The Submarine VOL 10 NO 2
June/September 2015
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EDITORIAL Most of us have come across this timehonoured graffiti somewhere: ‘To be is to do— Socrates. To do is to be—Sartre. Doobee doobee doo—Sinatra.’ Actually the first two sayings are variously attributed to Plato, Sophocles, Montesquieu, Kant, Kafka, Wittgenstein and whoever you had breakfast with; only Sinatra is constant. But in these lines we can see something more than a mocking of philosophical seriousness by Rat Pack hedonism, or indeed vice versa. In these words we can see the world of work: ‘to do is to be.’ And that of thought: ‘to be is to do.’ And not least, the world of play: ‘doobee doobee doo’. All are vital components of a fulfilled human existence. We might as well throw in another wellknown quotation while we have you— Batik – Darcy Maule Milton’s paradoxical ‘they also serve who only stand and wait.’ Of which there are many interpretations. The Librarian’s own (he has absolutely no evidence for this), is that the poet happened to glance up at his bookshelves and saw the volumes waiting there: the phrase sprang into his mind complete, too good not to use. There is an excellent website called The Browser (https//:thebrowser.com) which collects articles from publications around the world. Of particular interest in this exam-laden month is one by Jackson Lears in Commonweal entitled ‘The Liberal Arts vs. Neoliberalism.’ In it he reviews William Deresiewicz's book, “Excellent Sheep: The Miseducation of the American Elite and the Way to a Meaningful Life.” A flavour of his opinions can be found towards the end of his first paragraph: ‘The commitment to searching out deep truths has yielded to the celebration of playing with surfaces (in the arts) or solving problems (in the sciences). The merger of postmodern irony and positivist scientism has been underwritten by neoliberal capitalism— whose only standard of value is market utility.’ For liberals of the woolly rather than neo hue this is alarming. Essentially Lears is arguing that the purpose and intent of neo-liberal capitalism is to commodify everything—i.e. to give it a measurable monetary value—and that universities are surrendering. American undergraduates in elite colleges are flogging themselves to bits not in the pursuit of knowledge or higher truth, but to improve their employability. Universities meanwhile are measuring success through their graduate employment statistics; multinational investment and lucrative ‘partnerships’ depend on it. ‘They also serve [have purpose/are useful] who only stand and wait’…‘Doing nothing’, of course, is not doing nothing—it’s doing something for its own sake, without awareness of cost or
time (how those two cronies do operate together in the business lexicon!) In Lears’ world of heightened academia, it means to operate in a sphere where marketability is not important, where ‘deep thought’, discovery, insight, knowledge are legitimate ends in themselves. They require a time-free, context-free environment. They should be protected. We might never get to know of the work done there but it is vital to us as humans, who are in constant search of meaning. But for the rest of us who do not operate in academic elites, it means to know how to stand and wait. For if you are standing (or sitting, or walking) you are quite possibly thinking—even if you don’t think you are. But even more importantly, you are being. Standing and waiting (under a tree in the rain, for example) means, for those few short moments (Irish summer), that you are not a product, or a producer, you are not commodifiable, nor a commodity. You belong only to yourself and your people. Doing what you are doing—being you—is not measureable or marketable or saleable. In a world where even the personal has become profitable, you are— quite literally—out of it. So if I had a word of wisdom for our leavers, for school leavers everywhere, (as I feel I am entitled to goodness sakes) it would be to say, by all means be a doer—that is important and expected—but truly balance it with ‘doing nothing’. And remember to play. The insidious, artificial measure of marketability will define you otherwise, for good or ill. You are only here once. Be who you are. The world needs you. TMcC, Librarian
Tarzan’s Pool by Tania Stokes
CONTENTS Editorial……………………………………………..…………..1 Tarzan’s Pool, Tania Stokes……………………..…….2 New Books in the Library…………………………..…..3 Book review The Fault in Our Stars, Harvey McCone………………………………………………..……… 4 Junior Poetry: A Book, Poppy O’Malley; Copy Book, Andrew Pollock; Sensing, Johnny Pollock; The Colours of the Senses, Tania Stokes………..6 Back Home, Valentina Ascencio Munoz………..8 The Green and the Grey, Nyla Jamieson….…….9 Film review American Sniper, Douglas Boyd Crotty…………………………………………………………..10 Rust, Sam Lawrence; My Grardmother’s Hands, Rowan Sweeney………………………………………….11 The Referendum on Presidential Age, Nyla Jamieson……………………………………………………..12
