Our young are lazy, selfish and spoilt couch potatoes so why give them the keys to the Áras?
PLEASE tell me I’m imagining this. Are we really proposing to put a 21year-old in Áras an Uachtaráin? Do we so despair of coaxing young people to take an interest in politics that we’ve got to turn the next Presidential election into a version of Ireland’s Got Talent?
Are we so bereft of ideas to engage our pampered, apathetic youth that we’ve got to pimp the Áras out as a sort of Big Brother House, where the winning candidate gets to spend the next seven years taking selfies with world leaders while clad in Abercrombie & Fitch hoodies and Converse trainers? And have we really thought through the prospect of a 28-year-old jobseeker whose CV includes, ‘ex-President of Ireland’?
Not, come to think of it, that the ex-President of Ireland really needs a CV, since we are also proposing to pay a €141,000 pension for life to a 20-something, after he or she has finished their term in office. With that sort of a cushion, the ex-Pres will never need to work again, although a part-time job serving lattes in Starbucks might be a blast.
Insult
A 21-year-old President of Ireland would make Kim Jong-un, the 32-year-old supreme leader of North Korea, seem positively mature by comparison. And I reckon that sending a 21-year- old to greet an elderly head of state like Queen Elizabeth II, or to engage in bi-lateral talks with President Hillary Clinton on St Patrick’s Day in the White House wouldn’t just look ridiculous – it might well be deemed an insult.
A 21-year-old Irish president would have to show ID before being allowed a drink to drown the shamrock in Washington DC. A 21-year- old president wouldn’t even have had time to complete the most basic college course before being appointed Head of State, guardian of the Constitution, and the citizens’ most trusted and resolute line of defence against a Government that has lost the run of itself.
A 21-year-old president would have to look a taoiseach in the eye and refuse a dissolution of the Dáil in circumstances where that taoiseach had lost the support of a majority in the House. A 21-year-old president would have to look at a piece of legislation and know that it was potentially repugnant to the Constitution. Being closely acquainted with a couple of young adults in the ballpark of potential Presidential candidacy, I wouldn’t even trust them to look at a piece of chicken and know if it had passed its sellby date.
Is this referendum for real? The proposed amendment, which has slipped beneath the radar given all the heat and light being generated by the marriage equality issue, is not a response to any great groundswell of demand for a juvenile President. There was no campaign, no demand, and no issue that has compelled the government to spend taxpayers’ money staging this vote.
Instead, it is a proposal from the Constitutional Convention and is, I’d say, evidence that somebody in that particular talking shop is well overdue some gardening leave. For the suggestion of a 21-year- old president could only have come from one who has no understanding of the Constitutional draughtsman’s intention for the role of president and, if they are willing to entrust its protection to a whippersnapper who hasn’t even got a decent degree under his or her belt, precious little respect for the Constitution at all.
Off the top of your head, can you think of a single 21-year-old, who isn’t a pop star and isn’t a sports star, who has impressed you with their wisdom and maturity and whom you would be happy to see succeed Michael D Higgins? No, me neither – which, I’m afraid, leaves us with a choice between Niall Horan of One Direction and Katie Taylor for President. Lovely young people but really? And here’s the Catch 22 that inevitably dooms this insane notion to failure: any college student who is truly wise and insightful and reflective enough to qualify for the job as President will be far too wise and insightful and reflective to apply for it. What we’ll be left with is a beauty contest.
Dumb
Supporters of the proposal have been trotting out the predictable claptrap about ‘sending powerful messages’ regarding the value we place on our young people. So we have to hold up a big, shiny, talent- show prize – a fabulous house, instant fame, loadsamoney – to get young people off their backsides and have them take an interest in the running of their country?
The Oireachtas, and elected offices with real power, is already open to young people, but they’re not exactly straining at the leash for nominations there. A TD’s life just isn’t glamorous or fabulous enough for the Instagram generation, we’ve got to up the stakes to get their attention.
I’d suggest we’ve sent our youngsters far too many ‘messages’ about their wonderfulness, and that’s why so few can be bothered with politics at all. We’ve dumbed down the State exams, so that the multinational employers are screaming about ‘grade inflation’ and now, it seems, we plan to reward them for failing Leaving Cert subjects.
We’ve produced a generation of spoilt, indolent couch potatoes who will, in 15 years time, make us the fattest nation in Europe. But we daren’t tell them they’re fat, or they’ll develop eating disorders.
We daren’t tell them they’ve failed mathematics, or we’re undermining their confidence. And we daren’t tell them they’re not mature enough to be president, or they’ll sulk and stamp their feet and never ever vote again, ever.
And the irony is, the young are not the ones who require a message as to their worth. It is the 50-somethings, and not the 20- somethings, who need their visibility enhanced and their contributions valued. We have a disgraceful record on the treatment of our elderly, from wretched health care to abusive nursing homes, and it is fuelled by the last socially acceptable prejudice in modern society: the most shameful disability, the one for which you can be abused and mocked and sidelined with impunity, is age.
Newsflash
An Irish Times article yesterday, championing the notion of a 21-year-old president, referred to previous incumbents as ‘paunchy and grey-haired’. Newsflash – that’s what ageing does to the human body, but it sure beats the alternative. Somehow, though it is perfectly acceptable to deride ageing folk for looking old.
A truly innovative amendment to the age of presidential candidacy would have pushed it up to a minimum of 50, to reflect the reality of ageing in the 21st century, and to give a voice to those truly ignored and marginalised and demeaned in our society.
The current generation of sixth class students in this country are statistically likely to live to 100. That means youth will last longer, middle-age will last longer and, particularly, retirement will last longer.
Changing the minimum age for president to 50 would be a step towards acknowledging the worth of experience and maturity in a society that shows little regard for its ageing population right now. We all aspire to live to old age, and yet we show nothing but contempt for the contribution, the sagacity, the hard-won wisdom of those who have done so before us. Nor, foolishly, do we take steps to ensure we’ll be treated with any more respect when we get there ourselves.
Taking the presidency away from callow youth – and, yes, that includes the current crop of 35-year-olds – and handing it to the venerably aged (which even the simplest reading of the Constitution will tell you was the original intention) might just mean that ‘aged’ isn’t a term of abuse any more.
On the morning after 9/11, when thousands of international leaders were expressing their horror and sympathy, just a handful of comments made it to the front page of the New York Times. And one of those selected to reflect the world’s sentiments was from President Mary McAleese. Without needing scriptwriters or advisers to guide her, she said: ‘This was a crime against the foundation of all our humanity and our hearts.’ Pitch perfect, lyrical and eloquent.
Now imagine the response of our future 21-year- old Irish President to an international outrage – by Snapchat, obviously, captioned, ‘OMG, dat was like proper bad form :(’.
For pity’s sake, vote No.