5 days ago
Ryan Tubridy: This isn't a rant - just the thoughts of a dad who feels helpless on Gaza suffering
Watching and reading the coverage of Live Aid's 40th anniversary recently, I was reminded of the fact that Irish people donated more than any other nation per capita. It has always struck me as an astonishing outcome and yet, when we consider the effects of the Famine on this country, maybe it shouldn't be so shocking.
More recently, when then-president Mary Robinson visited famine-stricken Somalia, she became uncharacteristically upset at a press conference as she described the scenes she had just visited. Mrs Robinson was there as a representative of a country that has known hunger, degradation and despair. We understood her tears.
A few years ago, I interviewed the Booker prize-winning author of Schindler's Ark (renamed Schindler's List for the film), Thomas Keneally. Our conversation turned to the Irish Famine and his ancestors. He suggested at one point that the reason we drink so much as a nation is because the pain of the Famine travelled and its dark shadow still stalks the Irish psyche. Live Aid recently marked it's 40th anniversary. Pic: Getty Images
In a different context, talk of inter-generational trauma is rife, particularly when it comes to families but there's no reason to question the notion of a national trauma that stretches across decades and centuries. Could this be why we donated more than any other country when Bob Geldof urged us to pick up the phone and donate some money? Is this why the composed president broke down in tears when she saw humans starving before her very eyes?
And is this why so many Irish people I spoke with this week are so upset with what's happening in Gaza? We don't have footage of Irish people brought to their knees by hunger. We don't have YouTube clips of families being burnt out and evicted from their homes. We don't have TikTok clips of well-fed dogs with silky coats, grotesquely well-fed for reasons you don't need me to get into here. We don't have photographs of food crates competing with human cargo to get the next ship off the island.
We simply have collective memory, oral and written history and some largely idealised paintings to tell the story.
SO when we looked at our news feeds this week, we saw ribcages protruding from the backs of children being carried by distraught mothers and we watched aghast at another desperate display of empty pots beseeching food workers at food distribution points (if there are any) for a small portion of grain.
It's been a relentless and depressing war from the start with the savage attack by Hamas and the brutally disproportionate response by Netanyahu. The biblical fire and fury that is beamed into our homes and onto our phones is disturbing and infuriating but it also makes so many feel helpless, powerless and voiceless. There doesn't appear to be a geopolitical adult in the room to say; 'Enough, time for diplomacy' in the way there used to be. It feels like there's an international lawlessness in the air and nobody is winning. The situation in Gaza is catastrophic. Pic: AFP via Getty Images
So is there a red line for the so-called adults? Is there a point where European leaders (or those beyond) square up to the most powerful leader in the world and suggest that it's time to pull the emergency cord here and shut this catastrophe down?
It's worth remembering that when he was president, Barack Obama declared the use of chemical weapons in the Syrian conflict as a red line that should not be crossed or else? Well soon thereafter, we watched children contorted in pain on hospital beds following a chemical weapons attack. The red line was crossed but sadly, Obama didn't deliver on his threat.
Some say this weakness emboldened a resurgent Putin whose stock in trade is testing the red lines of the powerful with a view to taking advantage of weakness, perceived or otherwise.
But we must return to the point at hand and that is the looming spectre of starving citizens falling to the ground from lack of food. In the course of three days this week 43 people starved to death.
A slice of pitta bread in Gaza is now €4 if you're lucky enough to get it and shop shelves remain barren with The Guardian reporting that flour is selling for more than 30 times the market value. A 64-pack of nappies costs €150, a 25kg bag of flour is going for €425 and 1kg of onions costs €27 according to BBC reporting that also tells us that the UN human rights office states more than 1,000 Palestinians have been killed while trying to get food aid since June. Muhammad Zakariya Ayyoub al-Matouq, a 1.5-year-old child in Gaza City, Gaza, faces life-threatening malnutrition as the humanitarian situation worsens due to ongoing Israeli attacks and blockade, on July 21, 2025. Pic: Getty
This diary I'm writing isn't a rant. This isn't a judgement call. It's not a call to arms nor is it a quasi-liberal, pearl-clutching exercise. These are the reflections of an Irish citizen who watches the news and changes channel like everyone else. These are the thoughts of a dad who is embarrassed at his reaction to harrowing images as he can (as far as he's concerned) do nothing about it so 'click' goes the remote and it all goes away. But it shouldn't.
This week moved the dismal dial even further into the darkness but for whatever reason, most likely historical and inter-generationally traumatic, the images of starving children and their mothers with those plaintiff, hollowed eyes resonated in an even more meaningful way. Remember the Chocktaw Nation, that remarkable Native American tribe who, despite their own displacement and oppression, managed to cobble together $5,000 to send to the Irish people in 1847 just when we needed it most.
I wonder is this week a Chocktaw moment not just for individuals like me but for peoples and nations around the world (including so many Israeli citizens) who want to do whatever they can whenever they are able to bring this catastrophe to a conclusion.
