Not Far Enough A Diverse Bunch of Students Eve Martin Meghan Sullivan
About
Losers? Tom Comer Escape vs. Escapism Phoebe Pascoe
A Substitute for Pistol and Ball
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Editor
Brian Lennon (et. Host)
Jared Reilly - Seagull (Front Cover)
Zeina Ali Hasan - On the Shoreline; Falling
Aditi Agarwal - Roses
Nell Gardiner - Pigs Can Fly
Molly Hirst - Rose Garden
Livia Harris - Burglar Band graphics
Weather & Traffic - Weather & Traffic
Alix Sentuc - Rue Parisienne; Sunlight Building, Berlin
Kat Nicolenco - Northside (Back Cover)
Foreword
Alex Payne
As another year at Trinity draws to a close, we, here at Misc., present to you our final offering in our 130th year. With a weeks-worth 17 articles this issue, amongst other entertainments, this copy is sure to keep you busy during revision.
Contained within one can find breakdowns of the happenings in this year’s political arena, as well as some insight into student creatives - whether that be musicians or engineers. Our Erasmus section delivers a scintillating, step-by-step, blow-by-blow account of the Camino alongside some cautionary
tales from across Europe.
It is particularly exciting to bring to you an analysis of an original Samuel Beckett published in Misc. in 1929 and to have our first piece published in Gaeilge this year.
Of our submissions, a number were on the topic of escapism - from embracing the void to searching for the next step away from college.
For those with a more light-hearted predeliction, this is certainly the issue for you. The now-disgraced radio show Weather & Traffic is exposed and two of our writers go head to head in a review
of the morning pub Slattery’s.
It is a testament to the fervent enthusiasm of Trinity’s writing community that I have not had to bore you with a single long-form article this year. I would like to thank them all, and in partiuclar this year’s staff, who have jumped onboard for what has been an ambitious and experimental year at the magazine.
We have seen Misc. grow in size and presence throughout the year, and I can only wish that my successor finds as much reward editing this as I have.
Best wishes, Alex.
Overheard
on
ampus
“Rent is so crazy here that my parents bought me a place.”
“You should try acid and hit the new Book of Kells Experience. What. A. Ride.”
“Did you hear about that security guard who got fired for joining a Printing House Square party?”
“I actually think banning tourists is the best idea I’ve heard all year.”
“My mum told me not to trust Lidl. M&S all the way.”
“Anyone going to council tonight?” “Nope.”
Heard something amusing, stereotypical and/or shocking as you’re making your way around campus?
Keep an eye on our Instagram, @tcdmiscmagazine, for a submissions box or email us directly at editor@miscmagazine.ie
The Grid
T-Ball
Perenially popular, just because
The Phil Sizeable budget allowed free alcohol at their ball
Toga Party Curtailed at short notice
Green Week already forgotten about
Students
Overheard telling students “not to bight the hand that feeds you”
University Times Where journalists go to look good
Ralph Balfe Jenny Maguire was funnier
TMT
Won the CSC’s Best Society, but does anyone go to their shows?
A useful barometer to judge others against
About to bring a hefty bill to Trinity Publications
TCDSU
If Ralph Balfe would, surely she’s a gem
TFM
Hit the 25 year mark in style feature provided some unwelcome respite
When will they stop?
Snus Just don’t let anyone see you put one in
A strong year for an organisation few care about
Icarus Flying (too) close to the sun
but do you really need 20 journalists to write up a hustings event?
The Hist Enough about the world record, please
Piranha Nibbling on scraps at the bottom of the river
Exhausted, Stressed and under Pressure
Tom Comer sits down with TCDSU President Láslzó Molnárfi to discuss what has been an energetic year.
Láslzó Molnárfi is more radical than you realise. His vision for our society, our students movement and your daily life superseded anything we saw in his realisation of the Trinity College Dublin Students’ Union (TCDSU). I sat down with your TCDSU president (until the 26th of June) to conduct an interview similar to our first at the start of the year. My aim was to ask rather trivial questions, to show a more personal side of someone who shaped your college experience, whether you agreed or not. What followed was an interview totally focused on the intricacies of institutional liberalism, what it means to be truly radical and, frankly, a discussion which challenged my meek and feeble principles (I study economics). In the first interview we had a number of pints at The Ginger Man, this time we had two black coffees in Doyle’s (I too was unaware they served coffee prior to the interview).
fabric of our country through policy and agenda represents something more attractive. I was wrong on a number of accounts. The issue of “liberalist” institutions which do not encourage class consciousness, was brought up once more. He further expanded on his refusal of the office of Taoiseach by claiming “in the scenario where 50 per cent or more of people in the country vote in a socialist leader, then they should start a revolution to bring down these institutions themselves.”. For context, László rates Sinn Fein a 3 out of 10 for leftism, People Before Profit an 8 and Fine Gael, 0.
ty quickly. There is little empowerment in this charade, and as such he strongly advocates for grassroots movements to decentralise campaigning and embolden students to decide the content and form which their movements take. There’s quite a lot you may disagree with there, and feel free to, Misc. Magazine advocates for individual free-thinking (but it is NOT a democracy). You may wonder, if László thinks all this, why did he run for TCDSU president at all? Why try and inculcate such a liberal institution with a radicalist agenda at all? I wonder the exact same thing. If you do, you should really write for Misc next year!
It started light. I asked László if he would take up the role of provost, if offered. He criticised the inherent ability for the provost to change anything, saying it was wrapped in a stifling bureaucratic institution not conducive to any real, radical change. He described the role as being in “determinant conditions which determine you”, arguing that there could never be a truly radical Provost as even the description is a misnomer. The provost isn’t the ultimate decision maker, and in László’s eyes, acts as a mediator of capital, something he staunchly opposes.
In my ignorance, I thought then perhaps that the office of Taoiseach may appease him. Surely the head of our government, capable of changing the very
But what does all this really mean? Liberalism? Institution? Socialism? As a god-fearing social democrat, I was scared by these big words. László gratuitously explained it to me. Imagine we are voting in a TCDSU council. Suppose someone tables the motion “TCDSU shall condemn the killing of puppies and/or all cute pets”. A real crowd pleaser - no doubt TN would cover the story extensively. But, once the motion passes, the sabbatical officers, our elected representatives, take over the campaign. They may focus on it, leave it to the side, blockade the Book of Kells or conduct a photoshoot with Simon Harris to signal he, too, believes in the protection of puppies and/or all cute pets. But, regardless, you no longer have a say. The beauty of our democracy, in László’s eyes, can be wiped away pret-
László stated, in no uncertain terms, that his aim was to break the Union’s institutions completely. He did not, and does not believe in the TCDSU as the most effective or sustainable method for social change on campus. He openly discussed the establishment of the Campaigns Town Hall and the Renters’ Solidarity Group as being some of his greatest achievements. He passionately railed against structures like Union Forum (TCDSU’s Jedi Council) and Council (TCDSU’s Galactic Republic). He flagrantly and clearly stated that he broke the constitution, intended on doing so, and does not regret it. Believing that the only way to empower students at a grassroots level, he sought to establish these groups so that participation was not cut off “prematurely”, alluding to the previous metaphor of our fictitious democratic involvement.
When framed with this in mind, some of László’s actions make more sense.
Infamously, László and his supporters walked out of a TCDSU Council vote to censure him - which prompted a strongly worded editorial from Trinity News, and an impeachment petition that never got off the ground. In talking to László I realised that this act, which I view as symbolically harmful and procedurally useless, was nothing in comparison to what is, in his mind, the continual farce of democratic representation in the TCDSU. Despite claiming that Trinity News releasing that editorial was the lowest point of his year, his resolve was strengthened upon seeing the paltry support for impeachment. He does not regret the action whatsoever.
Trying to turn the Union into something it is not definitely took its toll. László described feeling exhausted, stressed and under incredible pressure, throughout the year. The year had its high points, namely, he said, working with phenomenal people throughout the year. Despite his opposition to the Union’s structures, he mentioned passionate and hardworking students – Part Time Officers in particular (Jedi Masters).
course, not all of them). He would get rid of mandatory membership of the student’s union. Believing that the tension arising from representation and advocacy acts within the college’s interests, he wants a radical departure from the norm. He cited the example of many French student unions, in which there are competing political (don’t get too scared just yet) groups vying for your membership. When voted upon they get assigned the proportional number of seats on the university’s board and/ or governance committees. His belief is that this would benefit those who are explicitly politically inclined but, moreover, free those students who claim they are representative of a wider faction to gain traction themselves. In an open market of ideologically inclined, voluntary unions, those who exist on the right will have to concretely argue against those on the left. As a result, this competition between bodies may encourage competency and innovation (László laughed when I said this).
There are a number of things László would change with a magic wand, often things that go entirely unnoticed by those who have not been sabbats themselves. Student casework is often touted as an issue common to all sabbatical officers. This can create a tremendous amount of stress for someone who has just left the student body themselves. Many student unions in England have hired permanent case work officers to avoid their Union officers dealing with issues completely outside of their realm of expertise. If given his way, László would immediately get casework out of the hands of sabbatical officers and into full-time staff more qualified. Sabbatical officers are at incredible risk of burn-out, and should be able to prioritise their roles as activists and agitators, not compensating for the conditions which college themselves provides for students.
László remains optimistic and open-minded. He reflected on his year as a good one, the normalisation of direct action as the highlight. The College are now on their toes, expectant of opposition at every turn. But he looks at the bigger picture. He looks to the future of grassroots organisations to continue to increase radical action - to maintain pressure on a system designed to encourage apathy, and rail against a society he sees as ruthless and unjust.
He has a clear vision, informed by faith, but consolidated with reasoning - he is happy to argue the tenets and wisdoms of Marxism, and is more than welcoming of pushback. TCDSU is in a place perhaps it never was before, and where it may go is unknowable. László proudly, and unapologetically, subverted and bent the union to his faithful image.
Surprisingly, László agrees with some of his most outspoken critics (but, of
László looks forward to a year of going out, going to “some classes” and spending time with his girlfriend. He can look back on a year of brazen authenticity and faithful action.
Without Balls
Ava Bolger
The Irish people are historically hard to silence. Under British colonial rule, the suppression of language and religion did not stifle the people — it drove them underground.
They set up schools in the whispering leaves of hedgerows, away from the prying eyes of the authorities. The people safeguarded their linguistic heritage. When soldiers tried to beat their language out of them, the Irish learned to code-switch. They camouflaged their conversations on the linguistic battlefield, asserting Irish identity in the face of colonial suppression.
This did not change when the battle evolved to be one between the Irish state and the people she governed, when the war was one of sexual politics and freedom of expression. The Irish government should have known by 1929, that her people could not be silenced, or even, censored.
In July of 1929, the Censorship of Publications Act was brought into law. This Act marked a significant juncture in the nation’s history, casting a shadow over the freedom of expression and the preservation of cultural heritage. It declared: “It shall not be lawful for any person [to print, publish, or sell] any book or periodical publication (whether appearing on the register of prohibited publications or not) which advocates or which might reasonably be supposed to advocate the unnatural prevention of conception or the procurement of abortion or miscarriage or any method, treatment, or appliance to be used for the purpose of such prevention or such procurement.”
The Act, understandably, put significant strain on media outlets as they faced stringent regulations and oversight. Publications were scrutinised for content that deviated from approved narratives or challenged prevailing social and religious norms, and journalists and writers often had to resort to using veiled language or allegory. Newspapers and magazines had to carefully police themselves — before the blacklist was even enacted, David Culbert Boyd, an editor from Waterford was prosecuted for reporting on a sexual offences crime in a way which was deemed inappropriate by the board, and 10 out of the 13 books banned in May of 1930 were birth control books. Such actions reflect the preoccupations of the newly established Irish State. They deemed that there had to be protection put in place against the foreign, corrupting influenc-
es seeking to shape the private, political and sexual lives of Irish people, a fear that the state would be engulfed by dirty books and newspapers. Speaking on the Irish moral tradition, Tom Inglis argues that during this period “the level of censorship, both formal and informal, was such that even the mildest suggestion of or allusion to sexual transgression encountered a rhetoric of shock, horror, and outrage.” Understandably, the inverse was true and the censorship of a language of sexuality and freedom in expression provoked outrage in a number of academic and literary circles.
One of the act’s staunchest critics was the author, Samuel Beckett, who was acting as Trinity College’s exchange lecturer with the École Normale Supérieure in Paris when the Act was passed. Beckett spoke out against the Act as early as November of 1929 in his largely overlooked, and lesser known dialogue ‘Che Sciagura,’ which was
published in Trinity’s own Misc. Magazine. Translating directly to “What a Disaster,” the dialogue’s title is derived from Voltaire’s Candide (1759). The full quotation from Candide “O che sciagura d’essere senza coglioni!” translates to “Oh, the disaster of being without balls!” — a fitting evocation when addressing an audience who have been robbed of their language of sexual expression, or, even, a scathing critique of those without the ‘balls’ to write against the censored state.
The dialogue is one of Beckett’s earliest critical pieces. 1929 is the year where he first began to publish his work, and yet the form that he employs is used in such a precise and sophisticated manner that it allows him to address issues that were extremely sensitive within his contemporary climate. In the one page dialogue, Beckett emphasises the need for subterfuge, and proceeds into a dialogue that is so heavily coded that it could almost fail to serve as criticism depending on whether the reader is familiar with the subject he is discussing — even at
that, it is a difficult text to navigate. The dialogue of ‘Che Sciagura’ takes place between two speakers, who initially find it difficult to understand one another.
Within the first lines the first of these speakers asserts that birth control occurs in Ireland, as do conversations surrounding the subject, despite the embargo enforced by the Censorship board, while the second speaker rejects the notion of birth control occurring and not occurring simultaneously. The conversation carries on much in this manner, underlying the tension between societal norms and individual autonomy, as well as the moral and ethical considerations surrounding reproductive rights.
Beckett’s veiled wordplay and symbolism veer from geographical allusions to literary evocations. David Hatch illustrates how Beckett’s itemisation of geographical features in the description, “Abstract the Antrim Road, Carrickarede Island, and the B. & I. boat threading the eyes of the Liffey on Saturday night,” suggests images of “vaginal intercourse.” He explains how, “The island is a small protrusion near Ballintoy on the extreme northeast coast of Ireland; the road follows the curved coast from this area to the Dublin inlet, through which the boat penetrates to enter the Liffey.” The description of the boat’s illicit cargo also suggests a connection between smuggling activities and the transportation of contraceptives.
