Douglas Adams opened his second Dirk Gently novel with the lines: “It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression, ‘As pretty as an airport.”
It’s hard to argue with this sentiment although the Richard Rogers-designed Terminal 4 at Barajas Airport in Madrid (below) may be an exception.
But I am not at the shiny modernist Terminal 4 in Madrid. I am at Dublin Airport’s brutalist and dilapidated Terminal 1, a less remarkable example of the type.
Inside is not much better, the suspended ceilings, garish lighting, information screens and signs providing no surprises or delights to the throngs of people lumbering oversized luggage in all directions. Perhaps its one remarkable feature is that, unusually for an international airport, it has eschewed signs in multiple foreign languages, opting instead to use only English and Irish.
Terminal 2 is at least newer, but beyond its curvaceous exterior, jarringly at odds with the rest of the airport buildings, has little to make it memorable.
I began my journey today at Terminal 2 (well, I began it at home but on arriving at the airport I went straight to Terminal 2) hoping to catch an Aer Lingus flight to Paris.
I should explain: my life partner works for an airline and one of the dubious perks is the option to fly standby for a fraction of the cost of regular tickets. The downside to this is that full-paying passengers take priority — which is hard to argue with, admittedly — and sometimes there are no seats available.
Today, the first time I have attempted to fly standby alone, was such a day. Due to the cancellation of an earlier flight, all Aer Lingus flights today are packed to capacity, and I, as the domestic partner of a (relatively) low-ranking member of staff of another airline am essentially in last place when it comes to any seats that may become available for standby passengers.
Which brings me to Terminal 1, and Air France. They too are dealing with the aftermath of a cancellation and their flights are also full. But not too full. And sometimes people just don’t turn up for their flights. And as I’m suavely dressed and travelling light, I may even be allowed to take a jump seat.
So I’m cautiously optimistic. If I don’t get on this flight, I’ll most likely give up and try again tomorrow. But even though I should be soaring above the world, halfway to the City of Lights, and am instead in a grimy food court surrounded by other people’s leftovers and rowdy children, I’m calm, I’m relaxed and I’m happy.
I think what I’m trying to say is that I’m in a good place right now. I just also happen to be in an airport.
[Update 24/07/2016: I was unsuccessful in my attempt to secure passage aboard an Air France flight yesterday and returned home. I was much more successful to day, quickly being confirmed aboard an early Aer Lingus flight. At the time of writing, I have spent a good portion of the day soaking in the beauty, culture and eye-watering prices of Paris in July and am now aboard a train to be reunited with my loved ones. A success, then, if not an unqualified one.]
Last Tuesday, I was part of the Atheist Ireland delegation who met the Taoiseach (Irish Prime Minister) and the Minister for Education as part of the structured dialogue with churches, faith communities and non-confessional bodies that was set up in 2007. This was the first time an atheist organisation was included in the dialogue process. The bulk of the work for the meeting was done by Atheist Ireland’s Chairperson Michael Nugent, Human Rights Officer Jane Donnelly and Blasphemy Campaign Co-ordinator John Hamill. I was there in my role as a parent, and we were joined by an atheist primary school teacher and an atheist secondary school student, who have chosen to remain anonymous for fear of repercussions.
I had been a little nervous about the prospect of meeting the Taoiseach, but earlier in the day I was interviewed on The Right Hook (listen). Having faced the formidable bulk and probing questions of George Hook, it was hard to be intimidated by the thought of meeting Enda Kenny. And indeed, he was friendly and approachable, and after a bumpy start, appeared to be genuinely interested in what we had to say.
My speech, which I was unable to pare down to the requested two minutes, is below:
My son Leo is five years old and currently in Junior Infants. When my partner and I applied to schools in our area, we found that each school had its own enrolment policy, but the one thing they all had in common was that they considered our son to be less worthy of a place in school than other children. I recently had occasion to talk to the principal of one of these schools, and he explained to me that Leo – as a non-Catholic – was a “Category 2 boy”, to only be considered if there were any places left over after all the “Category 1” applicants had been considered.
