This generation has grown up in a more open society because of earlier reformers' work, writes QUENTIN FOTTRELL
'AND THE economy will then rise by 2 per cent next year", said the nice man from the ESRI before closing his book, which had graphs instead of pictures, "and they all lived . . .". But nobody was listening.
For seven days and seven nights, a great pain was felt across the land. The elders spoke, but it caused a week-long, three-ringed circus of white noise.
Yesterday, the CSO said we narrowly avoided recession in the first quarter. But it seems clear: our economic miracle was like candyfloss: just as we got to taste it, it disappeared.
If the wagon train from the circus has crashed, the Celtic tigers in gilded cages were too bloated to ravage a floppy-eared Cowen with red nose, baggy suit and oversized shoes.
Instead, people fell back into their old habits, bitching about who did what to whom, who predicted the downturn first or most accurately - and just look at the state of us now.
Siptu's Manus O'Riordan said: "We are moving from recession to a depression." Merciful hour. Did he mean depression . . . literally? It's possible. When have we not been depressed? We were depressed about mass emigration and corruption, then depressed about mass immigration and corruption.
Could the prospect of recession push us into a clinical depression? We show the same worrying symptoms of Lotto winners who didn't have enough, then had far too much.
Others are calling for retribution, worried about being left in a perpetual state of negative equity, wearing nothing but last season's greying underpants. Others say, "I told you so". Marc Coleman has been squaring up to David McWilliams in the media. McWilliams said 100 years ago it would end in tears. Coleman says his prediction was more accurate.
This week has seen verbal fisticuffs and political squabbling. It used to be children who were told to speak only when spoken to. Now the elders should keep the noise down.
There is much to moan about, such as the tight-rope walkers and jugglers in Kildare Street: "Boo!" And there is a lot to be grateful for, including the return of the buyer's market: "Yeay!" But let's not forget that people emigrated for social reasons as well as economic ones. In 1994, I emigrated for both. Ireland could be a very suffocating place to live.
My five years away weren't always easy, but I would never change them. I returned home to see a young, uninhibited generation, creating a new kind of noise. And I envied them.
This generation is more resilient. They were not raised with a depressing An Béal Bocht mentality. They're cool. They don't panic. This lot won't be pushed around so easily.
On Saturday, "LGBT Noise" held a rally on Dublin's South King Street, protesting at the Civil Partnership Bill. There were simultaneous rallies in Galway, Cork and Waterford.
This articulate, energetic group of lesbian, gay bisexual and transgender youths revved up the crowd with more effective circus-like antics, pulling a street party out of their hat.
Marriage protects children's rights. "Yeay!" the crowd roared. Civil partnership does not. "Boo!" Marriage is protected by the Constitution. "Yeay!" Civil partnership is not. "Boo!" The Civil Partnership Bill tackles succession, pension rights and equal taxation for cohabiting couples, but doesn't give legal recognition to children of same-sex couples.
A Dublin city employee rumbled by, driving a street-cleaning machine. "Yeay!" we cheered. He waved. A cop car rolled by. "Boo . . ." Then more cops on motorbikes. "Yeay!" As we dispersed, two complaining litter wardens arrived, sternly warning about €150 fines. Eh, hello. Had they not seen the mess the elders left behind in Kildare Street? But the young troops listened and smiled respectfully. The wardens wagged their fingers. They were just doing their job. The posse was a step ahead, already clearing up.
LGBT Noise doesn't have the anger or militant firepower of those who went before them. They can afford not to. The most treacherous terrain has already been cleared.
Because of older activists, this generation has had the luxury of growing up in a more prosperous and open/progressive society than that which we had in the 1980s.
Fianna Fáil, Mary Harney and the Greens won't give children of same-sex guardians legal protection. The Constitution talks of special protection for the family. Why, then? There is one obvious reason. By refusing to give that recognition, Fianna Fáil shows its real opinion of gay families by effectively pretending they don't exist. They. Do. Exist.
LGBT Noise says: "The Government's proposal for civil partnership will institutionalise inequality for gay people and lesbian people . . . Separate is never equal and never fair." They've read Animal Farm. The old guard won't be around forever. But the old guard's children refuse to have their children getting cut-priced, second-class seats.
After the rally, I sat in a cafe opposite the PD HQ on South Frederick Street, looking at another sign of the times: the building had a big "For Sale" sign nailed to it.
When times are hard, if memory serves me from my own teenage years in the cash-strapped 1980s, it's the little things in life that tend to give the most pleasure.