“The Audience”

“Look Mom, I’m on TV!” For real though, I was on Irish television. I received a ticket to “Prime Time” on RTE through work this past Tuesday and was seated in the front row. It was described to me as, “our version of ‘Meet the Press'” but it was far from it. Instead of a round table of experts, the audience was allowed to question elected officials. The Minister for Health had the field questions about smuggling tobacco, his proposed packaging policy for cigarettes, and abortion. Unscripted, live, and raw, this show took democracy to a totally different television level that one rarely sees in the United States. This evening, I went with my supervisor and two of his friends to see “The Audience.” The play is a series of skits which are fictional recreations of the audience the British Prime Minister has every week with the Queen. Nothing is known of these meetings aside from the fact that every week for 20 minutes, the Prime Minister is expected to present updates to the sovereign about the happenings within the government formed in their name.The monarch uses this opportunity to advise and council the PM.  I attended the film at the Irish National Film Institute in Dublin. The movie was a live broadcast of the play being performed in London. Not only has Ireland invested in a national independent film institute that offers screenings, but the theater was full. The theatre looked more like a 5 star restaurant and was in one of those sections of town that look like an illustration found in Fairy Tales. More and more, I am shedding my New York personality and easing into the culture and pacing of Europe. It is both refreshing and relaxing. God Save the Queen!

First Book Finished!!!

Jones, Clyve. A Short History of Parliament: England, Great Britain, The United Kingdom, Ireland and Scotland. Woodbridge, UK: Boydell, 2009. Print.

 

            This book used a historians lens to explain the ways in which parliament went from being an “event” to an “institution.” Starting in the 900’s, the book tracks the conscious awareness of a people that an executive (in this case the monarch) should have a connection to his or her subjects. Starting with the forming of a “privy council” to advice the king, representation grew and redefined itself across Great Britain over the past thousand years. What was interesting about this book was that it did not speculate about political or sociological motives and consequences. Rather, it made an attempt to present facts in an objective way. Throughout the book several arguments are made placing the ideas of representation into historical context. Starting with the belief that only those who own land should be allowed to vote on whether or not a nation goes to war and ending with the party system in Europe, this books tracks patterns and charts the evolution of citizenship.

            In displaying patterns of parliaments throughout the United Kingdom, one can notice that, although Westminster is not the oldest parliament, it dominates in setting the standard. As nations tried to break away from England and govern themselves they were haunted by their history and the desire to recreate the British system that had set the standard for governance. This book clearly illustrations that having a sense of nationalism is one thing, but defining yourself as a nation and establishing a governing body is quite another. After having read this book, I now understand the historical context within which I am working. The parliament I serve in is still young, trying to prove itself to citizen and the world while living in the shadow of Westminster. 

 

The Sun Went Away…

I was told to enjoy it while it lasted. Apparently the past 9 days of sun has been the longest streak in while. Everyone kept saying how hot it was. It was 70 degrees max with a breeze and no humidity. After spending two summers in New York, this weather was very much so welcomed. Finally, the moment everyone had been warning me about happened around 4:30 this afternoon. Summer ended. The sun vanished behind clouds and the temperature dropped so there is a chill in the air. The rain has not started yet but I’m told there will be a 65% chance of it everyday until after I leave. Fare thee well, Summer 2013! It was nice we could be friends for at least a week… 

“Titanic. She Was Fine When She Left Here!”

This past weekend, I decided to take a day trip to Northern Ireland to visit the city of Belfast. As Ireland is a small country, traveling within is quite cheap and manageable. After purchasing a ticket at Dublin’s Connolly Station, I boarded the train for my two and a half hour ride. Unlike the American Amtrak trains, there was less of a “process” in purchasing a ticket and riding. A group of four British ladies popped a bottle of champagne in the back and began to pass it around and pour it into wine glasses they had brought themselves (it was 9:30 a.m.).  In addition, there was no café car, but a snack trolley, which I equated to the Hogwarts Express from Harry Potter. Riding in the train itself and traveling through the Irish countryside was truly like taking a step back in time. There is no way to describe the green of the countryside, the beautiful antiqueness of the train, or the farm animals and wild horses running through meadows just outside the window. Likewise, each town we passed could be the set of movie taking place in the middle ages, complete with cobblestone streets and gothic churches.

