Wasted
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A failing of the State has been identified in the area of treatment, particularly among young persons. The Minister’s failure to address this issue will do little to reassure those at the front line—the addiction counsellors, the psychiatrists, the worried parents and the doctors—that there are adequate supports in place to effectively treat our increasing class of young problem drinkers.
With over 100 recommendations, the Strategic Taskforce on Alcohol had some useful and timely suggestions, such as accurate data gathering, investment in treatment services and a look at minimum pricing. Many of these suggestions remain to be implemented, as does a serious look at the issue of alcohol sponsorship in sport. Meanwhile, the government point to measures such as raising the cost of an off-licence by €200 and pulling back off-trade opening hours as measures of success. Such ‘signal policies’, as they were called elsewhere, fail to tackle the underlying behavioural issues at the core of Ireland’s problematic relationship with alcohol.
It is clear also that a division exists between the public health lobby and the drinks industry on how best to tackle the issue, with government moving between the two groups. Government needs to adopt a clear, singular approach, and without a National Alcohol Policy, it is unlikely that this will ever happen organically.
Even the Taoiseach, Brian Cowen, has adopted a laissez-faire attitude in public on occasion. During an interview with ‘Hot Press’ magazine, he was prompted to give his tuppence on our binge-drinking levels, and instead of offering a clean break with past tolerances, he seemed to indicate it was okay for young people to let their hair down now and again. He claimed that young people ‘should be able to go out and enjoy themselves’ with alcohol, as long as they ‘find a balance and keep the head’, while adding that he was ‘all for people enjoying themselves’, but wouldn’t ‘welcome a boozing sort of culture’ coming into the country. Coming into the country? All the evidence says it’s already here. Who is advising him and how blinded can he be to the realities of Ireland’s association with alcohol?
As journalist Gemma O’Doherty noted in a follow-up article, ‘There isn’t a pocket of the planet where Ireland’s reputation as a “boozing culture” isn’t seen as part and parcel of our national identity.’ And it’s not as if Cowen is alone in his observations. When his predecessor, Bertie Ahern, was confronted with a survey that showed Irish schoolchildren as the third-highest substance samplers in the world, his response was ‘They’re just experimenting. Just because you smoke a joint doesn’t make you a druggie.’ So if that is part of the higher ranks of government thinking (and we’ve already heard the Minister of State’s views on a lack of awareness outside her own community), where will the pressure to tackle Ireland’s drinking culture come from? Certainly not from the estimated 80,000–100,000 workers dependent on the Irish drinks industry, more precious now as the country enters into a prolonged downward economic cycle.
Perhaps not from the industry themselves, who promote ‘drink responsibly’ and ‘drink aware’ campaigns while simultaneously offering solutions to irresponsible drinking and its consequences on their websites. It’s akin to speaking with clarity out of the one side of their mouth while slurring through the other. And therein lies the Irish complex. What we say and do are two different things when it comes to alcohol, and the industry is a strong lobby determined to maintain the status quo. The public health lobby has to fight for attention, but with our health service under constant strain and scrutiny for a host of other deficiencies, from cancer screening to cystic fibrosis treatment, organ transplants to proper community healthcare packages, tackling the alcohol issue doesn’t seem all that high on the policymakers’ agenda.
Conclusion
Where to Next?
When money’s tight and is hard to get
And your horse has also ran,
When all you have is a heap of debt—
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.
