Is anyone else as nauseated as I am at the public outpouring of affection for the late PJ Mara? In particular, the dewey-eyed reminiscing by journalists of a certain age that has filled the airwaves and the pages of our newspapers for the past few days?
Listen, the late Mr. Mara may have been a loving family man. He was probably kind to small children and animals, too. But that doesn’t change the fact that his professional life was dedicated to serving his Fianna Fail masters, in particular Charles Haughey and Bertie Ahern, more often than not to the detriment of the truth – and the country.
For the likes of Mara, of course, it was nothing personal. It was business. A bit of craic, even. A game.
But for victims of the Fianna Fail shambles of the past couple of decades, it was far more than that. It was financial devastation, it was emigration, it was despair. It was lives shattered. In many cases, it was suicide.
Laugh that off, PJ.
In this country, there is a reluctance to speak ill of the dead. Maybe it’s time we got over it.
PJ Mara personified everything that is wrong with our vermin-infested sewer of a political system. It is noticable that, among all the compliments paid to the erstwhile Fianna Fail spin-master since his death, the words ‘honesty’ and ‘integrity’ are conspicuous by their absence.
Even the press pack knows that would be stretching credulity beyond its limits.
It is, of course, only natural that those who were personally close to Mara should grieve. For my part…well, I’ve never yet gone so far as to lift my leg on someone’s grave. But I’m tempted.
Dog in the Street 