I see the trees framing the bridge As I tread a well-worn trail Through a forest harbouring relics To find a forgotten, shrouded pool I hear the operatic chorus The hum of the mosquito’s tune The flick of the lizard’s tongue My echoing footsteps I smell the must of mystery Sunbeams warming water Rocks, lichen, leaf mould Come to life as scents I sense the silent creatures Move beneath the water The unseen reaches of the forest Left untouched by humankind
Many thanks, firstly, to our contributors for putting themselves ‘out there’. I hope you feel it was worth the risk – I certainly do. Thanks too to those members of staff who ‘applied the pressure’ (were conduits) – Ms Smith, Mr Jameson, Dr Bannister and Ms Cullen. And a very big thanks, as ever, to our ‘publisher’, Ms Emily Bainton, without whom The Submarine would be a sad little photocopy. *
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I am a gateway to another time I am the orchestra of the forest I am the guardian of the past I am A secret place
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The Great Terror: a reassessment by Robert Conquest I am Malala: the girl who stood up for education and was shot by the Taliban by Malala Yousafzai & Christina Lamb Jewish Slavery in Antiquity by Catherine Hezser Leni: the life and work of Leni Riefenstahl by Steven Bach The Looting Machine: warlords, tycoons, smugglers and the systematic theft of Africa's wealth by Tom Burgis Milton's Vision: the birth of Christian liberty by Theo Hobson The Monarchy and the British Nation 1780 to the Present by Andrzej Olechnowicz,(editor) The Nude: a study in ideal form by KennethClark Oxford Readings in Classical Studies: Persius and Juvenal by Maria Plaza (editor) The Rise of Thomas Cromwell : power and politics in the reign of Henry VIII by MichaelEverett Sex by Numbers: what statistics can tell us about sexual behaviour by David Spiegelhalter The Swerve: how the Renaissance began by Stephen Greenblatt Things: a spectrum of photography1850-2001 by Mark Haworth-Booth (editor) The Ulrich von Hassell Diaries: the story of the forces against Hitler inside Germany by Ulrich von Hassell Unexplained Mysteries of World War II by Jeremy Harwood Wild: a journey from lost to found by Cheryl Strayed William Stott of Oldham 1857-1900: 'A Comet rushing to the Sun' by Roger Brown
NEW BOOKS IN THE LIBRARY These are some of the books we added to our shelves this term JUNIOR FICTION
Brilliant by Roddy Doyle The Death Cure by James Dashner The Eye of Minds by James Dashner Fyre: Septimus Heape 7 by Angie Sage Heist Society by Ally Carter The Kill Order by James Dashner Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne The Maze Runner by James Dashner Moone Boy: The Blunder Years by Chris O'Dowd & Nick V.Murphy, Phoenix by S F Said, Rebel Heart by Moira Young, Spiders by Tom Hoyle Split Second by Sophie McKenzie, Uncommon Criminals by Ally Carter Trouble by Non Pratt, United We Spy by Ally Carter SENIOR FICTION
The Bone People by Keri Hulme The Broken Eye by Brent Weeks The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins The Green Road by Anne Enright Haweswater by Sarah Hall The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion The Lives of Women by Christine Dwyer Hickey, Us by David Nicholls SENIOR NON-FICTION
Alan Turing: the Enigma by Andrew Hodges American Sniper: the autobiography of the most lethal sniper in U.S. history by Chris Kyle & Jim Defelice Astronomy in Minutes: the night sky explained in an instant by Giles Sparrow The British Working Class 1832-1940 by Andrew August Collective Conviction: the story of Disaster Action by Anne Eyre & Pam Dix (editors) Germany: memories of a nation by Neil MacGregor Batik – Marina Wright
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Book review: The Fault in Our Stars by John Green Harvey McCone Why is The Fault In Our Stars such a phenomenon? Everywhere I looked I saw it. I’d watch TV and I’d see the trailer for the movie. I’d be listening to the radio and I’d hear people raving about the book. Even when I was listening to music on Spotify I’d hear countless advertisements for it. The Fault in Our Stars was everywhere. Of course, I tried to act oblivious to the whole thing. A teenage boy trying to keep up my ‘male status’, ushering away a soppy, love story that should be reserved for girls and middle aged women. But when I wandered into a plain, boring WHS in England, something drew me to this obsession of thousands, The relationship between the two main characters Hazel and Gus is the total focus of the story and I think that aspect really appealed to me. I think one of the things that contributes contri to this focus is their medical conditions. Hazel is living with cancer and Gus has just been treated, their cancer has enveloped their lives completely and simply living with it is their purpose. Their relationship changes this and they now live for the other person. Their personalities are unique. And that’s a thing I loved about it. Gus is hilarious! There are moments where I cringed at the things he says and does yet it’s hard not to find him incredibly cool and even people who didn’t