Taoiseach, my son is not a “Category 2” child. He is a creative and energetic boy. He can count to ten in five languages. He is obsessed with tall buildings. His favourite food is pizza. He can be cheeky or charming, but never boring. He has an inexhaustible thirst for knowledge. Any school would be lucky to have him. And he is a citizen of this republic and has the right to be given the same opportunities as any other child.
Instead, he was rejected from school after school because the philosophical convictions of his parents did not match the ethos of the school. These schools purport to celebrate diversity, but they systematically weed it out. They claim to be inclusive, but they exclude those who are different.
Eventually we found a school that was willing to accept our child without a certificate of baptism. And while it’s a fine school with caring dedicated teachers, every day – every day for thirty minutes – he is marginalised while Catholicism is taught to his classmates. That time, and the extent of the exclusion, will increase dramatically in a couple of years when Leo’s class begins preparation for First Communion.
We can only hope that we are lucky and that the school we found will be accommodating and the teachers understanding.
But we shouldn’t have to be lucky.
We shouldn’t have to be accommodated. Or tolerated.
We shouldn’t have to hope that teachers will be understanding.
Our freedom of conscience should be respected. Our choice as parents should be respected. Our son’s right to a neutral education should be respected.
And right now, none of that happens.
The way this state treats Leo, and thousands of other children is wrong.
Taoiseach, Minister: you have the power and the opportunity to right that wrong. Please use it.
The response seemed positive and the Taoiseach acknowledged that no child should be considered “Category 2” based on their parents’ philosophical convictions. The Minister for Education Jan O’Sullivan advised us that she is in the process of drafting an amendment to Section 37 of the Employment Equality Act (which currently allows for such discrimination) It was not clear, at least to me, whether this amendment will prevent such discrimination in the future, but at least the Minister has had the opportunity to hear from people who have been unfairly treated due to the current law.
This is, hopefully, the beginning of a process that will eventually put an end to the systematic discrimination against the non-religious and members of minority religions. How long that process will take remains to be seen. Regardless, I was glad to have had the opportunity to look the leader of my country dead in the eye and tell him that what his government does to my child is wrong.
- Atheist Ireland begins ongoing dialogue with Government at historic first meeting with Taoiseach (atheist.ie)
- Ireland Education : Opt out of school religion classes (teachdontpreach.ie)
- Dawkins among atheists urging Irish PM to hold blasphemy law referendum (The Guardian)
- This photo of Atheist Ireland meeting the Taoiseach is significant for who it does not include (atheist.ie)
Earlier this week I took part in a debate hosted by the UCD Law Society. The topic: “This house believes God loves gay people too.” It will come as no surprise to those who know me that I was arguing against the motion. Below is my speech as prepared and more-or-less as delivered. Read more…
It’s December and for me that means only one thing: it’s Christmas. That’s just how it works. Yes, I know it’s actually Advent, and Christmas only begins on Christmas Day. But I don’t care. I’m not a Christian, and, to me, Christmas is no more about Christ than Thursday is about Thor. Christmas is about mince pies, hot alcoholic drinks, blinking lights, sentimental films, TV specials, time off work, songs, presents and family. And I love it.
But why? I’m a somewhat curmudgeonly atheist, not generally given to joining in with forced displays of jollity or sentimentalism. I usually watch what I eat and drink (well, I try to anyway). I’m, at best, indifferent to Cliff Richard. And I’m largely opposed to crass consumerism. Read more…
If I had regular readers, that is no doubt the question they would be asking me. But I don’t. So they’re not. But in case anybody was thinking it, here’s some sort of update, if for no other purpose than to tie up some loose ends. Read more…
If you live in Ireland and not under a rock, you will have noticed that for the first time in fourteen years we’re having a presidential election. Here’s a quick round-up of the candidates. One of these people will be shaking hands with visiting dignitaries and rugby players for the next seven years.
With the announcement of this year’s Man Booker Prize only two days away, I’m down to my last two books: Patrick McGuinness’s tale of the last days of Ceausescu’s Romania, The Last Hundred Days, and D. J. Taylor‘s period drama Derby Day. (See how the title of the post works on multiple levels!) There’s a good chance I’ll have one of them finished before Tuesday evening and an outside chance that I’ll finish both of them.
But the important thing for now is that I completed the shortlist. Read more…