The Mad Blind Hands Of Fanatics

"They reach their mad blind hands into the night,
To plumb abysses dead to human sight;
To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled,
Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world."
- Robert E. Howard

By Charley Brady

Let's film a bunch of thugs in balaclavas. Let's pretend that they have something legitimate to say. Once we have done this, then let this bunch be shown on prime time RTE, and make no mistake about it, being given more coverage than if there had been a 10 on the Richter Scale earthquake in Dublin.

Because that's what we're like here. We give media space to thugs and we give it in a totally objective way.

Well, this hack doesn't care to be objective in this case. I'm not interested in reporting how we should be "talking to" and having "constructive" dialogue with these creatures. Not in the slightest. Since they are not part of the democratic process I will be damned if I give them the time of day to espouse their ignorant sentiments.

I will not quote one word of what they said, except to put this down in writing as to what we are up against here.

Let's look at the facts:

Last Sunday a bunch of murderous pigs in masks showed up in a cemetery in Derry. Their head honcho, ridiculously garbed in battle gear and - of course, balaclava - with his little paunch visible, took to the stand to tell a handful of eejits that they fully intended to bomb and kill more people... in the name of Irish Freedom. They were proud of what they had done to an innocent like Kerr, more than proud; and they promised more to come.

For starters, where were the cops? Oh, well, they've been told to keep their heads well down and not to rush into anything just in case they bring us back to the Dark Days of the '70s.

What the hell happened here? Are you seriously telling me that you cannot arrest a group of thugs who in broad daylight and in a cemetery where normal people honour their dead, turn up and speak openly of adding to the long ROLL call of the dead? Are you seriously telling me that?

If I had stood up in Oranmore cemetery and called for sedition, murder and crimes against the state I can guarantee you, I would not only have been arrested. I would have been carted off to the funny farm in double quick time. And rightly so.

By Christ, what is wrong with a country that turns a blind eye to these scumbags?

There is a sickness here and it's about time that someone put a real lance into it.

Here's an idea that won't go down too well: let's start with interning the bastards.

Hell, the cops know who they are but they are entirely helpless because they would have the Human Rights brigade down on top of them. That organisation which used to mean something, Amnesty International, would be screaming blue bloody murder for a start.

Internment.

Bad word, that; bad historical connotations: but that was then and this is now.

This isn't 1970 or even 1980. It's time to take on these swine who have become so cock sure of themselves that they can mock us in broad daylight.

When did they become a law unto themselves? Jeez, even McGuinness and Adams are asking us to stitch them up now. Yes, that's right: INFORM on them. I would have no problem with that at all.

They call themselves Patriots. What a dark laugh that is.

Let me tell you about true Patriotism:

I received an email from a friend of mine who was in Spain last week. He couldn't believe the coverage that these murderous, dangerous assholes were getting.

Doesn't it just make you proud, to see that kind of coverage all over the world?

This guy is just one of many, many people that I know who wish to sell this wonderful country abroad and get it back up off its feet again.

The person who is at front of reception in a hotel, if she or he is presenting a visitor with a smiling face and extolling the many great things about Ireland, well then that's a Patriot.

The person who answers the phone in the cab office; the guy behind the bar counter; the bloke you meet in the street who gives you directions as to where you want to get to; the waiter who makes your day by making your meal a delight; the guy in the pub who is interested in where you came from and what you're doing here; these are true Patriots.

I do not know one single person that the men and women in balaclavas represent. They certainly don't represent democracy - or Patriotism - that's for sure.

I said in this column several weeks back that the day of these dinosaurs is over. I believe that. I also said that a mere hundred or so fanatics could do a shed load of damage. Well, we all know that to be true.

Once again, though, I will try my hardest to get through to the younger ones:

It is not too late to turn your back on this. I know in my heart that there has to be at least one of you who harbour doubts. Listen to those doubts. Jeez, listen to me, would you?

There has seldom been anyone who has messed their whole life up the way that I have done. You pick a wrong road to take, trust me: I have worn that road out my whole life.

I'm lucky. It never destroyed me. Please don't let it destroy you. On the off chance that you read this, PLEASE do not let it destroy you.

This was once a great country. During the Dark Ages, this was the one country that held onto Enlightenment. Scholars from all over Europe knew that we kept their writings safe in an Age when other countries were burning knowledge into the ground.

I am so proud to be a Celt. I feel humbled when I think of my heritage.

You can feel as I do too. Just because I take the proverbial out of the many things that are wrong with Ireland doesn't mean for a second that I don't love it and my place in it.

And, yes, I do believe that this country will become a great one again.

It won't, though, if you continue to listen to the Demons in Masks. Come on now, you are better than that.

You're afraid? Christ, you think I'm not?

I've never exactly made a secret of where I live so I know that it is in their power to kill me for being outspoken. Well, if I was important enough.

What do you want me to do? Crawl into a little hole in the ground and be afraid for the rest of life just because a group of masked thugs have it in their power to do me damage? You're kidding, I hope.

It's not in me to hide from the truth; and the truth is that I'm a pretty reprehensible human being. I do have this going for me, though. I've never been afraid of writing what I see as the truth.

Sure, I'm afraid of a lot of other things. I was always afraid of heights and I'm not too crazy about small children. They just give me the creeps. What the hell are they for, anyway?

But trying to tell the truth in my own haphazard way? No, never.

If it saves one life; if any of you lot are planning some "spectacular" during the Queen's visit to these shores, I'm also not afraid to beg just that one of you to think again.

On a lighter note, I hope that you had as much of a laugh as I had at Saint Bob Geldoff during the week when he appeared in Australia - yet again. He was at, what else, a fundraiser, but insisted that no food be served while he was warbling on. And as we all know that guy could warble for Thatcher.

As he went on and bloody on the chef warned him that the fish course was beginning to go off, at which point and I'll quote Bob's own words: "I told him that he could shove his salmon up his arse".

He was proud of this.

Good one, Bob. Only... I'm a little confused. Aren't you the guy that's always telling us to send shed loads of loot to Africans in order to give them food?

Still, if it's a toss up between listening to your words of wisdom and having perfectly good fish being thrown out, I guess there's no contest.

Bloody pompous hypocrite.

See you all again next week.

Same bat-time!

Same bat-channel!

NB: Just as I get ready to send this to my long- suffering editor I'm hearing of the death of Osama bin Laden. I don't expect any tears among civilized people to be shed for this character but now it's time to watch out for reprisals. This isn't the end. There are a lot of nutters out there and now they have an out and out martyr for themselves. I do love gallows humour, though, and it has already begun: I've just seen that Elton John is to record a single in commemoration. It's to be called "Sandals in the Bin". Available soon at all good record shops. Gallows humour. Without it I sometimes think that we would go stark raving mad altogether. You can reach Charley at chasbrady7@eircom.net