Within these few lines of dialogue, Beckett also makes reference to his friend and mentor, James Joyce. Beckett met Joyce soon after moving from Dublin to Paris and engaged with his work constantly. In ‘Che Sciagura’ he evokes Joyce’s seminal masterpiece Ulysses (1920), repeating Stephen Dedalus’s pun on the words “elemental” and “genital” from the “Scylla and Charybdis” chapter. Beckett and Joyce had a complex and expansive relationship, with a lot of Beckett’s early writing serving as a reaction to the verbal omnipotence of Joyce. Beckett’s first published criticism was a defence of Finnegan’s Wake which was being published as Work in Progress in Transition Magazine. The essay “Dante... Bruno... Vico… Joyce” praised the text as one which was pushing language to a different kind of limit.
Due to its densely coded language, it has been implied that ‘Che Sciagura’ can not function as an effective criticism or, even, that its effectiveness is compromised for those who are unfamiliar with its subject matter. Ruby Cohn, an Amer-
ican theatre scholar and one of the leading authorities Beckett, observed the ways in which the text “is so opaquely learned that no one thought to censor it from a student newspaper”. This is something that the Editorial Subcommittee at Trinity actually acknowledged in a later edition of Misc. from March 1930 where they remarked upon the dialogue’s cleverness while expressing relief that it remained “fortunately a trifle obscure for those who do not know their Joyce and their Voltaire”.
Act’s objectives — while it sought to shield Irish readers from explicit material, Beckett noted, it paradoxically seemed to endorse reproduction, effectively encouraging the very behaviour it purported to discourage.
‘Che Sciagura’ was not Beckett’s only critique of the Censorship of Publications Act. His antipathy and intolerance towards state censorship are well documented. He was directly impacted by the Act when his first short fiction collection More Pricks Than Kicks (1934) was placed on the “Index of Forbidden Books” in Ireland on 20 October 1934 by the Irish Censorship Board, and he continued to denounce Irish censorship, notably in his 1934 essay “Censorship in the Saorstat.” The essay, which was written for the Bookman, but not published until 1983, argued that the act was a prime example of “panic legislation,” which sacrificed intellectual freedom and cultural richness in favour of a narrow, restrictive conception of morality and national identity. In this essay, Beckett didn’t hold back in criticising the Censorship Act, labelling it as a “slap-up social malfeasance,” and argued vehemently that it not only infringed upon the cherished notion of intellectual freedom but also blurred the separation between church and state. Beckett saw through the facade of purity that the Act purported to uphold in its vision of Irish identity and made a pointed jab at the romanticised portrayal of rural life, scoffing at the notion that Irish people were too preoccupied with the land to engage with literature. Furthermore, Beckett highlighted the irony and hypocrisy inherent in the
When Beckett had established a reputation within the literary sphere he was able to use his works as leverage against censorship boards. Upon learning that Archbishop John McQuaid had influenced the Dublin Theatre Festival’s lineup in 1958 to withdraw stage adaptations of Joyce’s Ulysses and Sean O’Casey’s The Drums of Father Ned (1958), Beckett took action by revoking permission for the Pike Theatre to perform his mimes and All That Fall (1957) at the festival. Additionally, he withdrew the theatre’s rights to Endgame (1957). Taking it further, Beckett instated his own ban on his home state, refusing to have his plays performed in the “[prevailing] conditions” in Ireland, although he lifted this embargo as early as 1960. However, it is significant to look towards where Beckett first gave voice to this discourse, before he was a renowned author. It is impossible to ignore the significance of Beckett, the third of four Irishmen to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature, finding his first platform to express himself and to denounce the hypocrisy of the Irish State in a Trinity College student publication. Hidden in the pages of the largely overlooked student magazine, one of our greatest writers found a way to expose the instability of institutionalised moral borders and to turn the tables on the censor.
Too often is student journalism undermined and overlooked, and yet there is such a fruitful environment for constructive political discourse within the sphere of student publications. Or perhaps it is because they are so overlooked that there is room for this discourse, it allows authors to destroy the very notion of censorship in a state intent on silencing them.
Nuair a thosaigh mé ag dul chuig imeachtaí Gaelacha, bhí eagla orm mar ní raibh mé líofa ar chor ar bith, ach bhí mé ag iarraidh an teanga a fhoghlaim agus bhí mé ag iarraidh labhairt le daoine eile a bhfuil Gaeilge acu. Níl go leor áiteanna Gaelacha i mBaile Átha Cliath, ach tá cúpla áiteanna agus imeachtaí trí Ghaeilge – tá Club Chonradh na Ghaeilge ann, agus na Pop-Up Gaeltachtaí chomh mhaith, agus cúpla caifeanna agus siopaí chomh mhaith.
Níor thosaigh mé ag foghlaim an teanga go dtí mí Eanair anuraidh. Tuigim, nach aisteach é sin, ach nuair a bhí mé ag tosú leis an dteanga, chuaigh mé go dtí Club Chonradh na Gaeilge beagnach chuile Aoine le mo bhuachaill. An chéad uair a bhí mé ann, bhí mé neirbhíseach mar ní raibh aon cairde Gael ag an am sin. Ní raibh ach cúpla focal agam, ach d’éistinn lena comhráite a bhí ar siúil agus labhair mé i nGaeilge ach amháin le mo bhuachaill. Bhí streak mór ar Duolingo agam agus de réir a chéile thosaigh mé ag mothú níos compordaí leis an dteanga. Anois, táim i mo bhall den Chlub agus téim ann beagnach gach seachtain.
Tá imeachtaí ar siúil chuile seachtain agus bíonn oíche na mhic léinn acu freisin a bhfuil na deochanna níos saoire. Chomh maith le sin, bíonn ciorcal cómhra ar siúil gach Aoine dena tosaitheoirí agus daoine ag iarraidh an teanga a fhoghlaim, agus bíonn oíche ceol ar siúíl beagnach chuile Déardaoin freisin. Cuimhním go raibh fear amháin as an Úcráin ag an gciorcal cómhra ag iarraidh Gaeilge a fhoghlaim, agus bhí ceanglán aige le focloir beag. Nuair a fhoghlaimíonn sé focal nua, scríobhann sé isteach sa gceanglán, agus is rud iontach é sin mar bhíonn saghas spiroad muintearais ann nuair a bhímid ag labhairt as Gaeilge agus focail nua a fhogh-
Frásaí
Ailbhe Noonan
laim le chéile.
D’fhoghlaim mé mo chuid Gaeilge san áit seo – bhí na daoine an-sásta labhairt liom cé nach raibh ach cúpla focail agam, agus chonaic mé gurbh é an nós na Gaeilgeoirí. Táim i gcónaí ag iarraidh dul ann le mo chairde nach bhfuil Gaeilge acu agus mo chairde ag iarraidh Gaeilge a fhoghlaim mar sin an áit is fearr chun Gaeilge a foghlaim agus Gaeilge a úsaid i mo thuairim fhéin, agus, chomh maith leis sin, bíonn cuid de na píontaí is saoire i mBaile Átha
Cliath acu.
Mar Gaeilgeoir is ea mo bhuachaill freisin, téimid go dtí na Pop-Up Gaelteachtaí le chéile freisin beagnach gach mí. Bíonn na himeachtaí seo chomh dheas chun bualadh le daoine eile nach as mBaile Átha Cliath agus chun áiteanna eile sa gcathair a fáil amach. Bhuail mé le daoine nua go leor ag na bPopUps seo, agus bíonn cairde nua agam mar sin. Ar an ndrochuair, anuraidh, stop na Pop-Ups ar feadh tamall agus ab trua mór é sin. Mar bhí easpa spásanna na bhfoghlaimeoirí anseo, thosaigh mo bhuachaill na Pop-Up Gaelteachtaí a cur le chéile arís. Anois, bíonn cuntais mhóra ag an bPop-Up ar Twitter (nó X), Instagram agus TikTok, agus cuireann sé rud ar siúil chuile deireadh Deardaoin den mhí. Bíonn siad fós ar siúil i dteach tábhairne difriúil gach mí, má tá tú in ann dul ann, agus beidh an céad Pop-
Up Gaeltacht eile ar an 25ú lá de mhí Aibrean.
Má ní theastaíonn tú a ól, tá cúpla imeachtaí gan alcól ar siúil sa gColáiste na Tríonóide freisin leis an gCumann Gaelach. Cuireann siad ar siúil Arán agus Anraith chuile Céadaoin ag 1 i.n – bíonn anraith agus arán ar fháil, agus bíonn na daoine ag labhairt i nGaeilge. Chuaigh mé ann cúpla amanna agus bhí sé chomh dheas mo lón a ithe le daoine nua a bhfuil Gaeilge acu, agus lón saor in aisce a fháil chomh mhaith. Tá Seomra na Gaeilge ar oscailt ó 9am go 5pm freisin agus is féidir leat dul ann i rith an lae. Beidh an imeacht seo ar siúl arís i mí Mean Fomhair nuair a tosaíonn an bliain acaidiúil nua, ach tá Seomra na Gaeilge ar oscailt an tseachtain seo má tá tú in ann dul ann agus tae a ól!
Tá a fhíos agam go bhfuil sé scanrúil ag tosú teanga nua a fhoghlaim agus ansin a bheith páirt den phobal, ach bíonn Gaeilgeoirí cuid de na daoine is deise in Eireann. Go coitíanta, bíonn Gaeilgeoirí sásta ag labhairt lena tosaitheoirí mar dheanann siad iarracht an teanga a fhoghlaim, agus táimid ar fad ag iarraidh an teanga a chur chun cinn. Mothaím an-sábháilte leis an bpobal na Gaeilge mar ní raibh aon fadhbanna agam leo riamh. Is é Club Chonradh na Gaeilge an áit is fearr liom i mBaile Átha Cliath, agus an t-aon áit a mhothaím compordach nuair a téim amach le mo chairde.
So, a chairde, má tá tú ag iarraidh do chuid Ghaeilge a úsaid, nó cúpla focal nua a fhoghlaim, téigh chuig an Club, nó chuig na Pop-Up Gaelteachtaí nó Arán agus Anraith – beimid an-sásta labhairt leat agus ag cabhrú leis an dteanga freisin. Ní bheinn leibhéal an teanga agam a bhfuilim anois, gan na himeachtaí seo. Mar sin táim an-bhuíoch as na deiseanna sin, agus tá súil agam go feicfidh mé tú ag an gcéad imeacht eile!
On Graduate Emigration and Irishness
Eoghan Conway
The harp that once through Tara’s halls
The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, As if that soul were fled. —
The name Thomas Moore isn’t one that too many are well acquainted with I feel. Yet as you turn right out the front gates of Trinity and advance towards the junction of College Street and Westmoreland Street, you might just catch his eye. The statue of Moore can be seen standing large, legs rooted in brass and a Gaelic tradition, pen and paper at the ready in his bardic stance. History remembers him for his eponymous collection of folk songs and ballads titled Moore’s Book of Irish Melodies. In 1807, he penned the lament “Harp that once through Tara’s Halls”. Its lyrics read as follows: “The harp that once through Tara’s halls/ The soul of music shed,/Now hangs as mute on Tara’s
walls,/ As if that soul were fled. —”
Tara was the seat of the former High Kings of Ireland from the eighth century. The harp that once played aloud the sounds which echoed over their homeland had ceased to play its tune. He laments that the true spirit of Ireland has been muted, unable to be heard by all and unlikely to return. I feel Moore’s words are as important now as ever before. As a graduating student not only does it feel that the soul of the island is fleeing, so too are the souls themselves.
I’m not crediting myself with the unearthing of the phenomenon that is Irish graduate emigration, but the appeal of foreign lands is certainly there for all to see. As you graduate, it seems like a rite of passage to get out of the country as fast as you can. A quick LinkedIn job search with “graduate” as the keyword and area set to London yields 2,262 results. Change that
location to Dublin and you have 273. Graduate visa options in Canada and America also suddenly become enticing. Remote working around Europe or even woofing on the continent certainly beats a bedsit in Drumcondra.
When sitting in the pub back home during Easter I saw a sign that read: “Australia 19,776km - it’s a bloody long way.” The arrow on the sign ominously, although semi-ironically, pointing to the exit of the pub. If you have also been as fortunate as I have to end up on the Australian FIFO (fly in fly out) side of Instagram reels, in relation to job opportunities down under, you would have seen the promised 130k salaries and clips of gleaming cash notes. Promises of two weeks on, two weeks off work as well as all expenses paid packages is an attractive offer regardless of your own personal predisposition to manual labour in mines (or your arts degree no-
tions).
Any graduate medical or nursing student has or will undoubtedly taw with the idea of going to Australia. The appeal of better working conditions and some sun is too great. As my roommate remarked: “Sure it seems like everyone is making money in Oz”. He noted if he can’t find a job that he wants, and I quote, “I might as well fuck off to Oz than go back home”. Can you really blame him though?
Qantas flights to Australia seem to be the new ferry to England. Meath-based techno and spoken word act Le Boom encompass this idea in their tune “Australia”. One of the lines reads as follows: “You’ll be home at Christmas sure and we’ll grab a pint then or something”. For many graduates, it’s Bondi or bust.
Moore’s Law states that computing power doubles every two years. Maybe we should reinterpret this into a new graduate emigrant-founded rule. We could call it Thomas Moore’s law for all the souls that have fled; every two years, the number of people leaving local WhatsApp groups doubles because they are moving to Australia.
Yet a narrative of emigration has always existed. Irish people have been building up and tearing England down for centuries. Relocation to the US has been a constant. The stories of someone’s dodgy uncle who overstayed his working holiday visa, getting paid cash in hand without a social security number for decades have almost become the stuff of legendary status. This said, emigration today might be slightly more nuanced.
The graduates of the 80s left for London because they had to, there were simply no jobs to be had at home. In 2024 as we reach full employment, the decision to emigrate could seem like a privilege and not a necessity. Of course, housing issues and a cost of living crisis will drive many abroad. However, there is work in Ireland, but maybe it’s not the kind of work a recent graduate sees themselves doing or in the sectors in which they have qualified. It begs the question: Is this new wave of post-education emigration a brain drain or a vain drain?
Exile is nothing new; faraway hills have always been greener. As a graduate’s career landscape looks about as stable as Bord na Móna turf cutter’s, exile offers a positive escape. In the dogged pursuit of the good life or even a new life on shores far away, exile does also bring with it a lapsing of responsibility. We bite the hand that feeds us and scurry
off on the next Ryanair flight finding it a necessary evil. But who is left to be the custodians of culture when the planes, trains and automobiles are full with young people?
Although I have been quick to criticise emigration I can’t help but simultaneously pin myself with the label of a soon-to-be graduate with an outward focus towards working and living abroad. I am fully aware of the problems this brings to our society though. There will of course be a sparsity of young people at GAA pitches and a new cohort of weary grandmothers created as they try to figure out time differences to eagerly Facetime loved ones.
