International Politics

Sometimes I'm just stunned by how wonderful the internet is. It's terrific!

Browsing Magicmum this morning with Tweetdeck running George Lee's name cropped up everywhere all at once. It attracted me as I'd had a conversation with my Dad last night about him. I don't know much but here goes.

George Lee was an economic correspondant in RTE, Ireland's national broadcaster. In the economic recession of the last few years he was very busy and very well respected. Then he joined Fine Gael, the opposition political party. He was elected in Dublin south nine months ago.

So Dad was saying he'd been holding meetings and so on in the last while, but that he hadn't appeared to influence party policy in any way. Dad was wondering if Fine Gael was taking full advantage of his economic mindset.

Now lunchtime today, just in time for the one o'clock news, he resigned, not just from Fine Gael but from his seat in the Dail (Irish parliament). In double quick time he appeared on the 'News at One' on RTE, on Newstalk and currently he's getting an earful from a member of his constituency on 'Liveline'. Liveline is a national institution, hosted by Joe Duffy, it allows anyone to call in a make a comment on whatever is being discussed. And I could listen over the internet to all these interviews.

On Twitter he caused a terrible amount of confusion when the #Glee hashtag was taken over by Irish politics in place of an American high school musical.

But there were some fantastic one-liners:
@DeclanFlynn George Lee & Charlie Bird to star in new RTE reality show, Celebrity Big Baby. #georgelee
(Reference to another RTE reporter coming home early after a shorter-than-expected stint abroad)
@Padraig #georgelee is quitting over a lack of influence over the policy of a party that has no power to implement it.
@urchinette God, George Lee is such a ridiculous baby. Did he think that just cos he's famous he'd suddenly become a leading politician?
@RositaBoland Cover your ears. The sound of George Lee whining on the News at One right now might just blast your eardrums
@eoinpurcell How hilarious is it that the OPPOSITION is imploding when the economy is in the toilet?
@RositaBoland He's unstoppable. There is nothing #georgelee is not saying "I don't like your preachy voice"!! to the female caller on liveline!

And two new Facebook pages too:
Who cares if George left Fine Gael group
George Lee: Don't let the door hit you on the ass as you leave the Dail page

And he's been caricatured too Caricatures Ireland

So whether I think he should have resigned or not; whether it was ego or not; whether he's causing greater economic hardship by forcing a by-election; whether Fine Gael are right or wrong; whether Fine Gael will win or lose (again) the next election; or whether it's all a bit irrelevant to me (the hard truth of the long-term expat); I could still instantly access a range of opinions and facts and even hear the man himself.

That which we call a rose...

There’s a few things about living in Turkey that I don’t like; the habit of ‘turkifying’ names being one of them. So Catherine is sometimes changed to Kadriye, a completely different name. I don’t understand why anyone would want to change a perfectly good name to another one, isn’t changing countries/cultures/languages enough?

Plus there was more than enough name-changing when I was growing up. In school for Irish class all our names were translated into Irish. I became Caitriona, a very nice name; it just wasn’t mine. Calling into my Dad’s office was nerve-wracking.

Dad’s office was right outside the wall of the university in the centre of Dublin, but I’d never had any reason to visit. I have a vague recollection of going to a Christmas party there many years before but it’s very hazy. On this particular day I had some good news to share. I knew my Mam wouldn’t be home so I couldn’t ring her and this was before mobile phones were so widespread. So I thought I’d pop in to Dad and share it with him.

I walked in through the revolving door and was confronted by two security guards behind a desk. One looked at me expectantly as I muttered something about my Dad working there.“Alright, what’s his name?”

A perfectly reasonable question in the circumstances.

I gave the name my mother called him, the one most of his close friends use.The security guard looked at the computer screen in front of him “Sorry, nobody of that name works here.”

I probably stared at the man for about thirty seconds. Then I remembered that Dad’s brother and sisters translate his first name to Irish. It’s a hangover from a time when an English name on a birth cert was an advantage if someone emigrated, but a family would use the Irish version in daily life. I tried that.

Another glance at the computer screen. “Sorry. No one of that name here.” By now the second security guard was taking a keen interest.

Stumped again, I had visions of being frogmarched out of the building for wasting time. It would be embarrassing to be tossed out by the Revenue Commissioners before I’d even had a chance to defraud them. The penny dropped. Dad joined the Irish civil service at a time when all names were translated completely into Irish. Our surname jumped from the very end to the beginning of the alphabet. I tried both first and surname in Irish.
“Ah we have one of them, he’s on the second floor.”

I climbed the stairs a little shakily. I may have just gotten a scholarship but I didn’t even know my own father’s name!