like him cannot ot deny that putting cigarettes in your mouth and not smoking them is original. Their relationship is not just romantic, it is also cool and quirky. It’s a 21st century love story. The story is a cauldron of emotions. The excitement when they are in Amsterdam Amst together, the intimacy of their scene in bed and of course, the heartbreaking moments. There are two moments that stand out in my memory. Firstly the scene when Hazel finds Gus sprawled out in his car. It is vividly described and is such a desperate moment that it makes you feel sick inside. “Augustus sat in the driver’s seat, covered in his own vomit, his hands pressed to his belly where the G-tube went in.” The other moment is when Hazel is reading Gus’s letter to her before before his death. He writes, “for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love.” There is something about this that I found so sad yet so touching. ng. He knew what pain he was causing her, he knew that he was going to die and leave her forever. But he couldn’t stop himself because he loved her too much and wanted to spend his last days with her. The paradox of the whole story is one of my favourite parts. At the beginning the reader knows that Hazel is ill. The reader knows that Gus is ill and eventually finds out that he’s going to die. Yet once they start on the journey together you forget about all that. You forget the limited time that they have you forget that at any moment one of them could end up in hospital. The point where Hazel is rushed to hospital grounds you. But as soon as she is together with Gus again you go back to thinking and wanting them to be together forever. As Hazel herself h puts it, “you gave me a forever within the numbered days.” 4
Magical. I think lots of people see The Fault In Our Stars as the stuff of dreams. It is an amazing story that is a fantasy. The setting plays a huge part in creating this feeling. The dinner scene in Amsterdam feels like a dream. I think a lot of people wish they could experience the magic that these characters experience. I think the best way to describe it is that it’s the perfect love story. So I got a shock when I read this book. And it’s obvious to me why The Fault In Our Stars is such a phenomenon. I never realised that a book could produce so many feelings. Could be such rollercoaster ride of joy and despair from start to finish. Hate or adore Gus and Hazel's love story, there is no denying that this book will mark you. It is a book you won't forget. It keeps you thinking for at least a day after it. About the ifs and buts. Wondering at the different endings the book could have had, that perhaps you wanted it to have. And thinking about the immortal word, “forever”. _____________________________________________________________________________________
Tres Chés
Che Guevara, 1960
Robbie McDonald as Che Guevara, 2015. Photographed by Felix Mertes
Conall Mather-Dix as Che Guevara, 2015. Photographed by Felix Alyn Morgan
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JUNIOR POETRY
Copy Book by Andrew Pollock
Charming, witty, moving, vibrant, thoughtful – just some of the words that describe the work of our young poets...
I am a copybook Scribbled on my front, a name. All eighty-eight pages Exactly the same. You think I’m boring And that I enjoyed each day But I didn’t I never liked school anyway. You don’t understand how badly I’m abused and mistreated: I’m sick of being thrown away Every time I’m completed. I’m sick of listening to them Chatter and moan Always asking each other the time. And in response from the teacher, A groan.
The Son of Man, 1964 by Rene Magritte
A Book by Poppy O’Malley You think I’m a bore Full of unuseful general knowledge, But I am different, and I will always be different. You prefer technology over me, which hurts. I had a prime time – But it’s over now. Technology has replaced me. I’m sick of the shelf Squished between dusty books That haven’t been touched for years. Lola Gasull Algas as The Son of Man, 2015. Photographed by Nathalie Verwijs
Maybe if I didn’t have a dusty red cover And I wasn’t all battered and bruised I’d be picked up once more. 6
Sensing by Johnny Pollock I see under my duvet, which drapes over the edge of my bed, Where all the monsters live Listening from underneath me every night. I hear nothing from them, which trembles my soul. It wakes me when I need sleep most. I can hear them without listening to them, Their silence is loudest of all. I smell their presence as I flick The light switch into my bedroom. They scatter. I smell the dirt of their scaly skin
Batik – Sophia Siefert
I sense they know me, I sense they are waiting for a good Opportunity to take me. I sense them up close when my eyes are shut. I sense they are near in the night time.
The Colours of the Senses by Tania Stokes Outside the door Is a fresh spring day The scent of pale green hues tinged with lavender
I am the monsters that live under my bed. I am the silence that is the loudest of all. I am the dirt from their scaly skin. I am closest when your eyes close.