But how does this desire for new experiences, new cultures and new ventures impact on our own understanding of Irish culture? Is the land of saints and scholars going to become the one of solipsism and servitude? I hope not. Exile and emigration offer up a chance for you to see Irishness through a new lens. It affords you a new opportunity to reflect on what it truly does mean to be Irish.
Standing on the same latitude of Dublin is the Welsh port town of Holyhead, an entry used by many Irish into Britain. It was Joyce who once said: “The shortest way to Tara is via Holyhead.” You see, as a Boyne Valley native, I’m proud to call the townland of Tara home. For me, the shortest way to Tara was to go to the top of my road and turn right. I’d like to consider myself semiin touch, or at least abode adjacent, to the heartbeat or former heartbeat of socalled traditional Irish culture. That said, this Joyce quote stirred something deep inside of me; it instilled in me the notion that in order to find home you need to leave home. To fully understand your country, its customs and traditions you have to leave her.
This search for identity may never be fully attainable but it certainly is a noble quest. In the depth of an overpriced pint in Clapham, you may realise that the local pub isn’t half bad. Whilst backpacking in Bali, you may come to appreciate that, funnily enough, bacon and cabbage isn’t as terrible as you think, as you sweat over a spicy satay.
It’s said that Irish abroad are more Irish than the Irish themselves. On my Erasmus spent abroad, Irish pubs were the favourite haunts of fellow Eras-
mus peers, yet the plastic Paddy in me felt ever more solidified. Amongst the eight Irish bars that plagued the street of Salamanca in Spain, my outward expressiveness of Irish identity did at times feel like a performative act rather than a personal one. Another mucky Guinness poured incorrectly, let me show you how it’s done - a further griping Gael. There is only one thing worse than an Irishman - an Irishman abroad. I jest. Historically an Irish person needs three things: silence, cunning, exile. Then what do we need in 2024: exile, a sublet, an in for a job with someone that a friend of a friend knows? Are Pellador jumpers to be the perfect patchwork pastiche of Irishness? Is my tokenistic cúpla focal the meagre portrayal of my native language that I can’t reconcile myself with? Or am I to be the chauvinistic Irish male, reaping the networking effect of some niche knowledge on Newgrange or mansplaining what the roof box is to some unfortunate central European? Maybe all of these things are valid and essential means of coming to terms with your own culture and identity.
Irishness has become an idealised ethnicity, one with which large numbers of people around the world seek to identify themselves. As a young Irishman making my way through the world, how do I come to terms with my own identity? It’s certainly not a bad time to be Irish. Mainstream recognition of Irish talents and culture is widespread. The culture that we are fortunate to possess is one to be heralded. Yet it is one that I, and hopefully others, at times grapple with.
I once again return to Thomas Moore’s words: “So sleeps the pride of former days/ So glory’s thrill is o’er/ And the hearts that once beat high for praise/ Now feel that pulse no more!” Here’s where I disagree with him; glory’s trill is certainly not over, it’s only beginning to be rekindled. Yes, souls may be leaving but within that, they bring that soul’s pulse with them. Bringing Irishness abroad and developing it within an international context. It mightn’t appear to be the best time to graduate amongst economic fear-mongering and housing shortages but there is one thing that cannot be can’t be taken away from you. That’s your identity - or at least the path you take to try to uncover it.
That Which We Call a Rose
Sienna Aoibh O’Riordan
On the 2nd of November, 2004 a little girl was born. That little girl was me. Kicking and screaming, I was thrust into the cruel, unforgiving existence that is human life. My parents had thought long and hard about what to call me. I was their first child, so they had to make it count. My dad, being the staunch Shankill man he is, had taken a liking to the idea of my initials being S.A.O.R, the word for ‘free’ in Gaeilge. The OR was taken care of thanks to his last name, O’Riordan, and they came up with Sienna Aoibh as my forenames. Thus, Sienna Aoibh O’Riordan I became. At this
point, dear reader, you may be wondering where I am going with this. This name may seem entirely ordinary to you as you sit in your Georgian house in Dublin 4 reading this article. However, I have omitted to mention until this point, that that little girl was not born in Dublin, or indeed anywhere near Ireland. That little girl was born 14,000 kilometres away, on the southernmost tip of the African continent, in Cape Town, South Africa.
As I grew older, I became aware that my name was not like everybody else’s. In fact, I couldn’t even spell ‘Aoibh’ until I was about nine. Having had no
education on the Irish alphabet or its phonetics, it seemed to me an unintelligible mashup of letters that my hippie parents had key-smashed into existence. A kind of proto-Musk statement akin to naming your child X Æ A-12. Perhaps it was just a South African thing? I often called myself ‘Sienna Eve’ to make it easier for the people around me, but also easier for myself. I certainly did not grow up hating my name, rather I avoided it. I often styled myself as ‘Sienna Eve Riordan’ because saying, ‘Oh, it’s like Rick Riordan’ was much easier than trying to explain what an apostrophe was to a 2nd grade classmate, when we hadn’t covered such advanced punctuation yet. Of course, despite my best efforts to explain and simplify my name, people still struggled with it. I spent the first twelve years of my life so used to all the various pronunciations of my name that it was hard at times to even remember the correct one. ‘O-Roar-don’ and ‘O-Ryer-dan’ were often as close as I could hope for. The most outrageous version I heard more often that you might expect was ‘Van Hierden’ — a strange Afrikaans-isation of my name.
My parents did everything they could to make me appreciate my name. When I was about seven or eight my father gave me a book of Irish folklore and fairytales. In it was the story of the Children of Lir, in which Queen Aoibh plays a minor role before immediately dying in childbirth; safe to say I was not overly impressed. It wasn’t until 2016 when my parents announced we were moving to Dublin that I began to appreciate my name. Suddenly my name was not ‘unique’ or ‘difficult’ or ‘could you spell that please’. I never had to repeat or explain myself, an experience completely new to me but very welcome. I even met some people who had the same last name as me! A concept I had not considered to be a possibility in South Africa: I was not the only O’Riordan!
Reinvigorated by this newfound acceptance of my name I became very interested in its origins. O Rioghbhardain meaning ‘Son of the King’s Bard’ eventually became Ó Ríordáin and then O’Riordan. I began to look into colonial history and how British settlers anglicised the male version of Gaelic names, and not the feminine versions. We have no Ni’Riordans in the world, Ní meaning ‘daughter of’. I suddenly found myself caught up in the overwhelming yet invigorating feeling of being connected to something larger and more ancient
than myself. All the Ní Ríordáins in the world whose names had been erased and how I somehow had a claim or kinship to their lineage, lives and stories. There is so much to be found in someone’s name, and being able to reconnect with such a vast legacy of women, my ancestors, was a profound experience for me as I was just coming into adulthood and womanhood. However abstract or mystical it sounds, reconnecting with erased female traditions provided great comfort to me.
Today, I am a proud Irishwoman, who goes by both Sienna Aoibh O’Riordan and Sienna Aoibh Ní Ríordáin. In a moment of anti-colonial rage and rebellion, I almost legally changed my name to Ní
Ríordáin. However, after considering the sheer amount of paperwork, I settled for tattooing it into my forearm just a few days after my eighteenth birthday. It is a great comfort to me to know that I am irrevocably and physically connected to so many Ríordáin women who came before me. Names are powerful entities. Entities that women are all too nonchalantly expected to give up. I am aware that just a few years ago, it would have been expected that my name would not always be Sienna Aoibh O’Riordan. Despite changing cultural tides, the vast majority of women still do give up their ‘maiden’ names. However, knowing that it will remain on my skin serves as a poignant reminder to me of who I am at my core. Plus, it will be super useful if I’m ever ripped limb from limb by a shark and they need to identify my body using only my left forearm.
My journey towards loving my name was long, complicated and rife with spelling mistakes, but I would not want it any other way. We are lucky in Ire-
land to have such unique and historically-rich names. However, this is true for all names no matter where you are from. Perhaps you are an international student experiencing the exact reverse of my situation, or maybe you have just never given much thought to your name at all. It is such an enriching experience to discover lost traditions; to piece together the stories of the people who shared your blood and name, and lived in order for you to be alive and reading this article right this very moment. I do not consider myself a religious person, but I believe spirituality should be about unity. We all feel like we are eternal and invincible, yet it is mind-boggling to think of the thousands and millions of humans who had deep emotions and rich experiences and are no longer around. A name is one of the most powerful unifying devices we have to these people. To become connected to those who came before you, and aware of those who will follow your legacy, is the closest thing we have to a spiritual experience in my opinion.
Shakespeare’s famous question, ‘what’s in a name?’ suggests that names are mutable and irrelevant. Romeo could be called any other name and Juliet would still love him. However, I would argue that this is impossible. Names are not merely a device through which we distinguish one person from another, nor a combination of syllables we use to get somebody’s attention. A name is a reminder of the vastness and abundance of the individual human experience, and how we share that experience with each other. It connects us to our parents, and is left behind through our children. It is the only part of us that can ever be truly eternal and immortal. So whether you know twenty people with the same name as you, or you spend half your life spelling it out and explaining it to people, know that it is so much more than letters that appear on your birth certificate or Instagram handle. It is a part of the fabric of your existence and history. In Philip Levine’s poem, My Name, he says of the singular letter ‘n’ in his last name:
“all of me is crowded into that small ‘n’, my fears, my hopes, my gleaming memories of the rain, the tears I never learned to surrender and the few that fell of their own accord, the scars on my shoulder, all my missing teeth… all of me…”
The Void
Alex Coyle
Often it is towards the end of the college semester when some students begin to feel burnt out. We are all trying to grapple with a plethora of assignments and deadlines piling up on top of us. Not to mention the ever-looming presence of exams. Whether it be stress-eating in the Ussher library or frantically emailing your professors at 3am, a pervasive sense of helplessness
can quickly take hold. This may drive us to seek a form of escapism, perhaps even wishing for a different set of circumstances. A sense of nihilism and existentialism may become apparent and tempt us in these moments, due to the extensive amount of responsibilities we undertake in our modern world and the constant cycle of comparison that we experience both from our increasingly connected world.
Within the grand expanse of human history and experience, our lives can seem pretty mundane, even laborious. From the act of doom-scrolling on TikTok to the persistent highlights shown to us on Instagram, it can sometimes feel as if we are in a vacuum of comparison. This brings with it a sense of banality. Along with this, we are bombarded with fiction involving characters having intense emotional experiences. Inspiring Hans Zimmer music in the background further drives the nail into the coffin. Once we leave the movie theatre, we are left to deal with our slow and painful reality. This romanticisation and emotional escapism is often what we crave in our safe and structured lives. Whilst comparison itself is a natural tendency that humans have in order to survive and do better, we are undoubtedly currently living in a comparison-saturated
t would be so much easier if we were just given the answers to all of our questions on a silver platter for us to indulge in. We often begrudgingly go through life, flowing through the school system and then entering third-level education. That is what you are ‘supposed to do’. In our ridiculously large and extensive universe, our problems and decisions can appear meaningless, but what if this sense of meaninglessness could be seen as freeing and liberating? What if this sense of meaninglessness is a blessing? Meaninglessness, after all, means that we have a choice. This turns out to be the most important thing. Humans have the innate desire to do more. To experience new adventures. To learn new skills. To pursue novelty. However, in our world comprising more than eight billion people, we often feel that our efforts are futile. Other humans have already explored all of the Earth,
and more humans in the future will get to explore the galaxy; what is the point of one individual in this current moment? This feeling of nihilism and existentialism, can at first seem quite disheartening, discouraging and even overwhelming.
In the vast expanse of human life, we can often find ourselves yearning for different experiences and emotional fulfilment. We are also constantly surrounded by fiction. It is easy to feel small in comparison to all of the deep emotional connections that the characters in the books and films that we revel in get to experience. We have a desire to solve some of life’s problems, but instead, we can feel a sense of helplessness .
The complete absurdity and unpredictability of our circumstances and the universe should be seen as a blessing. In some aspects, we are extremely lucky to be living in a time and an environment where we have time to ponder these sorts of questions. We can only ask these questions due to our health and safety needs already being fulfilled. We can use our sense of existentialism to bolster our courage and our drive to become whoever we desire to be. Sometimes, instead of looking for purpose in missions bigger than ourselves, it might be more fruitful to first journey inward, finding a sense of fulfilment within ourselves.
Embrace the void. Embrace fleetingness and unpredictability. Find joy in the laborious, monotonous and absurd nature of life. See it as an opportunity rather than a burden, and use the innate desire for growth to explore yourself and what makes you content. We can explore ourselves and our purpose, instead of exploring the seas or the galaxy. No rash decisions need to be made, make sure you are sensible, but ensure that you are not living in a permanent sense of discontentment. You have freedom and the ability to choose your reality. As author Ken Hudgins stated: “The meaning of life is to give life meaning.”
The only thing that you have to do now is to stop procrastinating and go and do all the things that you have set out to do, which in itself poses another challenge.We can conquer that at another time.
A Well-Oiled Camino
Boxed-wine Enjoyer
The below paragraphs are extracts from a diary found on the Aerlingus flight from Madrid to Dublin which brought the VDP Camino trip home. The author is unknown, which is probably for the best for their campus reputation. Read with caution, not just for the at times gruesome details, but also for the fact that the writer was presumably heavily under the influence of Spain’s cheapest brand of boxed wine, giving us a less than trustworthy narration.
Day 1 - Friday, March 1 Dublin Airport, 6am - Jesus Christ this plane was supposed to have taken off an hour and a half ago and we’re on our second de-icing machine. You’d swear this country has never seen snow before. Okay, maybe I’m still groggy from the 4:30am call time to be at the airportactually so unnecessary but I won’t even get into it. The air hostesses are getting snappy because someone is trying to use the bathroom even though we’re not allowed to leave our seats. I fear a scrap is imminent, which I actually wouldn’t mind because this plane doesn’t have
TVs on board. Also, some fourth years (who are definitely pushing 30) already started on the beers at the airport barthe actual state of them like.
Madrid, 1pm - We’ve arrived at the hostel and the one person working the reception desk is strangely surprised that 100 people have shown up for a booking of 100 people. In all fairness, who could have given them a heads up about this? Certainly not the person who took a booking of 100 people. I guess people just don’t want to work these days. I was in these girls’ room for no more than five minutes before one of them whipped out their toes. First of all, put the dogs back in the cage. Second of all, I could smell them before I could see them! Genuinely though there was nearly an impromptu amputation because a thread from her sock wrapped around her toe and cut off the circulation. Very much a bad omen for the 100km we’re going to walk over the next week.
