Greetings rabblers! Welcome to issue 2 of the parish bulletin for Dublin’s wayward and disgruntled.
This issue takes off where the last one ended, bringing you our unique combination of culture, society and politics – always with an ear firmly held to the concerns of the Dublin underground.
When we start putting together an issue we never know where it’s going, this one started off with murmurs about looking at the poxy manner in which the state constantly transfers public wealth into the coffers of private landlords, then took on anti-social behaviour, landed some digs at the national broadcaster, examined policing in working-class areas, got fed up with late night transport and lots of other random bits in between.
With this issue we went to huge lengths to let as many voices as possible chime through, so there’s more interviews, more on-the ground experiences and more contributors than before. Our centre-spread is a visual feast, an off-beat and bewildering poster featuring a host of Dublin stereotypes, characters and chancers. Can you spot yourself in it?
We went to press at an extremely depressing moment, a Labour supported Fine Gael government has just introduced a budget blitzkrieg rammed with regressive taxation and attacks on those least capable of paying for the crisis. It’s easy to get disheartened, the onslaught is relentless and even a Junior Cert economics student could tell you austerity will get us nowhere as a society.
It’s important to find moments of hope. With that in mind, one of the features we’re most proud of in this issue is our focus on the Spectacle of Defiance, a display of grassroots solidarity by community groups across Dublin who are literally seeing a butcher’s knife taken to vital services. The parallels with the #Occupy movement are explored as we try to etch out some vision that can move us towards change.
As xmas approaches, let us not forget that recently a homeless man called Aladar Turtak was found dead near a cardboard box in the grounds of the Dominick Street flats. There were at least 30 emergency beds available that night, the night bus that could have brought him to one had been cancelled – he died for the price of a taxi. We’re not saying this to fulfil expectations for some routine Christmas homily, but because all of this shit needs to change.