The story of Ireland and its people, as told through literature, song and poetry, is often soaked in alcohol. Behan, Kavanagh, O’Brien, MacGowan, the Dubliners, Richard Harris, Donal McCann, Luke Kelly, Phil Lynott and Rory Gallagher were all marked by an overdependence on the booze at various times in their lives, which informed and shaped their artistic output. They were products of their environments, and alcohol was seen as a fertiliser of artistic freedom, as allowing creativity to flourish, despite the cost in human terms. The only filmed interview with Flann O’Brien that is known to exist shows a desperately shy, insecure, half-shot and inarticulate individual, decidedly the worse for wear. It’s rarely shown on Irish television and the image doesn’t make it onto posters or stamps. ‘Great Irish Writers Who Pissed Their Lives Away’ has decidedly less market value than ‘Great Irish Writers’ full stop. Yet behind every drinking writer and artist, there are surely days of empty retching and starvation, mental anguish and trauma. Those stories, with a few notable exceptions (such as Nuala O’Faolain’s Are You Somebody?), are largely left untold and almost completely written out of Irish popular culture. It’s much the same with Ireland itself. As a country we rely on the drinks industry for revenue and employment, we rely on the image of ourselves as a booze nation to attract tourists, and we rely on alcohol to paper over the cracks of our emotional longing. The romanticism of excess thrives in Ireland, where the problem drinker is often harboured by society, sheltered in his or her forgiving bay for longer than would be the case in most other countries. For a non-drinker, the pervasiveness of alcohol within society can be alienating and socially marginalising.
During the research for this book, and having lived sober in Ireland for almost half a decade, I see few signs of a reduction in the relationship between Ireland and alcohol emerging. The terms of reference between the two might be shifting, with the decline of the bar trade and the rise in domestic drinking, yet that in itself merely reflects a more insular and less community-orientated society which has emerged in the past two decades. Communities are also witnessing the closure of independent local shops and post offices, so that the decline in the rural bar trade, in particular, can be seen as part of a wider move towards urbanisation. There are other reasons for the shift to off-premises drinking. Over the past five years, many have paid over the odds for homes they are now intent on enjoying. The pub experience is easily reproduced in a home setting with modern audiovisual appliances and a better range of take-home drinks. Therefore, less numerous and less populated bars in Ireland should not be confused with a maturing of our relationship with the gargle. It is revealing that the two events publicans point to as reasons for a decline in the trade are the smoking ban and the stricter enforcement of drink-driving laws. Yet the smoking ban has been mimicked all over Europe, while the drink-driving enforcement was a necessary focus on implementing existing laws at a time when road deaths were spiralling. Still, those two events are seen less for the impact they have had had on reducing illness and death and more for their supposed effect on drinks revenue. Too often when it comes to addressing issues associated with alcohol in Ireland, money talks.
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In April 2009, during our most recent economic woes, the ‘Late Late Show’ decided to invite actor Eamon Morrissey on to the show to recite Flann O’Brien’s ‘The Workman’s Friend’. This was prime-time Friday night entertainment, with the actor reciting the poem behind a mock bar erected on the floor of the studio. The last refrain goes: ‘In time of trouble and lousy strife,/You have still got a darlint plan,/You still can turn to a brighter life—A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.’ Morrissey had adapted the poem for his play, The Brother, in the early 1970s, and on cue at the end of the poem downed a pint in one, before wiping his brow and taking a seat next to the host, Pat Kenny. Generally, the ‘Late Late Show’ is an irony-free zone. Therefore, in a country where statistics over the past few decades consistently point to high incidences of problem drinking, where the alcohol-related harm figures have soared, where binge-drinking is prevalent among our teenagers,
where per capita consumption stays ahead of the EU average, the question is: how acceptable is it for a Friday night chat show to host an actor downing a pint in one and heralding the pint as the answer to all of life’s problems? Will the startling facts and figures we now possess do anything to dislodge the symbiotic relationship between Irish culture and alcohol?
The imaging was similarly myopic when the Ryder Cup, the largest golf tournament in the world, was held on Irish soil in 2006. As a celebratory nod to the host country, European captain Ian Woosnam was seen by millions around the world downing a pint of the black stuff in one and presenting the empty glass to the cheering attendees. He did it because this is what you do when you are in Ireland. There was little or no comment in the media afterwards on the suitability of the image—indeed, many papers and news bulletins had it as their lead item. It’s a similar tale when visiting dignitaries come here. Ex-Taoiseach Bertie Ahern felt the need to bring then us President Bill Clinton round to his local in Drumcondra for a pint during a visit. The images went around the world. No one at home batted an eyelid; in fact, there would have been questions had Bertie not introduced Bill to the black stuff, given that it is a long-established tradition for American presidents on Irish soil.