Madrid, 12am - Not my finest hour. Whoever let me get that last double
vodka coke should be hung, drawn and quartered for what they did to me. While we’re on the topic of punishment, if taking the craic too far sometimes is a crime, lock me up! The fact that I projectile-vomited outside Madrid’s most mid bar is so violently humbling, especially given the fact that I know two people on this trip and everyone else saw me being carried home. I swear I wasn’t that drunk though.
Day 2 - Saturday, March 2
Vigo, 4pm - This morning was so hectic I didn’t have time to write so I need to catch you up. So, a random man stole a bunch of people’s phones last night and we’re just meant to move on from this. Personally I would have been in floods of tears if that happened to me but they’re stronger soldiers than me, I guess.
Now, time for train-gate. 26 students were able to get on the Madrid metro on a total of maybe seven tickets because four people could fit in the turnstile at once. Capitalism breeds innovation, don’t tell László. Then, naturally, we got
horrendously lost (again, not a great omen) multiple times. We just about got on the train in time. Well, most of us did anyway - a couple of stragglers didn’t have their tickets on them and weren’t allowed on. I think getting denied at the train station is even more embarrassing than getting denied from Coppers on a Wednesday night - both of which have never happened to me, of course.
Moving on, it was when I sheepishly slinked back to my seat after getting sick in the grimiest train toilet known to man, with actual tears in my eyes, that I knew I’d hit the jackpot with my route. Of course, immediately everyone was concerned and gave me food etc, but then the slagging started. As it should, I completely deserved every joke. Also, the conversation about how much money it would take to live an ideal yummy mummy lifestyle for 15 years is possibly the most intellectual experience of my time in Trinity thus far. No notes.
in the name of group bonding. But to be fair some bonding did happen - I can’t remember the details but this guy called himself the most handsome man in Ireland and everyone laughed. Bit rude, I thought.
Day 3, Sunday, March 3
Random Spanish forest, 1pm - Not quite sure if being woken up at 5am by “Vamos a la Playa” will be a highlight or lowlight of the trip, but I know this sweaty sandwich that I made last night will certainly be a lowlight. Now before you ask, trust the drinking has startedbut we’ve been up for six hours already so surely it’s not fucked if we all have a sip? Also I was severely violated during a game of hesitation (someone asked me what my body count was, bold of them to assume I’ve felt the touch of a woman).
Vigo, 11pm - I have, for the second day in a row, made an absolute show of myself in front of 25 people I barely know. Don’t ask why, but I somehow managed to misspell my middle name in front of the entire route. If anyone asks, it was a pre-planned bit to make everyone laugh
We’re to walk nearly 40km today, a truly insane ask on a hiking holiday and I have every intention of filing a complaint with the Central Societies Committee (CSC), or maybe even childline. Honestly it was fairly rough going until I busted out my first litre of Don Simon wine. As I write this, I’m beginning to think that this Don fella isn’t too bad, and that he’ll probably be my new best friend after this trip.
Pontevedra, 10pm - I have never felt pain like this before. We actually walked the whole 40km, and keep in mind that I have an eight kilogram bag on my back. Surprisingly, my feet and legs aren’t too bad at the moment, but oh my god my back - this could be because I was walking like the hunchback of Notre Dame for the last 10km. I also avenged myself by violating someone else during a game of hesitation, but I actually went way too far and asked such a vile question I can’t even write it down here. I feel awful and should definitely apologise to him in the morning like what is wrong with me? Again, I hardly know these people! Day 4, Monday, March 4
Another random Spanish forest, 3pmIf a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, did it make a sound? Now, what if 26 Trinity students on the VDP Camino have an impromptu dance party in this forest and no one is around to hear that either? Anyways, not a philosophy student, don’t care. But our renditions of “Riptide” and “Horse Outside” was a truly transcendental experience.
Feet are getting sore, I can feel the blisters forming, but I must keep pushing through because I refuse to be the first person to suggest getting a taxi to the hostel. Also no chance in hell I’m paying for that taxi when I got stuck with paying for a jug of Sangria at lunch that I didn’t even drink - will I be able to Revolut request the CSC for that?
Day 5, Tuesday, March 5
Caldas de Reis, 9am - Slept surprisingly well, all 60km considered. Today is our shortest day of walking, so naturally it will be our biggest day of drinking. Genuinely so excited it is actually worrying. I have the comfiest Boohoo man tracksuits on and I am READY. The hostel last night didn’t have heating and the electricity shut off at around 10pm so I’m feeling less than prepared for the day but who cares, it’s the Camino. Also the weather is only getting better from here so I’m hopeful that I’ll step back on campus with a Love Islandesque tan.
Yet another random Spanish forest, 4pm - When people say to pack light for the Camino do they include the three one-litre boxes of wine I got in the supermarket this morning? I’m blaming box number two for my aggressive yapping today in which I told two stories that I promised myself I would never tell because of how embarrassing they are. We randomly walked past a hot spring today, had a little dip, it was so idyllic I’d say the photos look like impressionist paintings (just saw one of the photos and the spring is covered in floating blister plasters, how lovely).
opened any of them. It’s no surprise but I’ve made yet another show of myself, for some reason we got into a spitting fight (we spat our wine in each others’ faces, so funny I know). I just hope that one of the people who spat in my face doesn’t have a really bad cold or something or ends up getting diagnosed pneumonia right after submitting her dissertation - that would be so bad.
Padrón, 1am - Well dinner has finally arrived after waiting for an hour for delivery from a kebab shop that’s a five minute walk away! I swear this hostel is cursed it’s a barely renovated barn. Other pilgrims threatened to call the police because I guess the craic was just too mighty. And when I say craic I mean a game of ‘penis’ but the word penis was replaced by ‘ballsack’ to switch it up. Low-key I get why your one wanted to call the guards.
Day 6, Wednesday, March 6
Hostel, don’t know where, don’t know when, too drunk - three litres of wine seemed like such good craic before I had
Padrón, 10am - Shoutout to all the people who left the hostel at 5am this morning to make it to Santiago in time for mass in Latin, you guys were so real for that. I may have said that I went to enough masses and studied enough Latin in school as my excuse for not joining but truth be told, there is no physical or
emotional or spiritual way for me to be less arsed to get up that early.
Random Spanish town, 2pm - never thought I would ever say this in my life but I wish there was another day of walking 20KM tomorrow. BRUH I’m pre-emptively missing people. Chats are too funny. Drink is too cheap. Life is too good. In my opinion, nothing is as simultaneously cringe and painful as a forced DMC, but (and I’m not sure if this is the holy vibes coming from Santiago) shit is getting REAL and DEEP and even as someone who is aggressively emotionally unavailable, I love it.
Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, 5pm - Running through the streets of Santiago, blaring “Murder on the Dancefloor”, boxed wine in hand - a true renaissance painting. Spaniards and other pilgrims were taking pictures and videos of us so God knows where they’re being posted. Oh god I just remembered I snapped one of my friends bracelets because I was falling and tried to grab her hand. Yikes.
Day 7, Thursday, March 7
Horrendously tired, even more hungover. The train from Santiago to Madrid may be the literal death of me. But I genuinely don’t think I’ve had so much fun in such a short space of time. Just added my route to my Close Friends, making it truly official. But my god if someone ever saw what I’ve written in here this week I couldn’t show my face at any VDP event again.
Erasmus Horror Stories
Utrecht, The Netherlands
As I’m in the Netherlands, cycling is the main type of transportation. On my first week in the city I was cycling home after one of my first nights out and was hit by a car. I was off the bike for a few weeks but made friends with the girl who picked me off the road after I got hit.
Unspecified, France
Life-altering lesbian situationship...
Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium
If you like frat houses and hazings this is the place for you! The initial 4-6 week period of semester one was filled with walking through this small, ugly, brown town surrounded by A) people peeing in public, quite a high amount from balconies B) people running laps around the town while covered in a mysterious dirt mixture (general consensus is horse manure and mud) C) people wearing caps, on there hands and knees in a line and just vomiting into the street.
Strasbourg, France
For one of my classes, the professor did not use Moodle or take any notes. Instead he would just write up random Arabic words translated into french on the whiteboard. I emailed the professor to tell him I was struggling, but he aired me. I contacted him a second time to which he replied, “instead of sending me these long useless emailsjust ring me” and asked for my phone number?! I gave it to him and he rang me, but he hung up within 20 seconds after refusing to let me speak.
Seville, Spain
Everyone in our apartment building has signed a petition saying that they hate us.
Barcelona, Spain
Had a running joke in my family whatsapp group that I was doing no college work while on Erasmus, that I skipped class to go to the beach. Fast forward a few months, did shit in my exams and had to come home for second semester.
The Beating Heart of Strasbourg
Luna Michelis
“The aim is for everyone, wherever they are and whatever their age, to be involved in the issue of books, writing and reading,” said Anne Mistler, the Deputy Mayor in charge of Arts and Culture in Strasbourg, when asked about the initiatives the city would take as the 2024 World Book Capital. Every year UNESCO elects a city to be the World Book Capital in order to spotlight its unique literary history. Literature is entrenched in Strasbourg’s history and culture and continues to be at the epicentre of its community.
The city aims to focus its initiatives on making books more accessible by providing informal libraries in the workplace for employees to borrow books, including children’s books for their families freely. Furthermore, they seek to address topical themes of ‘culture in exile’ and accessibility by creating programs to make reading material available to everyone. Anne Mistler concludes by saying that “ours is a city of readers”, something my experience on Erasmus there has shown quite clearly. Yet even before this distinction, and my subsequent arrival, Strasbourg has been a literary hub for centuries.
Strasbourg’s history has been intertwined with the evolution of literature since its genesis. It was one of the first cities to become a major printing hub after the invention of the printing press and was home to the first printed newspaper in 1605. In fact, much of the region’s history is inextricably linked to literature which remains a cultural staple of Strasbourg today. During my time there, I was constantly in awe of how the city wore its history and culture on its sleeve. Unique in the sense that throughout history it has been a heavily contested region, being annexed four times by the end of the Second World War.
Alsacian identity is of incredible importance for its citizens, being the one constant throughout a tumultuous history. At the beginning of the Franco-Prussian War, the Strasbourg Library was bombed, thus destroying many pri-
mary sources from the Medieval and Early Modern periods. Furthermore, most of the city’s public archives were destroyed during the Siege of Strasbourg in the Second World War. The city’s notable range of, and emphasis on, literature reflect the extreme loss suffered throughout contemporary history. Strasbourg seems to me to be a patchwork of its former lives, each one as distinct as the last yet carefully and cohesively stitched together - a city that truly remembers.
Today the city is home to countless independent bookstores tucked all over, as well as a book market with over twenty different booksellers three days a week.
In the city centre alone, there are over ten independent bookstores which not only exemplify the prevalence of literature in Strasbourg but also reflect different cultural niches that flourish in its streets. While on Erasmus, I visited over ten different bookstores as well as the book market on multiple occasions. The book market provided an astoundingly diverse collection of affordable books, some of which dated back over 150 years. Like the book market, the vast majority of the bookstores I visited could not have been more different from each other, even though most are located within the same one-kilometre radius.
Shops with comic books stacked up to the ceiling acted as a hub for Stras-
bourg’s alternative scene, with bulletin boards advertising local indie concerts and art shows. Bookshops exclusively dedicated to Protestant theology can be found dotted all over the city due to Strasbourg’s central role of circulating and preserving texts during the Reformation. Additionally, there is a substantial amount of rare bookstores that are dominated by titles on Alsacien history and culture dating back as far as the Holy Roman Empire. From historical anthologies to personal journals, Alsacien history and culture have been meticulously preserved, collected and proudly put on display. In nearly every corner of Strasbourg’s rich and diverse cultural nooks was a bookstore that gave them life and self-expression. It was impossible to go anywhere in Strasbourg without being met by its rich history and cultural identity, a phenomenon which reminded me of Dublin. As a stranger to both places not so long ago, living in a place with such cultural and historical pride was new, and thus something I was, and still am, keenly aware of. Having grown up in a self-critical part of the US, cultural identity, national pride, and an entrenched collective history were entirely foreign concepts to me when I first moved to Dublin at 18. After two years in Dublin and one in Strasbourg, I have come to find that these qualities make up the beating heart of these communities.
As someone who has always loved reading - or to be honest, buying books and letting them pile up before getting around to reading them - it was through exploring every bookstore, library, and book market that I came across that I learned the most about these integral aspects of the regions’ identities. For me, the literature scene in Strasbourg piqued my interest to dig deeper into the region’s history, and I have found that through its numerous annexations and battles, cultural identity and history are incredibly important as an anchor in ever-shifting waves of change. In short, Strasbourg is fully grounded in its proclivity and preservation of literature.
Calendric Inaccuracy
Luke Doherty Martin
When speaking about the history of Trinity College Dublin, many are quick to note that the College has been active and in service for well over four hundred years. Any visitor or student who takes the time to walk our lovely campus will undoubtedly become aware of this fact by the many crests and campus restaurants proudly adorned with the date 1592. The investment then made by the college in promoting such history would be admirable if it were not a tad bit ironic, given the college was actually founded in 1591!
To understand why this is, we must look back to the period in which the college was founded. In the 1580s, Pope Gregory XIII advocated for the adoption of a calendar system. He did this because the previous calendar, the Julian calendar, which had, at this point, served for sixteen hundred years, was found ineffective in its tracking of leap years. Minutes began to be lost due to these errors, and over such a span of time, major issues began to appear. To fix these errors, Pope Gregory enlisted the help of many early scientists and mathematicians in order to devise a new system, one which would not need future revision. Upon completion of this project in 1582, the new calendar was to be implemented among all of Christendom.
This New Gregorian calendar, however, altered slightly in feature to its predecessor. New Year in the Julian calendar, in a holdover from the days of Rome, was celebrated towards the end of what we would call March. This is of important note because despite being in use on the mainland at this time, the Julian calendar had yet to been switched among the British Isles.
With the Charter of Elizabeth I, the document which declared the formation of the institution, being dated to the 3rd of March and the ceremony marking the college’s construction being held on the 13th, the observed year of the college’s construction by those who announced and built it was, in fact, 1591. This revelation, while interesting, may
seem easily explainable to the outside reader. Trinity, in an effort to integrate the new calendar system, simply acknowledged the founding of the college with regard to the Gregorian New Year in an attempt to avoid confusion, right? Actually no!
The College, for the first few centuries actually seemed intent on retaining Its Julian founding date. With multiple books and papers written around this time listing the founding as 1591, implying the college was, at the very least, happy to disseminate such information.
One such text is that of William Urwick, The Early History of Trinity College Dublin. Published in 1892, the work
not only adorns its title page with the date of 1591 but addresses the founding ceremony and its date problem on page 12 strangely by claiming it took place in 1591/2.
