sacred cows and took on the establishment version of things and exposed corruption quite like Browne. No assessment of his legacy would be complete either without acknowledging the role he played in fostering journalistic talent, many who have gone on to live up to his endorsement and trust.
In this era of so many experts Browne himself is irreplaceable. We will sorely miss him and his Twitter machine-gun journalism.
But in homage to Browne and in defence of credible journalism, expertise, credentials and context he so encapsulates, would there be anyone better to take on his mantle in the Tonight slot than Claire Byrne or Alison O Connor with input, commentary, perspective and opinion from Kathy Sheridan, Olivia O Leary, Miriam Lord and Marie Louise O Donnell?
Perhaps they could save us from the experts in this gender turbulent week.
Bon Voyage Vincent.
You certainly did the State some service.
PS – My only regret is not to grab a Tonight with Vincent Browne mug as a souvenir for all the times I appeared on the programme …
SEE ALSO – Wired with Whelan: Time to name and shame TDs who condone drink driving
