The kindness of strangers
Do you know what I’d love? A trip to Vegas. A fortnight in Sin City. An entire two weeks of debauchery and decadence, of gambling, boozing and whoring, acting the gobshite, doing my level best to get arrested. A holiday which would either kill me or provide enough memories to last a lifetime.
I’m absolutely skint though, have barely a penny to my name; can’t even afford to go to Lahinch, never mind Las Vegas. But I have an idea: why don’t you pay for my trip? You and all the other readers, why don’t you chip in and make my dreams come true? I reckon five grand should cover it, and if there’s anything left I promise to pay it back when I get home.
If, by this point, you have your bankcard in your hand you’re either very naïve or too nice for your own good. Luckily, for Vegas’ and my liver’s sake, most of you would flat-out refuse to fund what would essentially be a suicide mission. But what if I spun you a yarn about a sick auntie needing money for a hip replacement, would you be a little more receptive then?
What if I said she was my favourite auntie, and she’d reared nineteen children on her own, while living in a one-bed midden and working 25 hours a day? And that this new hip would enable her to walk the couple of hundred yards to the local shop for a sliced pan ‘cos none of her kids would go for her? Would you get the purse out then?
You probably would, you’d probably donate whatever you could, and you’d probably get a nice warm glow when I posted pictures of my auntie surrounded by bread next week.
Because we like doing stuff like that, we like helping those in need. Like Shan Tynan, the Carlow girl who, having posted an emotional video online, received more than €700,000 to help pay for the treatment which may yet save her life. As soon as we saw Shan’s heartfelt plea for assistance we were moved to act, moved to tears too, some of us.
Contrast that with the story of Nikki Smith, a 33 year-old Bristol mother of two who started a fundraiser to help pay for her kid’s trip to Disney World. Nikki’s children weren’t unwell; it wasn’t a case of fulfilling their dying wish to meet Mickey Mouse. They just really like Disney. And Nikki, a part-time hospital worker, couldn’t afford to take them to Florida to meet Mickey, Minnie and the rest of the gang, not on her wage.
Unsurprisingly, Nikki’s appeal fell on deaf ears. She received a sum total of £10 for her troubles. She also received a shedload of abuse and was castigated for posting what was, essentially, a begging letter on a site created for bona-fide charitable causes.
Yet I can’t help feeling that if Nikki had tried a little harder, done more than post a hastily-drafted message and a mug shot of her looking a bit sad, she might have had more success.
Because this is the world we live in now. It’s a world where the normal rules no longer apply, where we can all circumnavigate the system thanks to the kindness of others and the wonders of the Internet.
This is almost entirely a good thing. Indeed only the worst kind of cynic could find fault in people helping one another purely out of the goodness of their heart.
I am that worst kind of cynic.
Ever since Shan’s video went viral something’s been gnawing away at me. At first I thought it was just my natural response to anything melancholic, a subconscious form of resistance built up by years of heart-rending Facebook clips, a stubborn refusal to get caught up in the wave of emotion lest the story have an unhappy ending.
But, in the intervening weeks, I have learned it was something else, something rather grave, maybe even a little distasteful.
I can’t stop thinking about that €700,000, that huge, mind-boggling figure which was raised, in a matter of days, for Shan. It was a spectacular display of human kindness, a testament to the warmth of spirit prevalent in Irish people. And should Shan Tynan emerge from her hellish experience, and go on to lead a normal, happy life then we, the people of Ireland, can pat ourselves on the back and congratulate one another on a job well done.
€700,000, though? That’s a staggering sum of money, enough to fund, say, the operations of each of those featured on RTÉ’s Living on the List documentary.
I’m aware that I’m treading dangerous ground here, that you can’t reduce human lives to pure math, but how does one decree the importance of one person over another, how do we decide that one is deserving while another is not?
Obviously, we apply logic, we see that one person is dying while the other just wishes to go on holiday. But after that? Hundreds of people all over Ireland die from curable illnesses on a weekly basis, why are some deemed more worthy of our help than others? Is it as simple as being able to connect with the right kind of audience, being of the right demographic, knowing what to say and how to say it?
I can’t stop thinking about the other sufferers of Histiocytosis X – the rare form of cancer that Shan’s been battling for the past eighteen months – or indeed any person who’s fighting illness and losing because of financial restraints. How must they feel? Knowing that their prognosis is similarly bleak, similarly grim, and that there’s no fairy godmother coming to save the day?
Their needs are surely as dire as Shan’s, but because their calls for help aren’t as arresting, as bone-chillingly startling, they must suffer on, without hope, without funding.
Of course, if we had a health service that was in any way fit for purpose I wouldn’t even be writing this article. Shan would have already received her treatment, the ‘Living on the List’ documentary would never have been made, and trolleys would still be used solely for their original purpose.
As it is though, the terminally-ill, the infirm, those in chronic pain and those simply left behind, have but two choices. They can either rely on the system and hope that their patience is rewarded. Or they can take matters into their own hands and follow Shan’s lead, hoping that will a little luck and the right kind of message they’ll be able to create their own rules.
Whether they do so or not is entirely dependent on the goodwill of others.
From Russia with love
Usually when our national team qualifies for major finals, the sole concerns of our supporters involve flights, accommodation and drink – not necessarily in that order. This outlook has, thus far, served the Green Army well, with Irish fans gaining a reputation for being one of the friendliest, albeit boisterous, bunches around.
Sadly our renowned charm and fondness for a sing-song is unlikely to save us should we make good on our current position atop Group D and qualify for Russia 2018. Because, having signalled their intent with a summer of mayhem at last year’s European Championships in France, Russia’s hooligan mobs are preparing to take things to the next level.
And as if these beefed-up wrecking machines being trained in mixed martial arts and having a taste for the blood of English-speaking citizens wasn’t bad enough, they’re now being encouraged in their efforts by prominent Russian politicians.
Such is Igor Lebedev’s disdain for safe, hospitable welcomes that he’s suggested ‘draka’ tournaments, fully-sanctioned events where competing nations are encouraged to beat one another to a pulp.
“Russia could become a pioneer in a new kind of sport,” suggested the Liberal Democrat MP. “Fans arrive and start picking fights – the call is accepted at the meeting at the stadium … on each side of 20 people, without arms.”
Obviously some of that has been lost in translation, but from what I can gather the fight will only end when one side has had all their arms torn off.
How’s your average Irishman supposed to quaff all that cheap vodka if he hasn’t got any arms?
Stay at home, lads, that’s my advice.