Two more examples of such an attitude can be found in John Petland Mahaffy’s An Epoch in Irish History and Constantia Maxwell’s A History of Trinity College Dublin. Both texts are seen regarding the founding date as 1591 on their title pages, with Mahaffy’s piece directly mentioning the charter date on page 63.
It seems then that over the centuries, Trinity has possessed a somewhat tumultuous relationship with its founding date. Only recently choosing to embrace the Gregorian position wholeheartedly. The reason for this adoption comes down to a change in college structuring that took place in 1952. This restruc-
turing was led by R.B. McDowell and D. A. Webb, a pair who, in 1984, wrote Trinity College Dublin 1592–1952: An Academic History. In order to create numerical symmetry, the pair opted to adopt the 1592 position, even explaining in a footnote that they were going against the prevailing consensus for the college’s founding date. The popularity of the book, however, paired with its reception by the college faculty, soon solidified the date, establishing a new consensus.
It must be noted that while both McDowell and Webb claim this change was down to calendric accuracy, some to this day believe it was done in an attempt to emphasise the importance of their work.
Regardless of their reasoning, the pair have undoubtedly been successful in this effort. To such an extent, in fact, that few today know that there was ever a debate at all. With even the current provost, Linda E. Doyle seemingly unaware of the change.
I myself knew little of the subject well into my final year of college. If not for an off-hand remark during a ‘Ulysses in Context’ lecture, then it is likely this article would have never been made.
It is for that reason, then, that I must thank Professor Samuel Slote, both for illuminating me on the topic and for his detailed correspondence. Much of the information and sources on display in this article would not be possible without his help.
Humorously, towards the end of our exchange, Professor Slote explained to me how he has had meals within the 1592 restaurant served on plates adorned with the 1591 crest and that many such remnant antiques are still common around the Campus. I myself was able to find two examples of such crests after no more than a few minutes of searching.
It appears then that while Trinity has buried its origins in the weight of its own longevity, fragments of its fascinating history linger on into the modern era.
Not Far Enough
Meghan Sullivan
In 2024, we celebrate the 45th anniversary of laughter being declared the Best Medicine by Norman Cousins. Despite its healing power, current global challenges sometimes render humour ineffective. However, in moments of safety, pain transforms into amusement, much like the relief following a horror movie jump scare - anyone remember
that Carrie graveyard scene? Speaking of an endeavouring young person, allow me to share the most significant endeavour I have undertaken yet: directing Ralph Balfe in Student Union Sabbatical election campaign videos for Instagram. I was initially uncertain about the project’s specifics, but I love Balfe and
politics and jokes so when he asked me if I would manage his ‘joke’ campaign, I immediately said yes. For me, a ‘joke’ candidate meant political satire—pushing established boundaries within societal structures to shed light on issues that, if brought up to the student body or administration in sincerity, might be seen as laughable (derogatory).
Reflecting on Nathan’s lacklustre campaign, it’s evident it lacked direction, thought, choice…. and coherence. On this front, I agree with Kate Byrne’s comment in Trinity News from February. But I disagree with her assessment that Nathan went too far. I think, if he wanted to be funny, he needed to go farther. He needed to go so far that we knew he couldn’t be serious.
When Balfe asked me to work on this with him I immediately said yes. Balfe and I met in November and quickly became Yin & Yang (who is which I couldn’t tell you). His past life compliments my current pursuits and my past life compliments his. I’m trying to be more professional. He is trying to develop his stage act. Throughout the campaign, he wanted to develop a persona and I, my thesis proposal.
You see, I’m exploring the concept of manufactured sensation as a strategic approach for new ventures. The latter part of the thesis title is only there so that it aligns with my chosen degree in business. What I, Meghan Sullivan, am really interested in how batshit it is that emotions are being artificially generated by marketing teams to create a perception that these emotions arise organically from individuals—stemming from their souls or biochemistry or childhood oral fixation—when, in fact, they are scientifically engineered in laboratories (read, “market research institutes”) to promote product consumption. This practice essentially involves manufacturing emotions to drive consumer purchases (cf. engineering laughs to win votes…).
It’s an election year in the United States. My home country. Election years in the US are media frenzies. And Trump’s language is absolute word salad. I did not want to hear his voice on the radio. People are killing themselves - not hyperbole!because of the environment that occurs under his leadership style.
we Laugh and Why neuroscientist Scott Weems notes: “Our minds need emotional engagement just as they need exercise. Without that engagement, we become passive to our environment. And a passive mind is an unhealthy mind.”
Ultimately, that’s what we wanted to counter, Balfe & I. Attack the passivity surrounding student politics and get the student body bodying again. Engage them through humour to start talking about what was going on in the student union. People should be engaged in their community. Elected officials should be elected and voting ought be compulsory.
class or need a coffee on break in the Arts Block or want to eat at the Buttery. The pledge works universally because it’s a unifying truth that student life would be improved were there no tourists on campus. The fact that we go to a school beautiful and historic enough to justify a tourist numbers issue is like oh shut up, you’re complaining?
Why did Balfe’s campaign work? The serious character of Ralph “my mum thinks I’m handsome” Balfe works exceptionally well on Trinity campus for a few reasons. Most prominently, the long held Irish belief that the English are not in any way better than the Irish. It is my personal belief that such is true. The English think otherwise. The character of Ralph Balfe running to try to lead a union at an Irish college is like, you cannot be serious. To have him follow it up with “I’m just as serious as you”, is great. It’s like Ron Burgundy - a heightened sense of self without the sense of awareness.
When Trump was first elected, there was a sector of people who were angry. Very angry. But you can only be angry for so long before you become sad, especially when you realise Trump isn’t actually a joke - he’s real. Or, if you’re one of the millions of Americans on SSRIs and you can’t be sad, you become passive. In his book HA! The Science of When
Balfe comes off as a conservative twat. The mullet of a BESS boy, the body of Jack Palmer (of Phil Chairman fame). As soon as he comes on screen we are going to get all this information. Then we’ll hear his accent and start developing our prejudice. It happens in half a second. This is the setup for (almost) every joke we would go on to make.
My thinking was, “OK, great. This will be really fun to play with. Now how will we do it?”
Our headline pledge - Ban The Tourists - was a sound choice for our English saviour. It was unifying under exposure of a shared truth. There is absolute truth that tourists on campus are especially annoying when you’re running late to
For those that enjoy questionable phonology, ‘tourist’ sounds a bit like ‘terrorist’. A popular term of phrase for those in the United States and corresponding media who, both, often love grouping outsiders into one depersonalised group - much easier to successfully degrade! Also, Ban the Terrorists is semantically incongruent but on second thought, is also a unifying truth.
With the recent elections of far-right leaders platforming xenophobia, Ban the Tourists seems to align with a somewhat prevailing ideology. The sentiment of banning tourists resembles the popular right-wing, go-to, everso-failsafe promise to ‘Ban the Immigrants’. However, banning tourists would entail a loss of outside revenue for the groups’ GDP, which a right-wing politician would ostensibly oppose. Banning tourism could be seen as a neutral and chaotic statement; rather aggressive (too far) in sentiment to a bunch of disinterested 1st year students just wanting to check Trinder. The supporting propositions of Ban the Tourists are absurd, even if they were ChatGPT generated. The absurd supporting proposals are thorough and detailed, mirroring that of a genuine candidate’s key propositions. This reaffirms his established character of overly self- important.
Also, he’s charming. Balfe looks like eight people you know right now but also has something distinct about him. Unlike every other boy with a curly mullet, he is authentically charming. One time he said to me: “I’ve been accused of being a pick-me boy, but the truth is I genuinely like all the items that put me in that position.”
Then, we have intrigue. Sometimes it was hard to tell when Balfe was being Aidan or Ralph or some other guy I hadn’t gotten to know yet. And I’m his mum! I mean mate! I mean mentor! I
mean -. I like giving a lil’ signature on my creative projects. My favourite thing to do is tease. Get the audience asking questions about what is true and what isn’t. I like to write and tell jokes that invite the audience to think critically about what the hell they’re believing coming out of my mouth.
Believe it or not, some audiences really do not care for this. They do not wish to critically think. They wish to laugh. Ok, what was I saying? Oh yes. “Is this real or not?” I think we should be asking ourselves that question all the time. “If I was experiencing this or hearing this in any other context, would I accept this? Let’s zoom out a second: is this behaviour acceptable?”
By getting people to ask themselves these questions they have to engage with themselves and ideally others in conversation and reflection to discern if it is real or not, what aspects made them think one way or another, and start to consider why they think this.
I have a joke I tell about my age. I have no idea how old I am. I never tell them the truth. The audience walks away with a sense that they need to find out. ….intrigue! Verbal illusion!
Both Balfe and myself assumed there would be other candidates running for SU President. What we didn’t expect was there to be only one other person running for office. At the candidate announcement, Balfe looked at me and said, “Who is Jenny Maguire?” and I said, “Balfe. She’s incredible.”
What was initially a lighthearted project now took on a completely different dynamic. Suddenly a fun pair of Post Grads making satirical videos became an Englishman with a mullet and his little American sidekick enrolled in the “MSc of Innovation” program in Trinity Business School running against the most prominent, beloved student activist in the whole of the country.
We went on to introduce ourselves. She appeared just as surprised to learn of us. Charming and warm as always, as we walked away from House 6 Balfe said, “I think she might be funnier than me.”
“Correct,” I said. “She is.” It was crucial to our campaign that we protested Jenny and her platforms as well the establishment/integrity of the SU. While some may view comedy as “shameless”, the antidote to shame lies in honour. By honouring the framework that enables us to engage, we give structure to our play and it becomes a mean-
ingful game thereby allowing more people to join in.
It’s kind of like football. Without the defined parameters of the pitch, it’s just tossing a ball around. But when you mark the boundaries, the game gains structure and purpose. The more defined the field, the more competitive the play becomes. Nathan failed to establish any real lines for himself nor did he leverage the boundaries given by the SU Electoral Commision to effectively execute a joke campaign. Even if he chose not to participate in the game, he could have still benefited from understanding and manipulating its rules to suit his comedic intentions.
A streaker doesn’t have to ever touch the ball to effectively execute their namesake, but he does have to run across the pitch. This would mean acknowledging the established boundaries of the game, certainly not drawing new ones. Instead, he was like a streaker in the men’s toilet. And a streaker in the men’s toilet is just a guy with his clothes off running amuck - disorderly and out of place. It’s like if you say you’re gonna do it, you best get out on the field and do it! Commit!
I think I understand what he, Nathan Harrington, was trying to do, running
for the position of Welfare Officer as a tall, straight-presenting white guy fresh off a semester abroad in California. But the crux of the matter is that we just didn’t feel secure. And things took a turn for the worse when he started wavering and backtracking on his statements. His uncertainty made him volatile, therefore less safe, therefore less laughable. I can’t tell if he just really didn’t know what he was doing or if as soon as he started doing it, he realised he was wrongcausing him to be vulnerable in front of his peers. The exact thing running as a “joke” helps you avoid it. If you run as a joke and you lose it’s “okay” because you never really wanted to win anyway.
But vulnerability is part of what makes Jenny Maguire so, so funny. She is sure of herself. Her confidence is infectious and makes us feel at ease with her. It’s what makes her a natural leader. But alas, she is also human. Surely she isn’t confident 100 per cent of the time. But when she’s not, she’s honest about it And that honesty, that transparency, that’s what builds trust and a sense of security among us. As long as we’re comfortable with ourselves, that is. When someone is uncomfortable or feels unsafe around someone who is completely comfortable and safe on their own without outsourcing validation, affirmation, love etc, it is a sign they are not comfortable with themselves.
Women have an unfair advantage in developing the skill of self-acceptance. We are challenged to conform or face exploitation from a very young age, often years before many of our male counterparts. Coming to terms with this is a hero’s journey most of us begin in our early twenties, when it’s finally safe for our developing brains to process the full breadth of the micro and macro inequalities we’ve witnessed our entire lives. Some women may never accept these realities at all, choosing to support others’ needs over their own.. Being a woman isn’t very funny to me yet; it often still feels so unsafe.
And that’s precisely why Nathan’s “bit” fell flat. If the joke was supposed to revolve around being a “Welfare Office Candidate” and then resorting to using derogatory language, he missed the mark entirely. Joking about disabilities isn’t safe territory. In a way, Nathan inadvertently shed light on an important issue: the fact that no one laughed at his ‘joke’ candidacy let’s us know there’s still a lot of work to be done to make all students feel safe. We have to go farther.
A Diverse Bunch of Students
Eve Martin
Class reps, or ‘TCDSU Class Representatives’ to give them their full government title, are a diverse bunch of students. From over-eager PPES students who want to be the next Taoiseach, to self-sacrificial chemistry students who will be grey by graduation, or history students who simply wanted to organise course nights out in first year and get fucked; there is a wide variety of students who throw themselves at the mercy of their peers to be elected every
September. I should know, I’m one of them.
People’s perception of what the role of a class rep entails varies depending on who you ask, with most students being nearly completely unaware of the legislative component of the position within the union. Most view class reps as that person who sends some overly enthusiastic emails in first semester, organises a few course nights out, or the person you remember to frantically text when
you think you’ve failed an exam, or have forgotten how to navigate blackboard. Undoubtedly, the outwards social role of the reps is where they interact most with their contemporaries and much like high school football, it can have epic highs and lows.
In my own experience and that of the other class reps I have interviewed, the role is mostly positive. Even the early course nights out in first year, full of students awkwardly standing around
the upstairs of Chaplin’s, ultimately led to a greater sense of community within students’ respective courses. Mainly, it enabled them to put names to faces of people from overflowing Goldsmith Hall lectures and get to know people you mightn’t otherwise talk to. And while it is often easy to decide in these initial few weeks of college that the person you met in your first tutorial is meant to be your best friend for all of college and not speak to anyone else, class reps foster and enact the stance of the more the merrier.
Being a class rep, as much as we like to imagine that we’re doing it for all the right reasons - that is, to serve our fellow students and contribute to discourse and student politics - also provides many with a sense of being ‘known’. For myself, confronting other people’s perceptions of me sounds like my personal hell - I’ve been told this is an aspect of being a class rep that many enjoy. Maybe, just maybe, being class rep in first year will open the doors for you to snatch a position from that persistent RON who runs every year (give it a rest babe). Maybe they hope it will help them secure a much coveted (?) place on UT’s ‘Trinity 20’ and status as a certified BNOC (Big Name on Campus).
