Surfing the Third Wave to Lisbon

A delightful couple of days in Baile Átha Cliath, ach níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin.

When I arrived back home today, the notification for the Celtic AGM was waiting for me.

It’s on Friday 4^th November.

Sorry, I’m unavailable.

On that day, I’ll be in Lisboa at the Web Summit, which is why I was in Dublin.

It is an Irish success story, and I’ve been attending them pretty much since the start.

As I sat listening to the founder and fellow Donegal resident Paddy Cosgrave, I thought of how much the Third Wave (Toffler) had lifted modern Ireland.

Our Brit troubles were mainly because the neighbouring island was the crucible of the global Second Wave.

Britain was the cradle of the modern industrial world, and the people of Ireland were collateral damage.

As the global imperium was built, we suffered an existential, entirely manufactured crisis.

Throughout those awful, deadly years, this island was a net food exporter to dear old Blighty.

The population of Ireland, according to the 1841 census, was  8.2m.

In the 1851 census, the island’s population had decreased to 6.6m.

Now it is 6.88m (ROI 4.995m & NI 1.885m), just slightly above the 1851 figure.

Scholars dispute whether or not An Gorta Mór was a genocide.

All I know is that they find it funny at Ibrox.

My father’s Mayo suffered most of all in the Famine.

As industrial Britain was on full throttle, we Irish were prisoners of geography.

Today all is changed, changed utterly.

After his talk, Paddy and I compared notes about the broadband service in our respective corners of Dún na nGall.

Living and working here on Ireland’s western seaboard is now possible in a way my father’s generation could not have imagined.

Toffler imagined the Electronic Cottage.

Dear reader, your humble correspondent lives in one.

The Irish, who fled the Famine, came to industrial centres like Glasgow.

We put down roots and even founded a football club so no child would ever go hungry again.

The supporters have never lost sight of that.

Sadly, many of the suits on the top table at the Celtic AGM are often a disgrace to that heritage.

If I weren’t in the city that saw the club’s greatest moment, I would have a few questions for them.

Anyone in the  Celtic family who doesn’t see the need for regime change there hasn’t been paying attention.

I know some green shoots indicate a change in direction, but there is much more to do.

When I’m in Lisbon, I always find time to make the pilgrimage to Stadio Nacional.

This time will be no different.

That day in May…