My seatmates were having a conversation to themselves when one of them mentioned the time she was in Pennsylvania while studying in New York and saw “funny people still using horses and buggies.” I laughed and apologized for intruding then explained I was from Pennsylvania. Like so many times before, they eagerly asked me about living in The States and inquired as to why I was in Ireland. I asked about crossing the border into Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom, since I started seeing many Union Jacks flying along the route. They informed me that my American accent would “protect” me. For Irish citizens traveling from the south, however, their accents are a dead give away and they usually cannot be served in pubs and restaurants. I was told I would need to switch my money to British pounds and also advised to keep my passport handy though there would be no checkpoint. It was at this point that I realized what was going to be an enjoyable day trip for me could easily be a journey striking fear in the hearts of those I was traveling with. No matter their reasoning for going north, the southern Irish citizens doing so were opening themselves up to discrimination and harassment. The north/south, Protestant/ Catholic, loyalist/revolutionary divide is still very much an issue. Though news stories of IRA attacks no longer dominate the international press, Irelands place in the world and the identity of its citizens is still the cause of much discrimination and debate within.

As I departed the train and explored the city I saw an area dominated by history and still emulating the effects of British imperialism. The Union Jack was flying on every corner; I heard more British accents and a different blend of Irish accents, there was a statue of Queen Victoria looming over the courtyard of City Hall, and references to monarchs past and present could be found on street signs, murals, and in parks throughout the city. My comrades on the train told me that the last time the Queen visited Ireland, she was met with a parade in Belfast and a mob of angry protestors in Dublin. As I passed a protest in front of City Hall calling for the British Flag to be flown in all of Ireland, I was reminded once again that American’s read about “loyalists” in social studies books while the Irish encounter them in real life on a regular basis. It seemed so odd to have traveled such a short distance and be in the same country, but a completely different “world.”

The main highlight of my trip was a visit to the Titanic experience museum and the pump house and dock that serviced Titanic. The saying in Belfast is, “Titanic, she was fine when she left here!” Forget the fact that the ship sank, Irish pride tells a different story. For the citizens of Belfast, the emphasis is not on the tragedy, but the fact that Irish laborers were able to build the largest vessel of the time in their city. This non-traditional cannon of history was not limited to the spin on Titanic’s maiden voyage. While visiting, I learned that J.P. Morgan was Titanic’s biggest investor. Many Irish were fleeing Europe in the early 1900’s for North America to find work. The idea was to invest in a ship that could bring as many immigrants to America as possible and capitalize on their willingness to work. J.P. Morgan hid his plan behind the White Star Line and the British Flag. White Star Line would deliver on J.P. Morgan’s request and make a profit at the same time by creating the greatest “British” luxury liner of the day. Exploiting British high society, first class passengers would make White Star Line millions while immigrants would stuff themselves below deck and work for the likes of J.P. Morgan once arriving in America. As I descended into the dock to touch the dry spot of land Titanic touched while being built (the only authentic Titanic site above water) I thought of the ways in which history is distorted. In America, the focus is on the tragedy and the exploitation of class is never mentioned in relation to the Titanic. In Belfast, the Irish are focused on telling the story of their workers who made such a remarkable ship, and the real motives behind it sailing. Sometimes, traveling around the world and hearing a story from “the horses mouth” will change ones perspective. 

The Arrival

Walking off of the plane in an English speaking country is less intimidating, I imagine, than walking into a situation where communicating may be a problem. To my shock, however, as I departed my flight from New York City, I stuck out like a sore thumb almost instantly. As I walked down the terminal looking for bag-check I found that I was unable to read the signs. At first, I assumed this was due to the fact that I was not wearing my glasses and my mind and body still thought it was 3 a.m. After adjusting to my atmosphere and taking a few extra minutes to collect myself without caffeine, I realized that I was trying to read Gaelic. Though I had read that it was not a language commonly used in the urban tourist areas, though everyone must learn it in grammar school, I was shocked to see that everything was labeled in Gaelic first and English second. Though I was walking into an industrialized western nation where it would be easy to find English speakers, I was given the wake-up call that I was “not in Kansas anymore” almost instantly.