A waterfall Comes crashing down The sound of raging dark blue shades Roaring above a pool of black Wild berries Growing free upon the hill The taste of deep purple Unattainable royalty Scattered pine needles Carpet the forest floor Red to the touch Is their prickle defence The sunset Unravels its shining skein I see its golden beauty As the day ends.
Lino cut – Philip Shekleton
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BACK HOME might not be quite what you think, writes Valentina Ascencio Munoz You are in the plane and you are thinking about all the things you want to do, all the people you want to see and you keep wondering how everybody is. It is the first time you visit your homeland in two months. The flight may seem infinite to you but you are not annoyed, on the contrary, you are drunk, drunk on happiness and excitement. Finally the megaphone voice announces your arrival. You take your belongings, careful not to forget anything. You go out of the plane. You have to cross a corridor that appears endless and then wait an eternity for your luggage to come out. You hope someone is at the airport waiting for you. Then, you see your parents, smiling so hard you fear their lips might break and their sparkling eyes look at you as if you have been resurrected from the dead. They both hug you. They do not let you go. They kiss you on both cheeks continually. In a normal situation you would immediately escape their caresses but not today, today you are back home and they have missed you. You become their unharmed victim for a while, and you do not complain about it. When you arrive at your house it does not feel like Girl at the Window by Salvador Dali, 1925 home anymore. Everything is moved, all your personal belongings: your old CDs, your favourite clothes, your coloured frames, your memories, even your bed seems different. The smell is not the same. You do not belong here anymore but you have to hold it together. In that moment mixed feelings fill you violently: anger, nostalgia, loneliness and emptiness. Do not bring back to life your old memories. You try to convince yourself that you are experiencing the best part of your life. You will discover sooner or later that you are, because there is no better thing than getting to know the outside world. I hope that you are not trying to return everything to how it was, because you will not succeed. It would be like you are looking for a lost perfection that never existed. You feel powerless. The best possible reaction to this inevitable change is acceptance. You cannot expect that during the long time you have been away everything stayed frozen, as if the whole universe was spinning around you. When the time to dine comes you sit at the table you used to sit at when you were a tiny little human. Your mom has prepared Greek food, your favourite, and you are terribly thankful. You turn your head all around the room to contemplate the familiar furniture and a warm recognition fills you. Your dad makes his usual jokes that never made you laugh but today you giggle until your abdomen hurts. You enjoy every minuscule bit of the delicious feast that was specially prepared for you. You cut the chicken slowly, imagining its taste before it even touches your mouth; you pour on the yoghurt dressing and finally you savour the heavenly food while you destroy it languidly with your teeth. You eat an oversized portion; in consequence you feel you are about to explode. Then you help cleaning the table, moaning as always. Some things never change. You sleep in your bedroom that was once your secret cave but now is an empty cemetery of memories. The sound of your phone wakes you up the next morning. You pick it up from the messy floor and discover that your friends want to meet you for lunch. You are delighted instantly. For the rest of the morning you are not able to disguise that stupid smile on your face. You take an exaggerated time to choose your attire. You speed to the Metro and catch the train that was just about to leave. You are still fighting for oxygen when the woman’s voice announces your stop. 8
You look rapidly at your watch and realise how late you are. You know the location of the meeting place perfectly. You remember it from the hundreds of times you used to go there after school, that was part of your old life, the one you left behind what seems a million years ago. You quickly recognise your group of friends. You sit at their table and you notice with disgust that a girl you used to hate is seated with them. Everyone says hello to you, but even if two or three people sound truly excited about your presence, most of the table just keeps going on with their trivial conversations. You look at everyone, one by one, and you realise how everyone has changed enormously. You never think of them as changed, it’s like when you see a picture of yourself a year ago and you are so different now that you seem to be someone else, but when you see your reflection in your mirror daily you cannot observe any variation at all. For the next hour you soliloquise about your new awesome experiences and you learn all the gossip of your old school. After a while you start to get bored. You remember how marvellous these reunions used to be, but now they just appear extremely tedious. Your friends keep arguing about the same people, the same places, the same problems. They are all still in the same state of maturity while you have grown. You feel like a misfit toy surrounded by puppets that have been stuck in the same horrible routine for too long, used and bored puppets. You do not belong here anymore. Nathalie Verwijs as Girl at the Window, 2015. When you understand this, you will also comprehend Photographed by Lola Gasull Algas that trying to be a complete part of your past is in vain. You should be satisfied to have been part of it and to have moved on. You can only be in one place at a time. You can only live one present. Stop thinking how fantastic your old life used to be; because I will confess—it was not. __________________________________________________________________________
The Green and the Grey by Nyla Jamieson I went to the one dot of green Amongst this sea of grey. There I found a wave of glass and plastic, Thrown there when no longer wanted. An old rusty swing stood lonely in the middle Of the green covered in graffiti.