The few less than ideal aspects come, like a lot of things, from a fear of failure. What if no one shows up to the event? What if people do, but even worse, no one speaks to each other and stands there awkwardly like it’s the front room of a second cousin twice removed who hasn’t seen you since you were yea high, just wishing they’d just stayed at home? What if people decide to start publicly critiquing the event’s handcrafted playlist in your 200+ course groupchat? Yet these fears have (touch wood)… never happened…totally hypothetical. Nine times out of ten the event will go off without a hitch and will supply the course confessions page with some much-needed fuel for the next week; but the fear always looms.
doesn’t crash and burn (again purely hypothetical). Or others thinking that reps have a psychic link to lecturers that makes them privy to otherwise classified information. Or, because we have the words ‘class’ and ‘representative’ in our title, we are somehow able to get a response from your Teaching Assistant at 8:30pm on the Saturday of a Bank holiday weekend about your 1% assignment. People’s varying expectations of the remit of the role are where the real issues arise, but this can easily be solved by just muting your course group chat on WhatsApp!
Stress when planning course social outings can also often arise from the financial constraints of reps. Unlike campus societies, reps have no sources of funding like the Central Societies Committee. So, if event locations require deposits etc it’s up to the reps to fork out their own cold hard cash. While most are happy to do so, if I’m paying €7.20 a pint and €10 a sandwich don’t ask me about my rent or I’ll cry. It can place extraneous stress on an already enervating task and limit the options available for planning events which cater to a broad spectrum of people.
I picked the brains of some reps who were elected for the first time in second year as to whether the social aspects of the role are as they expected, or if the job is completely different backstage. They unanimously agreed “yeah pretty much what I expected” … hey, all interviews can’t be prime time quality…. Another third-year rep revealed that the social aspect of the role disintegrates come Junior Sophister year with most people having found solid friend groups at that stage, especially if their course isn’t subject to further separation in later years. With interest generally dwindling then, this makes the role mainly an administrative one come the latter half of the degree.
The most stressful situations in the role, however, usually precipitate from miscommunication and differing expectations. Whether it is a lack of demand for your organised event, leading to you frantically begging people to buy last minute tickets so the whole event
The role of a class rep has its ups and downs, but from all the reps I’ve spoken to (and I include riveting conversations with myself in that) overall, we/they wouldn’t change it. Fleeting stress about an event is worth the social bonds that are forged because of it. And, after all, maybe the TCDSU is really the friends we made along the way.
What about the Losers?
Tom Comer
It can as much to lose an election as to win it. The TCDSU election period concluded a few weeks ago with the results being read out in the ever-lofty Lost Lane. Successful sabbaticals cheerfully high-fived campaign teams, rang parents and looked forward to their pre-imagined future of (hopefully) making their chosen changes - those less favoured by the college electorate silently left. I spoke to a few brave souls who ran for TCDSU elections, and asked them to reflect on their experience. Take from this article advice, insight or annoyance. Often we learn a lot more in losing, so perhaps we can learn a lot more from the losers. I spoke to a range of sources which would prefer to remain anonymous, and Charlie Hastings (who could have been your University Times Editor), who did not care whether he was revealed or not. They told tales of woe, regret and mishap.
Many of the candidates regretted running entirely. Quoting “the toxic nature of the election season in Trinity” as one of the biggest things which stop people from running for office. As the most front-facing roles on Campus, with guaranteed BNOC status (as well as 26k salary with a room + T-Ball tickets galore), there is a pressure that comes with their prestige.
In particular, candidates talked of the lack of consistency in campus publications. Many articles are written in a short period of time, as is necessary, however not many of them are consistent in their criticism or coverage. Whereas one Trinity News reporter may choose to grill their respective candidate, another may seek to platform their policy agenda. The proximity of our media (strong word), and our politicians (strong word), means reporting goes unchecked. Candidates are quoted as feeling “undermined”. One candidate went as far as to say that the publications were “anti-democratic” in their reporting styles. A top down editorial stance on the harshness and criticism of candidates would provide a more equal footing on which they can compete. However, undoubtedly the relationship between the media and candidates will be fraught with tension.
This year, Misc. ran a hard-hitting piece asking sabbatical candidates what their favourite movie, film and TV show was. I now reflect sorrowfully on the damage we may have caused.
Contrastingly, some candidates complained as to the overall lack of meaningful engagement from the electorate in the media at all. Charlie Hastings expressed frustration at the inability candidates have to shift the needle of campus opinion, citing the lack of attendance at hustings events. He asked that in the future, people should at least take the time to read manifestos carefully before voting. Having run the polls for Trinity News this year, I can attest first hand as to the lack of impact a candidate’s actions, interviews, speeches or campaign material can have on their chances. As we collected more and more data throughout the week, there was little change from our initial polling at the earliest stages. This means that despite all the hustings speeches, instagram adverts and manifesto material, voters’ minds are made on first impression, and they rarely change.
detailed having to get over the initial anxieties of putting himself out there, annoying people in the Arts Block and to in the final days approaching everyone who would listen without abandon.
Several candidates spoke frankly about a need for things to change in our electoral system. The Electoral Commision’s campaigning rules, however well-intentioned, are often touted as being too restrictive and ineffective. Charlie spoke about a small change that would go a long way - the barring of candidates campaigning directly beside each other in the Arts Block or other areas. Tensions can rise in such close proximity, and the success of one candidate over another can be reduced to the amount of boots (Doc Martens) on the ground - a flaw that Charlie believes may have lost him the election.
Of those I interviewed, many were torn as to whether they would run again if we ran back the clock. One such person talked very candidly about their tremendously negative experience, and how it broadly turned them off activism due to the rampant toxicity and stress. Despite volunteering and working in activism for nearly a decade prior to running, they were heartbroken to now associate such good with vicious competition and point-scoring. Others, such as Charlie Hastings, felt it was a meaningful journey in which they learnt a lot. Many spoke very proudly of their desire to change things. Charlie thought very strongly of the potential of the University Times having seen it go through “all the bullshit” to come out under the strong stewardship of Clara Roche - he felt a desire to bring it on further. Throughout the campaign, he
The common consensus was that the elections lack regulation in terms of media interactions. Candidates claim that reporting needs to be fair to everyone. I cannot say I agree, our union lacks engagement - and candidates should be criticised at every turn possible if they slip up. More reporting, especially more critical reporting - may go a long way to boost engagement by inspiring others to right the inadequacies in our union. Nevertheless, candidates are right to call out bias in some college publications.
How did the candidates reflect? Some are exuberant, claiming that it was the best thing to happen to them. They view it as freeing, and nearly reflect on their desire to sit at the apex of the Union as bizarre. Others are upset, but downplay the importance of the elections. “No one really cares”, “it doesn’t really matter does it” - such sayings mightn’t have been well-favoured on the dining hall steps.
When candidates are not pronounced the winner, it can feel embarrassing, emptying and pointless. As winners celebrate with friends, take gleeful photos and rejoice, those unsuccessful retreat. But this can be no reason not to enter, or try. Of all candidates I spoke to, whether they regretted their choice or not, they were united in encouraging others to put their hat in the ring. Losing isn’t fun, but it can be worth it.
Escape vs. Escapism
Phoebe Pascoe
In September 2021 I was lying on my bed, so engrossed in the newly released Sally Rooney book that I didn’t see the email saying that I had been accepted to study at Trinity. Yes, I know this is embarrassingly on-the-nose. But who can begrudge the teen awaiting CAO results their chosen form of escapism? I will unashamedly be turning to Rooney for escapism once again when her latest novel, Intermezzo, is released this September – just as I embark on my final year as a student. It seems even being Booker-nominated doesn’t free you from the academic calendar. But I had to laugh when I realised my time at a certain college Rooney is very familiar with would be literally bookended by her work. Though I vehemently deny any relationship between Normal People and my own student experiences, the truth is that all the books I’ve read while at uni-
versity have in some way coloured my everyday life. Or, all the good ones have. Like eclipse glasses, the books, films or art we consume serve as a lens through which to view a sometimes overwhelming scene. But I’ve been wondering: how do we know when we’re using media to interpret or enhance our lives, and when we’re just putting blinkers on?
In a brilliant article for the New Statesman about ‘Disney adults’, Amelia Tait writes that “If Disney adults – by their own admission – are seeking escape from a troubled world, then who told them entertainment, not collective action, was the best option? Who told them to seek escapism instead of an escape?” Tait spoke to many Disney super-fans for the piece, and considered the cultural hold that the company has on us alongside its ardently apolitical stance. Escapism, of course, can be lovely. I’m deep in a rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy at the moment: if knowing which incredibly attractive doctors are going to sleep together and which are going to be blown up/in a plane crash isn’t comforting, I don’t know what is. But I’ve noticed a cultural blurring of the two categories recently – a habit of escapism to masquerade as escape.
Now, bear with me here. I think this muddling is why I was so disappointed by Barbie. As someone who is equally besotted with Lady Bird, Frances Ha and Barbie and the Twelve Dancing Princesses, I had high expectations going into the cinema. And yet I left the film feeling wholly unsatisfied. Though the plot is obliquely about escape – from Barbieland, from corporate America, from patriarchal constraints on women – there was something stilted and circuitous about its apparently groundbreaking arguments. The narratives about how women might band together to overthrow the systems holding them back felt rigid…plastic. Relying on a story of individuals overthrowing the system and remaining within the structure of what many have noted is essentially a huge Mattel advert (there’s a reason more was spent on promoting the movie than on actually making it) meant that the film rested on the very foundations it claimed to be dismantling.
Whereas escape opens new pathways and opportunities, escapism provides temporary solace from perhaps ‘drain-
ing’ discourse (while the very problems causing that discourse only multiply). Escapism is necessary, but we don’t need to kid ourselves that we’re doing something actively morally upstanding every time we watch a film directed by a woman. I had the same feeling that I had after Barbie when I somehow found myself at a taping of The Drew Barrymore Show a few weeks ago. Barrymore was joyously charismatic, attentive to the audience and vulnerably honest with her guests. But I couldn’t help feeling that the whole situation was vaguely dystopian. She does a segment called ‘Drew’s Good News’, involving discussions of recent reasons to be optimistic. I have no doubt there is a lot of good news in the world – take recent climate victories, for one. I also love pop culture news. Yet the segment seemed to portray tidbits about actors’ relationships as a sign that humanity was headed in the right direction, as opposed to what they are: an entertaining escapism.
The next segment was a cooking item. In a sunny-coloured kitchen, the chef concocted a “guilt-free” meal of zoodles (‘zucchini’ noodles) while the audience was encouraged to murmur “mmm” at the smell. I’m well aware I’m coming across as a pessimistic overthinker here, but the attempt to shelter the entire show from anything that might induce ‘bad’ feelings – politics, pasta, penitence –lessened its hopeful appeal for me. In being so utterly divorced from reality, it lost the power to conjure any real feelings (aside from true envy at Barrymore’s hair). The next day, I was reminded that Barrymore had been criticised for her attempts to air the show in the midst of the Writers’ Guild of America strikes last summer. She reconsidered after the backlash, but not before picketers had lined the streets outside the studio.
that tends to know and dramatise that rather than suppress it.” She suggested that we think about what storytelling, and the draw of a ‘good story’, is doing to any writing we do, but also to our own lives. I think this is why the aforementioned cultural experiences didn’t truly satiate me; escapism is a good story at the expense of a better life. It might be a more convenient shortcut to feeling better, but it can leave a lingering sense that you missed out on a key part of the journey.
Escaping from that tempting trap is easier said than done, though. Perhaps it’s why I loved Past Lives so much –and why it made me cry into my popcorn at the Rathmines Omniplex. The film, which follows Na Young, also called Nora, and her relationship with her childhood best friend from Seoul and her husband in New York, proves that the best narrative is not always the most beautiful. Sometimes messiness is more moving. As Nelson told our class: “I think a lot of writing is bearing with myself in writing out my thoughts in ways that aren’t aesthetically pleasing as they come out.” The discomfort of the unappealing, the unaesthetic, often has the potential to yield more beauty in the long run.
As Past Lives illustrates, art which fosters escape as opposed to escapism doesn’t even have to be overtly political – though I will say that the places I have felt most optimistic recently have been at protests, watching the speakers and people around me, rather than in front of a comforting show. The film is utterly beautiful, classically romantic and yet offers a perhaps unexpected path. I don’t seek realism when I go to the cinema, but I loved that Past Lives’ version of a happy ending felt lovingly, complicatedly tangled up in the real world.
As I’m apparently incapable of getting through this article without name-dropping, it feels important at this point to mention that one of my classes this week included a zoom with Maggie Nelson (who was once my professor’s student). Nelson talked about how trying to tell a story can be distorting: “I like fiction
I suppose I am advocating for a mindset that thinks critically about whether, when we’re not indulging in escapism, we are also trying to seek out real routes of escape. Putting on glasses to protect ourselves from a glare is one thing — wearing them the whole time is another. To really take the metaphor as far as it can go, it might be worth looking around, and seeing whether there’s a pair that can bring the world into sharper focus.
Burglar Band
Sarah Murnane
Burglar is an indie-rock duo from Dublin composed of Willow and Eduardo. At the time that I interviewed them, they had only one single out, “Comeback”. Which was actually released under a different name, Ivy Noise The band re-branded as Burglar, but still play this song at their shows and released a music video for the song under their new name. The eternal conundrum of creating a good band name plagues musicians. As Mick Mars from Motley Crue once said “Shitty name, nine times out of ten shitty band”.
When I asked Burglar about their change in name, the response was shrugs and “coming up with band names is hard”. Too true
The band name Burglar came about as
it usually does, with something said in passing from a friend. Burglar has a nice ring to it though, and this easy-going approach appears to be the main vibe of Burglar. They care about the music, and the visuals are important but secondary. Burglar’s music leaves nothing to be desired. If you’re a fan of resonant guitars, strong melodies and something you can dance to, you will have no complaints. “Comeback” features nearly metal influences. It has strong repetitive riffs, but this is balanced with floating reverberating melodies layered and sung on top.
Willow and Eduardo’s vocals compliment each other well.
Willow’s soft harmonising gives the vocals a ghostly and haunting appeal, while Eduardo’s lower register helps ground the melody. The feelings of “Comeback” are replicated in their latest single “Nobody Needs to Know You’re Desperate”. This song seems like a clear progression. The melody is confident and additional risks are taken to change tone between verse, chorus and bridge. The guitar and bass play off
of each other more. Burglar seem more creative and explorative in their work, seeing how the different instruments in their band integrate with each other, including off-beats and different textures in guitars.
Neither seem particularly interested in the prospect of new gear or effects. Willow uses a vocal modulator on stage to get different tones, but when questioned about their instruments and effects both appear more focused on the basics. Although like any musician, talking extensively about music tech is a pleasure as always. This helps to get a picture of the band as grounded in the songwriting as opposed to fitting a particular genre. Willow and Eduardo seem to want to pave their own way, not follow anyone else.
