DUBLIN'S BURNING... BY SANDRA HARRIS.

DUBLIN’S BURNING…

BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I want to tell you about the day I had yesterday, the twenty-third of November, 2023. It was Thanksgiving, and I was thinking about all my American Facebook friends and hoping they were all having a great day, although computer trouble prevented me from going online to wish them many happy returns of the day in person, worse luck.

I had an appointment in Smithfield, one of my favourite areas of Dublin, and at about half past three, I’m strolling happily homewards along the quays when I get a text from my daughter, who’s at home for the day with her brother. There’s been a mass stabbing outside a school on Parnell Square in town, at the top of Dublin’s main thoroughfare, O’Connell Street.

 A man whom we later learn is Algerian and in his fifties has stabbed three children under ten and a teacher who came to their aid. Then he was brought down himself by a very brave passerby, a Brazilian Deliveroo driver who whipped off his helmet and whacked the assailant in the head with it.

I got a proper shock on hearing this news, not least because my daughter had prefaced the text with the words, You always said this would happen… I hadn’t predicted this exact scenario, of course, but, with the news of every new American school shooting that reached our ears, I was in the habit of saying grimly that it would only be a matter of time before copycat shootings, stabbings, etc., reached our shores. I take no pleasure in being right, I assure you.

 I had a couple of errands to run in my own area of town. I accomplished them as quickly as I could and hurried home before it was fully dark. We had dinner and watched the TV News, which had eye-witnesses describing their experiences of the attack.

One Dublin woman, who’d memorably been attending the Stardust Fire inquest nearby and had just slipped out for a smoke, told how she and another lady, an American woman, had formed a protective ring around the assailant to prevent him from being beaten to death by passers-by. Leave him for the Guards to sort out, they pleaded. We’re not savages here.

The man was removed from the scene to hospital. The Guards declared that the attack, appalling as it was, was not terrorist in nature, but a stand-alone incident, albeit a dreadful one. The attack had taken place around lunchtime, and apparently social media was hopping all afternoon with the story.

As we continued to watch the news, it was clear that something was unfolding in real time on O’Connell Street. Some protestors are gathering, the newsreader told us. We didn’t need to be told what had happened. Irish men- and a few women- opposed to our government’s policy of bringing in immigrants to the country when resources, finances and accommodation are all stretched paper-thin, had thronged onto O’Connell Street to make their feelings known.

However, teenaged thugs in hoodies and balaclavas hijacked the event and, before long, a full-scale riot was taking place. Innocent civilians, with their shopping bags and kiddies in prams, were seen fleeing in terror from the burgeoning unrest.

Garda cars, buses and a LUAS tram were set on fire. Guards were attacked and even the arrival of the riot police with their shields and helmets didn’t seem to make much difference, certainly not at first, to the frightening situation. The thugs looted several of the nearby shops, including Footlocker and Arnott’s department store, in which terrified staff, who’d been preparing for Black Friday, still remained.

The young hoodlums stole mainly designer trainers, but the funny thing about it, if anything about last night could be termed funny, was that they took a lot of the display models, which were in incomplete pairs to deter thieves. Ergo, they were left with a load of right foot runners with no partner for the left foot, and vice versa. Ha!

Also, some of them actually even threw off the trainers they were wearing and put on the new looted ones there and then, then they ran off and left their old shoes for the Guards to collect up as evidence, which they did. It’ll be a proper Cinderella job to match the discarded trainers to the numbskulls who left them behind.

Anyway, the political talk shows of the evening saw politicians, including our very own Minister for Justice, Helen McEntee, being deliberately careful to bring all conversation around the night’s events back to the stabbings, and not to the reasons why Irish people are going unheard by their so-called leaders on the subject of immigration.

Of course, the Rent-a-Mob hoodlums and hooligans would give any cause a bad name, and most Irish people would be anxious to disassociate themselves from such disgraceful behaviour. Looting shops, destroying property, beating up Guards and terrorising LUAS and bus drivers; none of these actions help the little children and their teacher who were stabbed outside their school yesterday.

On the other hand, how Justice Minister Helen McEntee can continue to maintain that Dublin’s streets are safe to walk, by night or by day, is beyond me. I think it’s utterly beyond most people, to tell you the truth. By the way, we heard from the Guards before the night was out that the perpetrator of the stabbings has been in this country for twenty years and has mental health issues.

My kids and I went to bed scared, after a stressful night of wondering if the rioters would come up as far as our side of town. We don’t feel like this is the last we’ll hear on the subject of rioting, nor yet the last night we’ll huddle indoors while all hell rages outside because our government steadfastly refuses to engage with the Irish people directly, on the contentious subject of immigration.

Ireland, just like some other European countries at the moment, feels a bit like a powder keg. And if it goes off, as powder kegs are wont to do, it won’t be the politicians in their fancy mansions and secluded gated communities who feel the brunt of it. It’ll be the innocent people of Ireland, once again, who’ll get it in the neck. 

Anyway, that was my day yesterday. I just needed to get that off my chest. Thank you for reading; hopefully, next time we meet here in Internet Land, it’ll be under happier circumstances.