What I’m trying to get at is that, despite increased legislative approaches to tackling the issue of alcohol abuse in Irish society, despite a greater awareness by those in the drinks industry that problems exist, and despite the documenting of those problems and their cost to Irish society, the underlying relationship between Ireland and alcohol continues to have deep psychological and cultural roots. Throughout the ages, travellers to Ireland, from the seventeenth century onwards, perpetuated the image of the drunken Paddy, recounting their experiences and perhaps exaggerating certain aspects for political purposes. In the twenty-first century we don’t need others to do the stereotyping for us—we’ve become experts at fuelling the image of the drunken Paddy all by ourselves.
Having just come through a period of financial giddiness, Irish society is now suffering the mother of all monetary hangovers. While economic moderation might be the future, alcoholic excess very much remains the present. How the economic straitening will affect our relationship with alcohol remains to be seen. On the one hand, disposable income will not be so readily available, which should have a knock-on impact on per capita consumption. The alarming spikes in binge-drinking and per capita consumption directly reflected the rise in prosperity during the Celtic Tiger years. It was a period of abandonment and recklessness, and it will be interesting to see whether or not tighter economic times lead to behavioural changes in relation to alcohol. Responsibility starts at home, though, and as many in this book have commented, parents need to take the lead in allowing moderation and maturity to determine their children’s relationship with alcohol.
The government, too, have a role to play in helping modify behaviour and acting on available data, although whether or not a strong legislative hand would have any impact on drinking patterns remains to be seen. Despite taking the lead in inaugurating the workplace smoking ban, smoking numbers in Ireland have crept up in recent years, putting us above the UK and us in percentage terms (29 per cent of the adult population in Ireland smoke, compared to 20 per cent in the US and 24 per cent in the UK). So while wider society may regard smoking in public places as totally unacceptable, smokers, it seems, are carrying on regardless and the legislation has had little positive effect on actual numbers smoking in Ireland. The smoking lobby point to the fact that once the ban had been introduced, areas such as establishing smoking helplines and promoting education and awareness lapsed, thereby allowing numbers to creep back up again. So there is a debate as to whether a similar crackdown on drinking hours and availability would in any way change drinking levels in Ireland.
But something has to be done, and at the very least a concerted effort made to form a consensus approach within government. As it is, different departments appear to be skirting around the fringes of the issue, without actually grasping the bigger issues or acting on a coherent policy.
As things stand, government doesn’t seem to have the political will to take on the drinks industry and row in behind the health lobby’s stance. Indeed, the government set out their stall in a recent emergency budget (April 2009). When presented with a chance to raise the price of alcohol, they declined. While cigarettes and diesel rose by 25c and 5c respectively, alcohol remained unchanged. The reason? There was ‘no scope for increases in excise duties on alcohol or petrol because of the substantial risk of loss of revenue by the purchase of these items in Northern Ireland’, explained Minister for Finance Brian Lenihan. We’re still justifying alcohol policy in financial rather than health or social terms. In the weeks prior to the budget the drinks industry had lobbied hard for excise on alcohol to remain unchanged. The government, it seemed, listened. At the time of writing, plans are afoot by government to tackle loss-leading alcohol promotions and cut-price deals. This is in recognition of the fact that the cost of alcohol has fallen sharply in recent years while the number of outlets selling alcohol has increased dramatically. For instance, between 2001 and 2007, there was an increase of almost 70 per cent in the number of off-licences and shops selling alcohol. In some outlets it is now cheaper to buy a bottle of beer than a bottle of water. Tesco was one of the stores criticised for promotions in recent times, when it ran a St Patrick’s Day offer of 48 cans of beer for €24. Many off-licences now have volunteered to close their stores for part of St Patrick’s Day, yet public disturbances and large-scale street drinking continue to go hand in hand with celebrating the national day of Irishness.