As I proceeded to customs and immigration I entered the “Non-European Union” line. Once again, I was reminded of my surroundings when the gentlemen directing the line sent me to “queue” at the third window. Naturally, I went to the right of the window. To my surprise, there was no line on the right and after being turned around I ended up trying to check-in with European Union citizens. After having my passport promptly handed back to me, I realized “queues” were forming on the left hand side of the windows and my natural inclination had taken me to wrong immigration agent. After making it through immigration I proceeded out of the airport to find a cab.

Once again sticking out, I was the only person in Dublin airport (and probably the greater Dublin area for that matter) not wearing pants and a jacket. As I approached a cab in a short sleeved shirt and shorts the driver smiled and said with a cockney accent, “I don’t know where you’re coming from, but I hope we get the weather you think we’re getting.” After sharing a laugh and giving an address the driver asked me if I “came for Guinness.” I laughed only to realize he was seriously asking. He then told me the best pubs to get Guinness at and other pointers for getting around town. When we arrived at the hotel I was staying at for the first two days I thanked him and gave him a three-euro tip. I was under the impression that he had been working for the tip since leaving the airport, he was extremely friendly, made conversation, and even helped me lift my bags. When I gave him the tip, however, he was truly shocked and flattered.

I checked into my hotel and began to explore the city on foot. Stopping for a “traditional Irish breakfast” I was reminded how much better the coffee is in Europe. I was also adventurous and tried “black and white pudding.” I wish I could describe what it is and what it tasted like. Honestly though, even after consuming it, I have no idea what it is and there are no words to describe the taste. It was not bad, but it was also not something distinguishable nor it is something I am anxious to eat again. After walking along the Liffey River, seeing Dublin Castle, City Hall, Trinity College, and other historic buildings I decided to take a nap since jet lag was catching up with me.

Culturally, I have planned a day-trip to Belfast, became a certified Irish whiskey taster at the Jameson Distillery, and marked some “gathering” events in my calendar. As I adjust to life outside of the United States, I am being reminded daily how the rest of the world is not as fast-paced and career-oriented. It seems as though people in Ireland are working to live, not living to work. As I begin my internship and take in more of the culture of the city, I am being reminded how important it is to stop, smile, and share the fellowship of others. I am meeting complete strangers who are truly interested in my life in the United States and why I came to their country. I am also surrounded by history galore with individuals beaming with pride when discussing ancient buildings and traditions. Though I’m far from home and adjusting to a new lifestyle, I have found the sense of comradely among the Irish to be welcoming, relaxing, and refreshing. 

The Mission I Chose To Accept (AKA I Might Be Crazy).

In 2011, I was selected to be a Jeannette K. Watson Fellow (www.jkwatson.org). This fellowship, sponsored by the Thomas J. Watson Foundation, is the “sister fellowship” to the Thomas Watson, or “TJ.” Fellowship. Each year, 15 schools in New York City who offer liberal arts degrees are invited to submit 4 nominees to the fellowship. From that pool, a cohort of 15 fellows are chosen. The fellowship provides three consecutive summers of internships. Two in the United States, one abroad if a fellow so chooses. In addition to summer internships, during the first two years, fellows are expected to participate in cultural programming, attend mandatory academic seminars throughout the summer and school year, and complete writing assignments and journals weekly. In addition, fellows are placed into teams during their second year and compete in a business plan competition among themselves. Needless to say, I have grown close to an exceptional groups of people over the past two summers and we have become a family. Cut to this summer, the family breaks-up. We are each sent abroad to different countries (if we so choose). The theory is that one should go somewhere they have never been and where they do not know anyone. In addition to interning, fellows must read and log 10 books about their country or written by authors from their country instead of doing writing assignments. Journals are still required, 8 pages bi-weekly. In addition, it is the fellows responsibility to design and complete their own cultural programming and present their cultural adventures to members of the fellowship in the fall. So here we are, Ireland, Dublin specifically. I was given a round-trip plane ticket, part of my annual stipend in advance as a means to live abroad, and an internship in the Irish Parliament.  I arrived knowing no one having never been to Ireland. I have a stack of books to read, writing to do, and cultural events to plan. My mission is to both work abroad and immerse myself in a new culture. This blog is me having a series of Carrie Bradshaw moments throughout the summer. Living life as a Watson abroad, an American in Dublin. Enjoy…