I got in my car and went for a drive, I went to the place where everything is green. I saw houses made of wood And roofs made of leaves. One resident ran in without wiping his dirty paws.
Although the green is a more beautiful place, Grey is the favourite colour of our species. We rip up and destroy the green concert hall And replace it with rivers of tarmac. I looked around at all the cruelty, crime and carelessness. I saw many humans but little humanity.
I went to the concert hall Where the grass whispered, The leaves rustled and the wind whistled All in perfect harmony – The best symphony I have ever heard. I got in my car and went for a drive, I went to the place where everything is grey: I saw a forest made of concrete and brick, And rivers made of tarmac, Even the air was grey and heavy in my lungs. 9
Film Review: American Sniper Douglas Boyd Crotty Having aving done some prior research on the ‘hero’ of American Sniper, Sniper Chris Kyle, I was reluctant to watch the film. I had read passages from the Navy SEAL’s ’s autobiography where he brags about ending the lives of ‘savages’ in Iraq and I was left with a character who didn’t seem like the American hero that I knew the film was going to portray him as. I initially passed on watching watching the film, expecting it would be typical American war propaganda, this time about Iraq. Iraq However, after it was nominated nomi for several Oscars, I decided to see it. it I had watched some of Clint Eastwood’s previous films and had enjoyed them (Gran Gran Torino, Escape From Alcatraz, Jersey Boys) Boys) so there was still a slight hope in my mind that this might ight just be a realistic story about the war in the Middle East. E Despite my low expectations I was still left disappointed with the stupidity and ignorance shown in the film. It was two hours of completely biased war propaganda. We are given a story about a so-called ‘hero’ who in reality is a southern American American psychopath who prides himself on murdering Iraqis. It turns the moral atrocity that was the invasion of Iraq into a simple fairy tale following the life of one single man. Like many war movies, American erican Sniper uses the struggles of American soldiers to prevent people from worrying too much about what horrors the Americans actually caused in Iraq (and stretching outside its borders). I sort of expected this, but even so, I wasn't planning on watching watching a movie about a proud killer who slowly (very slowly) begins to regret shooting down so many women and children. There are some points at which the film’s ridiculousness becomes too much to handle. An example ample is when Kyle, a muscular Navy N SEAL is shirtless less at home hugging his crying wife as they watch the horrible footage of 9/11 live on the news. Next thing you know, he’s in Iraq fighting ‘bad guys’ with his long range killing machine - you may remember the same illogical connection was made between 9/11 and the Iraqi invasion by George Bush.. That connection resulted in the war in question. Of course there had been no connection between Iraq and Al Qaeda until the wrong country was terrorised by American troops, causing it to become a breeding ground for… r… Al Qaeda. Another example of cringe-worthy worthy misrepresentation in the film is the moment at which Kyle pulls the trigger on the antagonist of the film - an evil Iraqi terrorist leader. ‘Aim small, hit small,’ Kyle whispers as he executes the enemy, as if this was the single shot which ‘won’ the war on terror, keeping suicide bombers out of every city and town in America. There is no ‘winning’ the war on terror. The movie becomes a representation (in reality a mis-representation) mis representation) of the character of a single soldier. The viewer ends up pondering Chris Kyle and his difficult life, not the innocent civilians he killed, never mind the rich and powerful who put him in Iraq and told him to kill said civilians in the first place. I was shocked at how brave and heroic he was portrayed as being in the film as I was honestly quite disturbed by his real-life real account. I was particularly horrified by a passage in the book where one fellow sniper in particular began to threaten his ‘legendary’ number of confirmed kills, and ‘all all of a sudden’ su Kyle seemed to have seemed to have ‘every ‘ stinkin' bad guy in thee city running across my scope’—as scope’ in somehow his luck quickly changed when the killing competition got close. In summary, I would not recommend this film to anybody - unless you want to be brainwashed into thinking that Chris Kyle was some sort of role-model role model and the Iraqi invasion 10
