"Culture" -- that could sound very highbrow. And yet, culture is grown from the earth. It's an organic thing, a
grassroots thing. It's the way of being of a people, from sunup to
sundown. It's the way they talk, the way they work, the way they sing,
the way they worship, the way they pray, the way they play.
The eroding of one's culture can impact both the spiritual/emotional life and one's day-to-day, practical life in the physical world -- simultaneously.
I don't pretend to know what makes a full-blooded Irish person Irish; and, being all the way over here in the U.S., I'd feel arrogant even speculating. What I do know, however, is that when the ancestral cultures of people are put aside, surrendered to the mixing and melding of modernity, fragmentation results. Bonds between young and old can be shattered -- without a war, without any obvious struggle or strife.
Because culture is so closely intertwined with history, when we cut through culture, we cut right through time. In this way, one generation begins to be separated from another. It's the quietest, simplest thing when an "out of style" aspect of culture is simply swept aside or shamed aside by a society eager to see everyone and everything streamlined, equalized, "brought up-to-date."
Similarly, when a living monument to history is altered or dismantled, visual memory alone can't suffice for the loss. Continuity is broken. At a time when oral and written traditions take second place to momentary bleeps on social networks, the rupture of historical visual continuity stands to have an even deeper, more socially alienating effect on new generations.
Surrounded as she is by legend and lore, fishermen and boatmen, food and drink establishments, natural beauty, and reams of history, the River Shannon is a powerful symbol of Ireland, a living, flowing "coat of arms." To break her up by siphoning massive amounts of water from her and restructuring her is to begin to fragment not only her underwater world but, literally, the "view points" of all the people around her. In a very subtle but real way, Irish identity would be impacted.
To redesign the flow of a grand and majestic river runs the risk of irrevocably disturbing greatness -- greatness ranging from the heights of the sublime right down to those river-related pursuits which fuel the nation's daily routine. This disturbance would be accomplished not by way of man's coursing through the river frequently or partaking of it in a usual manner, but rather in that depressingly modern way of man's attempting something grandiose and ending up with something grossly inferior.
If a proposed water-rerouting intervention threatens to alter dramatically the overall health of a river, the spectre of potential ecological disaster then looms over people's heads -- along with the impending disturbance of the river's seamless natural beauty. If the rerouting intervention turns out to have serious flaws, the water supply can be harmed, people's health can suffer, river creatures can suffer, the river can dry up, jobs can dry up, morale can dry up -- and funds can dry up. No more butter -- and very stale bread. The nation may well be left, afterwards, with the sense of a natural treasure having been seriously undervalued . . . and possibly ruined.
On the level of the human spirit, this would be an incalculable loss. It would tear a hole in that garment of Irish culture and history interwoven over time, a garment which embraces the familiar artistic and economic ways of the Irish people. If the mighty River Shannon is compromised by imprudent intervention, people would then have to approach her in new and remediating ways, or -- worst case -- not at all.
Far better would it be to attempt every possible alternative measure of providing more water for Dublin rather than risk doing anything which could ruin the major water source, itself.
The eroding of one's culture can impact both the spiritual/emotional life and one's day-to-day, practical life in the physical world -- simultaneously.
I don't pretend to know what makes a full-blooded Irish person Irish; and, being all the way over here in the U.S., I'd feel arrogant even speculating. What I do know, however, is that when the ancestral cultures of people are put aside, surrendered to the mixing and melding of modernity, fragmentation results. Bonds between young and old can be shattered -- without a war, without any obvious struggle or strife.
Because culture is so closely intertwined with history, when we cut through culture, we cut right through time. In this way, one generation begins to be separated from another. It's the quietest, simplest thing when an "out of style" aspect of culture is simply swept aside or shamed aside by a society eager to see everyone and everything streamlined, equalized, "brought up-to-date."
Similarly, when a living monument to history is altered or dismantled, visual memory alone can't suffice for the loss. Continuity is broken. At a time when oral and written traditions take second place to momentary bleeps on social networks, the rupture of historical visual continuity stands to have an even deeper, more socially alienating effect on new generations.
Surrounded as she is by legend and lore, fishermen and boatmen, food and drink establishments, natural beauty, and reams of history, the River Shannon is a powerful symbol of Ireland, a living, flowing "coat of arms." To break her up by siphoning massive amounts of water from her and restructuring her is to begin to fragment not only her underwater world but, literally, the "view points" of all the people around her. In a very subtle but real way, Irish identity would be impacted.
To redesign the flow of a grand and majestic river runs the risk of irrevocably disturbing greatness -- greatness ranging from the heights of the sublime right down to those river-related pursuits which fuel the nation's daily routine. This disturbance would be accomplished not by way of man's coursing through the river frequently or partaking of it in a usual manner, but rather in that depressingly modern way of man's attempting something grandiose and ending up with something grossly inferior.
If a proposed water-rerouting intervention threatens to alter dramatically the overall health of a river, the spectre of potential ecological disaster then looms over people's heads -- along with the impending disturbance of the river's seamless natural beauty. If the rerouting intervention turns out to have serious flaws, the water supply can be harmed, people's health can suffer, river creatures can suffer, the river can dry up, jobs can dry up, morale can dry up -- and funds can dry up. No more butter -- and very stale bread. The nation may well be left, afterwards, with the sense of a natural treasure having been seriously undervalued . . . and possibly ruined.
On the level of the human spirit, this would be an incalculable loss. It would tear a hole in that garment of Irish culture and history interwoven over time, a garment which embraces the familiar artistic and economic ways of the Irish people. If the mighty River Shannon is compromised by imprudent intervention, people would then have to approach her in new and remediating ways, or -- worst case -- not at all.
Far better would it be to attempt every possible alternative measure of providing more water for Dublin rather than risk doing anything which could ruin the major water source, itself.