What seemed underrated to me about Burglar is their live performance. When I asked about their live shows, the pair lit up. Their main goal: to see people dancing. After having this interview I saw Burglar play at the Soundhouse. Their thirty-minute set exploded on stage, with the unique sounds of their music blaring through the speakers, it was impossible not to jump along. The passion that Willow and Eduardo have for their craft is explosive on stage, their attention to detail along with their clear enjoyment of performance as Eduardo swings his guitar on stage is paramount and it captivates the audience.
One of my final questions to the band was whether they felt uncomfortable to be labelled as a ‘Trinity band’. Throughout the past few months, another cycle of bands have emerged. All the protégés of DUAms and DUMusic. As these groups take over the music scene, frequenting on flyers for the Grand Social and the creme-de-la-creme, the Workmans Cellar, they become bestowed with the title of ‘trinity band’.
Burglar seemed excited about the prospect of being labelled a trinity band. Both seemed excited about the prospect of being a part of a group that brought people some joy. Burglar are a great band, with two excellent musicians behind it. They are also wonderful people, so you should definitely take yourself to a Burglar show. You won’t be disappointed.
Backseat Driving
Charlie Hastings
Each year, students from around the globe descend onto the Midlands of England at the Silverstone Circuit for what is one of the most competitive student engineering competitions of the year: 22 laps around a kilometre-long track, with cars that can reach over 150 kilometres per hour. While racing for the title, they find one winner out of many, many losers. If one were to check the competition’s history of winners and qualifiers, Trinity would appear to be absent. This year, however, the team at Formula Trinity, one of the most followed societies on campus, is hoping to change that.
The Formula Student UK (FSUK) competition has been held since 1998, taking representatives from top engineering programs around the world and challenging them to create their own formula racing car. According to the Formula Trinity website, over 400 universities and 12,000 students take part in the contest, making it one of the biggest student engineering competitions in the world. The Trinity team has been working towards the goal of FSUK since Formula Trinity began in 2017, taking home the Best Newcomer Award in 2022. The team was given the award despite not making it through all of the six
static and dynamic testing rounds, a feat difficult enough to knock out the vast majority of teams from the contest. This year, however, the team hopes to make it through all testing rounds and get wheels on the track for the race.
Trinity has attempted this feat many times, with last year’s July competition being the furthest the racing team has gotten. The car had made it past all “static” testing, or testing that is done in a lab by technicians, and all was set to move onto the dynamic testing phase. In this phase the FTX5 car, affectionately named “Bertie,” would be put through the final rigorous “endurance” test on the track. This involves testing the cars ability to manoeuvre and hold high speeds on an actual track against other cars. However, during the track testing phase immediately preceding the endurance race, the brakes on the car failed and not enough time remained for the team to fix the brakes before the race started. The Trinity team was disqualified.
“We were really proud to do as well as we did, despite the circumstances,” said Michael Morgan, a fourth-year Physics student and one of the drivers for Team Trinity. Morgan insists that the team is now back and better than ever. Their se-
cret is a new car, the FTX6. They hope it will make it all the way to race day this year; finally giving the team the opportunity to race against universities from around the world to see who has the driving, engineering and design skills to truly make a champion car.
“There’s a lot of music, maths, and engineering that goes into this one piece of technolo [...] it’s satisfying to see all those pieces and parts come together and work,” said Morgan in an interview.
The team ended up being the only Irish team to get a car on the track last year, which makes sense, considering the car’s impressive features. The team drives a 300 kilogram car with a sixgear 0.6 litre SB600 Honda motorcycle engine, meaning what the car loses in weight capacity, it quickly makes back in power output. The car has 80 brake horsepower with a top speed of 130140 kilometres per hour on a rear-wheel drive setup. This may not have the output the likes of Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc contend with on the F1 circuit, but it is quite impressive for the Formula Student world. The car is built for acceleration, rather than top speed, as many of the tracks the car will (hopefully) encounter feature enough tight sections to rival Le Mans.
“[Silverstone track] is very tight, full of twists and turns,” said Morgan.
The car can reach a speed of 60 kilometres per hour in about 4.4 seconds, not bad for a couple of students working between endless engineering exams and hectic personal lives. The team also has plans to eventually go electric with its racing machine in order to further buff efficiency. Several other universities have already made this change, including Oxford University, which is a ubiquitous presence at FSUK.
In the meantime, Michael and his teammates have lots of work to do before the race season begins this summer. Formula Student rules state that there must be a new chassis for the car each year. The chassis acts as a skeleton for the racecar, keeping all the essential parts in their respective place. A new chassis means removing most of the car’s parts and putting them back together. This prevents any team from building an unstoppable dynasty with any one car, but it also means lots of work for the Formula Trinity team.
Formula Trinity’s team of engineers and designers have reportedly already begun this process, taking apart old Bertie and putting her back together again, but not without a few improvements. The team has already addressed last year’s braking problem with an all-new brake setup, replacing the braided steel lines that failed and correcting brake fluid leaks. The car is so different, in fact, that the team is currently in the process of thinking for a new name, as “Bertie 2.0” perhaps wouldn’t do the newness of the car justice: Not to mention it isn’t very catchy.
As for further upgrades apart from the brakes, Morgan and his team can pretty much all agree on one thing.
“We’d love to turbocharge it in the future,” Morgan said, in regards to the Trinity racecar.
more, comparatively, is not uncommon in American and British universities also entering the contest. Sponsorships are also essential to the team fulfilling their goals on time, with SIG, Irish Special Steels, and Cadence being some of the major sponsors for the team. Cadence in particular has close ties with McLaren F1 racing, one of the premier teams in motorsport and an essential connection for those hoping to move forward with the racing industry in the future.
“It’s a really good pathway into motorsport,” added Morgan. “That would be a dream of mine, to be a racecar driver [...] but of course, it’s an expensive hobby.”
Morgan himself is one of four team drivers for Formula Trinity, and, like most professional racers, has “been into racing since a young age.” He spent many of his formative years go-karting and cultivating what he calls “the relationship between man and machine”. His father was an aeroplane mechanic, and often spent time with Morgan and his brother with go-karts in the back garden teaching fundamentals behind the wheel.
“He’s always tried to instil that ‘do it yourself’ attitude’ in me and my brother,” said Morgan, regarding his father. Morgan continued driving go-karts as he grew older, even joining DU Karting as a driver as well, though, as Morgan attests, it is a much more violent sport.
“Turns out, people are a lot less scared of contact than you think they are,” Morgan said, referring to other go-kart racers.
Turbocharging, however, is quite expensive, Morgan confessed. That and many other desired upgrades that would do wonders for Formula Trinity in the workshop and on the track are simply not possible with the current budget allotment from the College. Last year, the team got by on a more-than-modest budget of €12,000, with almost a third of that being required for just the FSUK entrance fee. A budget of €50,000 or
Eventually Morgan graduated to cars and bought a used Mazda MX-5 convertible, a car he often takes to the track to race in the offseason. Even this wasn’t enough for the driver, however, as he soon switched towards his father’s interest in aircraft after inheriting a beat-up Piper cub PA18 from the 1960s. Morgan has since flown solo several times in his native Ashbourne, in County Meath, racking up over twenty-five hours of flight time. He hopes to secure his pilot licence this summer.
“I’m kind of a jack of all trades, master of none,” Morgan joked.
Morgan went on to comment that Formula Trinity is in part the one to
blame for this, with Morgan himself having experience in the marketing and suspension teams in years past This year, he has added Head of the Powertrain Department on the IC Engineering team to his CV, overseeing all auxiliary systems to the engine, including cooling, radiator, and fuel lines.
With Morgan’s recent receiving of IC Engineer of the Year from the society, it makes sense that he carries with him an unflinching can-do attitude: “I just applied to the team last year, it was after the pandemic and I was looking for something to do, and just thought ‘screw it, why can’t I do this? Why can’t I give this a go?’” He continued, “I had experience coming into the team, but a lot of it has been figuring it out as I go, which has been a challenge, but also it’s just moving forward.”
Certainly not everything has been easy for Morgan, as with the rest of the team, but perseverance in the face of meagre budgets, disqualifications, and even global pandemics, has always been the team’s way. A racer’s life is never going to be without hardship, just ask Morgan’s racing inspirations: Colin McRae and Aryton Senna, both of whom died in vehicle accidents. Yet, as Morgan well knows from his violent history with go-karting, no one gets into racing for comfort. It is a nervous sport, which is why before most races one can find Morgan listening to Deftones and trying to “visualise his racing line”. Yet, Formula Trinity thrives despite everything, and enjoys one of the largest social media followings of any society on campus, and, as the team has testified, the car hasn’t been crashed (yet). Instead, the team has steadily improved each year, and the next step surely lies in Trinity going head-to-head with other universities on the track at Silverstone, with Morgan himself behind the wheel.
“You just have to put yourself into the mindset of ‘okay, I don’t know all the answers, but I can figure it out’.”
The team has certainly figured itself out so far. And as the team states on its website, new members are always welcome. Just remember to bring your knowledge of computational fluid dynamics, finite element analysis, and, of course, welding. If that sounds too difficult, the team encourages all to watch the race as well. To watch what could be Trinity’s first race win, tune in to the livestream on the Formula Student Youtube page this July, between the 17th and the 21st.
From TFM Triumphs to Disc-Jockey Disgraces
Deported Listener(s)
War. Pollution. Declining birth rates amidst an ageing population. These are just a few of the problems faced by modern society. In an age of such turmoil – where talk is cheap and nothing is guaranteed – certain institutions seek to provide not only objectivity and truth, but also consolation. Like the unwavering glare of the LED in the darkest of subterranean parking lots.
Weather & Traffic (WnF) was founded not out of a desire for status or prestige, but in response to a collegial need – the need for reliable institutions and friendly faces. When Weather & Traffic first hit the airwaves, it was met with suspicion by the listenership (who could not see the friendly faces). But after the first hour of broadcasting it became clear that the motives were genuine, with well-meaning hosts and accurate meteorological information. The rancour with which the demagogic tyrants of TrinityFM viewed this new show, however, did not abate.
As public opinion changed, so too did the program. In addition to the weather and traffic reports from which the show found its roots, the hosts engaged in serious yet accessible discourse, covering a vast array of topics, from extraterrestrial life, to extra-judicial prosecution, to Women.
From head to foot and from top to bottom, Weather & Traffic catered to the vital need the undergraduate population burns with for curt, frank, and informative broadcasting. To anyone with a sparkle in their eye and a fire in their heart, Weather & Traffic stood as a pillar of salt amidst the wastes of student broadcasting.
The Weather & Traffic team, at its glorious height, was one, unitary, and cohesive social machine. But it was a
machine of many parts. Parts that made one machine. One unitary and cohesive social machine.
Co-founder of the show, Conal Scullion of Newry, Northern Ireland, came and went like an alluvial flood lapping the banks of the mighty Nile. For formatting and writing, his skills were nonpareil. His strength was such that he often crossed the border into the Free State in order to lend the Weather & Traffic team a helping ‘voice’ in their
broadcasting endeavours. In this capacity he served, up until the shrivelled end of the broadcasting organisation, as ‘Chief Executive Ideas Guy’. Alongside Conal as the founder of Weather & Traffic stood the Humble Buster Whaley, who served as ‘General Executive Secretary and Chief Weather Officer’ of the show.
Hailing from the quietly tragic countryside of New England, Whaley appointed himself Captain of Weather & Traffic after Conal Scullion’s departure from the show in May of 2022. His dictatorial powers included the ability to veto any proposed change in the WnF constitution, and the ability to convoke the TFM membership at any time. Whaley, sporting shades and his signature leather jacket, struck an imposing presence; but even he, with all his constitutional power, was helpless against the iron will of the TFM Committee.
Year 2 of Weather & Traffic saw the departure of co-founder Conal Scullion, and an expansion of the core team. Scullion needed an immediate successor. In September 2022, he was replaced as co-host by Brian Lennon, a wanderer from the western port city of Galway. An errant twit, he had a curious fascination with the sea, and served as ‘Senior Executive Producer, Director of Mari-
time Affairs, and Chief Undertaker’ of Weather & Traffic
As the program grew in scope, so too did the workload, and it became clear that the shoes of Scullion were too big for one man to fill alone. Thus, a new hero was sought after, and quickly found, in the imperious and imposingly bearded body of James Wolfe, Esquire. Wolfe quickly rose through the ranks, with Scullion returning digitally to oversee his appointment as Grand Executor of Weather & Traffic
This second season of Weather & Traffic was marked by several ‘instant classics’, as they were referred to by the masses. Starting with an investigation into the assassination of JFK, this was immediately followed by an interactive ‘radio-play’ concerning extraterrestrial life, which brought ratings to record highs. Further triumphs included an investigation into ‘The Real Cost’ of TCD’s anti-smoking campaign, and exclusive interviews with political legends Jeremy Corbyn and Richard Nixon.
Season 3 began with an action-packed special, which saw the return of Scullion as the team travelled to Great Britain to rescue the Queen. Following this, an investigation of the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001, landed the team in some ‘hot water’, as they made an enemy of Italian-American 9/11 eyewitness, Joe Pazzo. Weather & Traffic made further enemies of Dublin Bus, standing vehemently against unfair route changes, shortly before hosting the Second Annual International Congress on Women.
Following this controversial episode, Weather & Traffic hosted one of its most celebrated episodes of all time: the ‘Orange Drinks Special’, which peaked at a staggering 30 listeners. The season concluded with a bittersweet farewell, which saw the vengeful return of Italian-American Joe Pazzo, who struck down the triumvirate – Wolfe, Whaley, and Lennon.
doubles to broadcast for them in their absence. The body doubles lay dead, but Lennon and Whaley were alive and well, constructing primitive earthen formations in the bay of Naples. Wolfe was shot 49 times by 30-odd-six bullets, but was airlifted to Balmoral Castle in Scotland, where the Queen – repaying an old debt – assembled an exceptional medical team to resuscitate the ailing Wolfe.
Whaley and Lennon, wary of Wolfe’s ire (should he discover their subterfuge), remained exiled in the southern Mediterranean, where they, among other things, experienced a mystical vision in the Church of Santa Maria Francesca delle Cinque Piaghe in Naples.
Thinking it time to re-emerge into civil society, the pair made a return to radio wavelengths, with a pacified Wolfe, for year 3 of Weather & Traffic, in September 2023.
Season 4 marked a turning point for the Weather & Traffic team. Whereas once the hosts had been united wholeheartedly by a dedication to truth and objectivity, the months of violence and strife, the struggle of inter-societal politics, and the burden of celebrity, had taken their toll on the WnF Boys (as they were affectionately referred to by the public).