During the course of this book I’d like to think I have exposed some of the reasons, from issues of circumstance to those of emotional need, that lie behind our problem drinking. Those underlying issues, coupled with a degree of uncertainty on how best to tackle them, have created something of a perfect storm for problem drinking in Ireland over the past few decades. Ironically, the current generation is the first to emerge free from past oppressions such as widespread poverty, religious persecution and questions of national identity. Yet still, there is often a need to dilute everyday experience and life events through large-scale abuse of alcohol.
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On a personal level, I am content with my sobriety. It can be challenging living in Ireland and not drinking alcohol. It can also be difficult to identify whether or not you have a problem in the first place, given that we live in a culture where tolerance levels and drinking volumes are so high. I believe it’s not by comparing ourselves to each other that we will address our drinking; it will come more from making international comparisons. Simply put, my sobriety is far less of an issue and rarely discussed when I am in another country. In Ireland, passing on wine at dinner or ordering a mineral water in a bar on a Friday night will often be marked, especially in new company. My experience is that this doesn’t happen nearly as much elsewhere.
I am still proud to be Irish, still enthralled and excited by many aspects of this country and its people. I’m just less enamoured with the manner in which we engage with other socially. I find it frustrating, depressing and often off-putting. I know that after I came out of rehab, people would say, ‘Oh, he had a problem with drink.’ But I don’t feel as if I’m the one with the problem. I look more critically at society since I got sober and often find myself unable to relate. Yesterday, stopped in traffic lights at 4 p.m. in Cork city centre, I saw a group of teenage girls vomiting outside a bar where they were being served. They were clearly underage and drunk. Ahead of me was a tour bus of what looked like American golf tourists. They took pictures. So, this is Ireland?
Whether or not the current generation will redefine Ireland, free from alcoholic associations, remains to be seen. There are signs that a café culture is beginning to take hold in cities and towns around the country. This will take time to root and flourish, and affect in a substantive way the manner in which we engage with other soci
ally. Alcoholism is still something of a taboo in Ireland, its sufferers still often seen as damaged goods, socially scarred and emotionally fragile. At least that’s the feeling you can allow yourself to succumb to, unless you search for an Ireland without alcohol. Such an Ireland does exist, it’s just that it is a little slow in revealing itself.
Of all the people I spoke to for this book, those Irish I met in Cricklewood have remained in my mind the longest. There, in dingy Dickensian hovels, clutching onto fragments of an Ireland long gone, is a version of ourselves and our overdependence on alcohol almost too shocking to contemplate. I think of those men, many dead, others on the way, and hope that the next generation will note their dependencies, self-delusions and struggles. There’s dignity in their desperation, as well as resignation and insight and an acknowledgment of the grip alcohol can have over self and society. Often, when I reflect on the good things sobriety has brought me, I replay the interview with Séamus. The fizz of a single-bar heater is audible in the background, and between cups of cider, he examines what is left of his life and his environment.
‘At the same time all me mates were all heavy drinkers. Jesus—they’re all dead now. Tom is the only survivor. Some of them would knock on the door at two or three o’clock in the morning. And sure I’d answer the door straight away for them no problem at all. Jesus, they’re dead now. The man other side that wall there. Billy Simpson. He was sixty-eight. And Patsy was in the room across, he was sixty-nine. And Eóin in the back room was from Achill Island. But Jesus, we were all the one gang, a crazy gang. All great mates. Nobody would see each other wrong. It’s a different ball game now. It’s beating me now and all, I know it is. At the same time I’m fighting a good aul’ battle as best I can.’
For me, the above serves as a timely reminder of what can happen when society and self come to rely too much on the social. It always leaves me grateful that I was given an opportunity to redefine my Irishness. Others, I am acutely aware, have not been so lucky.