was some glorious liberation by the Americans. Even then, there is no story to this movie. American kid Chris Kyle is good at shooting so he uses 9/11 as an excuse to join the Navy SEALs and kill Iraqis in their living rooms. That is the whole story. The movie ends with reallife footage of Chris Kyle’s widely-attended funeral (he was killed when he cleverly brought a fellow soldier with PTSD to a firing range…) which slightly confuses me and angers me. This part of the movie really made me wonder what message Clint Eastwood was trying to convey. While Chris Kyle was doing his job ‘well’, I certainly don’t think he deserves to be glorified and made out to be such an icon, and a hero - and most certainly not a role-model! I think it is quite frankly a disgrace that this psychopath who in reality admitted to loving shooting Iraqi civilians from safety is being glorified like this. Hollywood is once again being used as a propaganda tool, just like it had been for such movies as Black Hawk Down in 2001 and Battleship in 2012, both of which received generous contributions from the US military for obvious reasons. American Sniper is truly a terrible movie with a ridiculously but unsurprisingly morally misguided message. Anybody who has any sense of morality and prior knowledge of either Chris Kyle or the Iraq war will undoubtedly hate this film like I do. _____________________________________________________________________________________
Me when Mummy wasn’t there. These were the hands whose hugs could stop tears. These were the hands that read me Stories when I was afraid To go to sleep. These were my Grandmother’s hands. These are the hands that are now So cold. These are the hands that have grown old. These are the hands that I will never Hold. These are my Grandmother’s hands.
Rust by Sam Lawrence I am a bike left away to rust, I used to ride around all day long, But now I’m just scrap metal, That’ll never get used. I used to ride around smoothly But now my wheels barely turn. I used to be bright red but now all I see is rust. I wish I could go outside And be out of this lonely shed. I once competed in races, I could hear the crowd cheering. But now all I hear is silence.
My Grandmother’s Hands by Rowan Sweeney These were the hands that held Me when I cried. These were the hands that wiped Away the tears while in pain. These were the hands that gave me money, sweets and love. These were my Grandmother’s hands. These were the hands that protected 11
Batik – Janet Boyd
NOW LOOK HERE! The Referendum on Presidential Age by Nyla Jamieson In the recent referendum on lowering the presidential age in Ireland from 35 to 21 the population of Ireland voted for an overwhelming “No” with the final figures being 26.9% “Yes” and 73.1% “No”. I think that this is a shame and that the presidential age should have been lowered. Many people voted “No” on the basis that a 21 year old would be too young and inexperienced to be the President of Ireland. However, at 21 you are allowed to drink, to drive, to vote, to work and do pretty much anything that a 35 year old can do. If a 21 year old is too inexperienced to run for president then how come they can vote for others who can run? Even if you still believe that 21 is too young, saying “Yes” in this referendum wouldn’t necessarily be saying that the President has to be of that age. It would be still possible to have voted for people that run of any age. The referendum would just have given people the opportunity to run. This would have allowed for people of what is often seen as a mature age of about 28 or so to run. Often people at the age of 35 want to settle down and aren’t as ambitious or as full of life as younger people are. If you were a ruler in a different country which country would you rather deal with, a country whose head of state is energetic and has big plans for the development of his country or someone like Michael D. Higgins? I have nothing against Mr Higgins and think that he has done a reasonable job as President. However, the Irish economy needs help and we are still only emerging from one of the deepest recessions ever in recent history. We surely have to agree that Mr Higgins isn’t the most inviting person and frankly, his being the head of state must make other countries see Ireland is old and tired. We need better relations with other countries in order to strengthen our fragile economy. Another point is to do with all those that voted “Yes” to the marriage referendum but “No” to this one. The marriage referendum received a landslide “Yes” vote with 62.1% voting “Yes” and 37.9% voting “No” Ireland is the first country in the world to vote “Yes” for samesex marriage and so it is a proud day for Ireland which has made world history. What I don’t understand however, is how a person who is for equal rights between adults of differing sexual orientations is, at the same time, not for equality between adults. Surely everyone who voted “Yes” for same-sex marriage due to a belief in equality should have also voted “Yes” for the presidential age referendum under the same flagship of their steadfast belief in equality for all. It is my view that all adults, if they want to, should be permitted to run for election. You do not have to vote for a person if you think that the individual is too immature but what harm can there be in giving equal opportunities to all adults? Equality is a human right in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I believe that there was no good reason for a “No” vote and had I been able to vote, I would have, most certainly, voted “Yes”. I am disappointed that the population of Ireland apparently disagrees. 12