But not all was what it seemed. Pazzo, gun smoking and toothpick dangling precariously from his mouth, thought he had the Weather & Traffic boys beat. But Whaley and Lennon, cognizant of the significant risk posed by the Italian-American, had actually hired body
Though the season began on a high note, with a widely-attended listening-party hosted by David Wolfe (in Tom Comer’s flat) –followed quickly by the wildly successful ‘Evening with Raj’ – which featured riveting debate on humanity and its role in the cosmos. The show, however, quickly and astoundingly fell to ruin. Following the discovery of ‘computer games’, the three hosts quickly became preoccupied with personal matters and unrelated projects.
The ‘Toast Investigation’ marked a low point, with five listeners tuning in for half-hearted and pointless debate from experts on toasted bread. Subsequent episodes saw similarly unenthusiastic discussion on a variety of topics, picked arbitrarily by hosts too disinterested to
care: plagiarism, the death penalty, the ‘X’ Library. Beginning in February of 2024, several episodes – including the Valentine’s Day special and the TwoYear Anniversary – were skipped entirely, replaced by pitiful pre-recorded broadcasts. The 25 hour broadcast, however, seemed like a light shining in the darkness of WnF’s broadcasting history. Paired with their old radio partners DU Eejit Soc and aided by the wizened Conal Scullion, this special broadcast was full of cheer, wit, and general optimism. However, it was most surely the swansong for the ailing and bloated WnF team, who were then being frequently described as the ‘sick man’ of the TrinityFM broadcasting repertoire. As a mayfly reaches its most perfect form mere minutes before death, the WnF team saw, before the end, brief and heartachingly fragile moments of union and beauty.
Following these highs, the Weather & Traffic team delivered a slew of mediocre episodes, with one lone diamond among the coals: the final debate between Student Union candidates Jenny Maguire and Ralph Balfe. This episode returned the deflated listenership to former highs, with several people tuning in to hear the spirited revelry and vigorous discussion. But it would not last. The so-called ‘wine and cheese debate’ was the ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’. Hosts Lennon and Whaley ending the broadcast early after gorging themselves on wine and cheese for forty minutes. Listenership plummeted, and public opinion soured like grapes left to rot on the vine.
The final episode saw the two remaining hosts – Whaley and Lennon – swilling brandy and discussing past exploits, victories, and defeats – recount their broadcasting experiences, self-indulgently referring to themselves in the third-person.
Weather and Traffic received the ‘Best Talk Show’ award for the second consecutive time this year from TrinityFM.
James Wolfe Esq. received the ‘Best Editor’ award in 2024.
Brian Lennon Sch. received the commendations of his peers.
Conal Scullion, DC., continues to receive a lifetime pension from the college for his years of service.
Buster Whaley was deported.
Academia and Activism
Ellen McKimm
Colleges like Trinity can quickly become dull and out-of-touch without their spirit of social change, critical thinking skills development, student challenges and future-focusedness. This has caused many to question their shape as both an academic and an activist. One cannot escape the political aspect of research. Our universities are not strangers to politics. Our colleges have an external institutional role that shapes the world around us. From advising on government policy, shaping research objectives and sitting on governing boards, academics continue to change the world around us in many invisible, overlooked and under-examined ways.
argued that “you very rarely see academics taking a strongly partisan view on issues when they’re called on for comments by the media - they are usually making informed but often anodyne observations about the issues of the day”.
So, is there ever an equilibrium between academia and activism? In an interview with Princeton, Noam Chomsky stated that finding the balance between activism and academia is nearly impossible. On the one hand, he recognised that academia “can be significant in our understanding of the world”; on the other hand, so too is “direct engagement”.
signatory was Dr. David Landy, an assistant professor in the Sociology Department at Trinity.
In a previous interview with Misc. Magazine, the Provost of Trinity College Dublin, Linda Doyle, expressed her wish for Trinity students to be physically safe and “intellectually challenged”, a feeling echoed among many of the academics interviewed for this article. One such academic is Dr. Peter Robbins, Assistant Professor of Innovation & Entrepreneurship at Dublin College University. In addition to research and lecturing, Professor Robbins also sits on the advisory board of the Childhood Development Initiative and the Royal Dublin Society. Following a request for his comments on this piece, he noted how common this voluntary nature is within academia. He stated that roles within these civil societies and boards “is our form of activism - it is not controversial or political, but it is necessary”.
However, I was interested in hearing Robbin’s opinion on whether or not academics would risk becoming too reactionary if it became too political. Robbins believed that Irish academics “are less political now than before, but perhaps they are more socially conscious than they used to be”. In his area of business, very few courses or modules at the university level do not mention global concepts such as SDGs and “there is no longer the idea that unconstrained or unbridled growth in business is inherently good”. Robins
This intersection can be found in many disciplines, with some academics themselves becoming activists and leaders. The current leader of the Labour Party in Ireland, Ivana Bacik, was herself a lecturer at Trinity until she was elected leader in March 2022. Robins notes that a particular area where activism is present is in the discipline of climate change. He said that “academics are often the ones donning the waders to clean out river basins, they are often leading marches and demonstrations calling for more action on climate justice, they are setting up research projects and centres to spotlight issues of concern”. But as our world is increasingly interconnected and borderless, these academics engaging in climate-related activism are not in this alone but rather “they are in the company of so many other concerned citizens”.
This intersection is becoming increasingly evident as Trinity academics and others have been outspoken critics of the college’s stance on the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. Over 70 Trinity academics signed a letter from the organisation called “Academics for Palestine”. One
I interviewed Professor Landy in December, and the key takeaway from the interview was his perspective on activism and involvement in social causes throughout his life. When I asked why he felt so passionately about the movements he was involved in, Dr Landy simply replied that he didn’t understand “why people didn’t get involved”. Having taken his class on Race, Ethnicity and Identity this year, I was always struck that his manner of teaching managed to bridge his activist and academic background. While we had debated and discussions in class, I had always felt open to questioning him and the text; upon asking him if this was intentional or not, he noted he thought it was important for academics to be “honest about bias” and that classrooms should not act as a “forum for indoctrination”.
This increased social consciousness amongst Gen Zers is also putting more pressure on our college institutions to be more political than they once were. A survey conducted by Deloitte found that 49 per cent of Gen Z surveys said that over the last two years, they have decided on the type of work they do and the companies they work for based on personal values. This shift is not only reflected in the world of work but is evident in educational institutions.
The current students’ union president, László Molnárfi, offered his perspective on this intersection between academics and activism. He stated that “the rise of precarious employment in academia” has “significantly undermined the capacity of academics to engage in activism, thereby widening the gap between academia and activism”. He added that the precarious nature of jobs “breeds a culture of caution among academics”, making them less likely to engage in activism.
In contrast to the view of Robbins and other academics, he states that this “erodes the traditional role of academia as a space for critical thought and societal engagement, weakening the connection between scholarly research and real-world activism”.
A Substitute for Pistol and Ball
Brian Lennon (et. host)
Brian Lennon
Call me Blenno. Some months ago, never mind how long precisely, having little money in my wallet and sobriety offering little interest, I took up a friend’s invitation to join him in an ‘early house’ on Capel Street. Inside these matinal spaces, shoulders hunch over frigid glasses, and the tinny smell of whiskey floats outwards into coffee-smelling streets. It is a way for these people (and myself) to ward off melancholy and dread. It is our substitute for pistol and ball. With a flourish, Socrates knocks back a vial of hemlock; I, however, quietly take to the pub.
And so I did. It was a bracing April morning, with crowds milling about, delivering food, setting up shop. I had just arrived back to Dublin on a sleepy train from Connacht, and, having left hell, thought it right to knock back some heavenly liquor.
The entrance to the public house occupies the corner of Capel Street and Mary Street Little, and is nostalgically Tudor in design; its piebald facade calls
to mind a glass of stout and its awnings, quaking in the vernal breeze, offered little protection as I awaited my host. (It should be noted, dear reader, that my host stipulated he was to be referred to as such in this article, on proprietary as well as moral grounds).
My host then appeared, a sports bag straddled gentlemanly by his side, marching in deft determination to the watering-house. He greeted me with a kindly disinterest.
My host, who has graciously allowed me a few words on this pub, has imprisoned himself within Orwellian walls of criticism; his criteria for what makes a perfect pub stem from an essay written in the 1940s by George Orwell, specifying the pub which appeals to him most. His ideal is a simple pub, unadorned yet comely, busy but not dizzying, and one that sells draught stout.
We entered. The interior is dark; bevelled cornices hem one in, and give to the inside a sort of cosy intimacy. The walls are mostly redbrick, reflecting that all-pervasive building-stuff of Dublin.
Black and white matte tiles present a sort of chessboard puzzle on the floor. We bypassed this by walking straight to the oakwood bar counter, which serves a variety of fermented beverages. Our predilections led us to Guinness, which we ordered and sat to await our food.
Now, the food: Orwell states that pub food is tolerable if it is not ‘dinner’; that is, if it is anything more than a breadand-beef sort of affair. On Slattery’s website, we are told that the pub serves everything “from a toasted sandwich to a full Irish – We cater for all appetites!” While this may not strike you as a diverse selection, patient reader, do not fret - it satisfies the criteria enshrined by our British chum, Mr Orwell.
The two stouts came, and brimful they were with ebon ale. Yea, fulsome floes of cream circled the pint-rim, almost touching our tired eyes. Drink we did, and a more soothing sup of stout I have not enjoyed since (this is a lie for rhetorical purposes).
My host, enlivened by the darksome brew, began a lengthy discourse on the
history of mankind. I, for my part (also due to my limited understanding of the topic), contented to listen to his expostulations. His rhetoric ranged wildly from Neanderthal religion, to Neanderthal tool-use, to Neanderthal extinction. At one point he gave me a scolding slap on the head for not having read Sapiens: A Brief History of Mankind, an admonishment I bore mutely.
The only replies he permitted from myself were nods and knowing blinks. As I attempted to give some form to my own thoughts on diverse subjects, the food arrived. We dug in. Instead of oats, grain, and turnips (a diet habituated to me by youth in the West), the platters before us induced in me a carnivorous guilt, for they were replete with meat of sundry origins. I managed to slip some salt sachets into my coat-pocket for later use, as well as two minuscule butter portions.
Our meal completed, I ventured a passing remark on the pub. At this my host made a noise of enthusiasm, exclaimed “I’ll use that!”, and thereupon produced an A4 notebook in which he furiously began to sketch his thoughts. I noticed that in the margins of the page he had drawn cartoons of a taboo nature.
We left, refreshed by beer and breakfast. As we parted, my host,already bent on another errand, left me with a cursory valediction. An invitation on my part to another public-house was respectfully, if forcefully, declined.
Slattery’s is a pub which fits most of the criteria my host clings to. I am neither intelligent nor brave enough to supply a final verdict.
Host
Slatterys is one of those pubs where the central bar is the sun around which planetary locals rotate. I mean to say it’s located in the middle of the room, with the seating spaced out around the edges. Despite being undeniably Victorian, the pub has a thick coat of glossy modern century Irish nationalist paint, the wall adorned with fiercely historical ornaments - notably “Michael Collin’s uniform” amongst others.
Hanging from the ceiling near the central bar area are great golden pendules which resemble thuribles - the tools priests use to emit holy incense. A deeply gothic instrument used for thousands of years, they dangled on golden chains from the considerably high ceiling. Upon seeing these my mind began to wander, freemasonry, occult… could
Slattery’s be involved in it all? In reality, they were ornamental lamps, but regardless - wander did my mind.
Despite his robust reverence, esteemed expertise and polished passion for publican pedagogy, Orwell never declared when he thought the best time to have a pint was. Being in possession of both child-like wonder, and a bit too much time on my hands - I thought that an early morning pint would really give these articles the edge they need.
Speaking of bad boys and edginess, I am being joined by a “friend” for this article. None other than resident of TFM’s Weather and Traffic’s Brian Lennon. With his soft and bouncy hair, rigorous academic standards and famed oratory skills - Brian is exactly the kind of person I was once raised to hate, an archetypal Trinner.
Regardless, I set aside the embers of a hatred now forgotten and settled in
for breakfast with Brian (patent pending). See, Orwell did insist that the bar should serve food. “Upstairs, six days a week, you can get a good, solid lunch— for example, a cut off the joint, two vegetables and a boiled jam roll—for about three shillings.” You can indeed get lunch in Slattery’s on Capel Street, but we opted for breakfast.
There was a slight moment of tension upon ordering. When Brian ordered the medium breakfast, I knew I had to assert dominance. Accordingly, I opted for the large breakfast. In the heat of the moment, my hubris got the best of me - and I accidentally ordered tea as well. Guinness and tea have no reputation as a pairing, but new frontiers must be discovered.
The breakfast itself was genuinely lovely, it was a real shame about the company. It is an impressive feat to leave a more sour taste in my mouth than brown sauce.
We both ordered pints and talked of our days and dreams. Brian waxed lyrical about the life and times of an Irish
writer whose name I have forgotten, but genuinely intend to read. I tried to parry his intellectualism with some comments about the religious beliefs of Neanderthals. He mopped it up. Moron.
The pints were promptly brought to the table. I thought the service was great, it was 9:30am and the staff were lively and attentive. Notably, there was no music which was brilliant. Music to my ears. Another box ticked off Orwell’s list of criteria. Upon entering, it was initially like the scene of a western. Bent double over 9am pints, gammon heads swilled to meet our gaze. Our threat levels were quickly deemed irrelevant, and back to the pints the frequenters’ attention were drawn. Again, Orwell talked of The Moon Under Water’s clientele: “Though fairly large, it consists mostly of ‘regulars’ who occupy the same chair”. I would bet fierce money that the very same men would be in Slattery’s if I were to return.
But onto the important things, the two pints. They sat for a while as we ate and contemplated the gravity of the Guinness before us. 9:45am. On a school day! Could we? Should we? I watched as Brian’s soft hands hugged a glass that was arguably too big for him. Brian Lennon stands at a comical, improbable height of 20 centimeters. As he spread his hands around the thick glass, I wanted so badly to flick him off the table - but I refrained.
The taste of the Guinness was peculiar, a strong dark taste unlike any pint I have had before. It reminded me of stormy nights at sea (I have never sailed). Brian felt the same, upon climbing up his miniature step ladder and ladling half a millilitre of Guinness into his mouth. The sheer concentration of alcohol knocked him flat. Normally, when someone becomes inebriated they are a struggle to take home. I put Brian in my pocket.
In conclusion, I really enjoyed a morning breakfast and pint in Slattery’s. There is a rugged self-awareness that is appreciated. Despite some tourist attractions, they are heavily counteracted by the concentration of locals. More than this, there are rare times in your life where one is at genuine liberty to have a pint at this time in the morning, unashamedly. This was not one of those times, it was much too close to exams and I felt very stressed afterwards. Regardless, I cannot recommend a morning pint and breakfast, with your smallest great friend enough.
