Manhattan Diary
by Cahir O'DohertyRSS 
Recent Posts
- Will New York Senator Chuck Schumer ditch gay couples for an immigration deal?
- If nobody's happy, it's working – the abortion debate and Irish politics of stalemate
- Conservative news entertainment complex claim Barack Obama leader of Al Qaeda
- Why Irish grudges are passed on - a long tradition of never forgetting
- Boston man confronts Infowars conspiracy nuts over 'false flag' claim
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Patriarchy, literally the rule by the fathers, is a social system in which the male is the primary authority figure. Daddy calls the shots in political leadership, moral authority, the control of property, and over women and children. Sound familiar?
If you haven't noticed, patriarchy is not what it once was. In the Irish context the experience of patriarchy has played out for centuries in the empires that ruled us, the church that molded us and in the state that (most often) sent us to war or sent us packing.
America sometimes feels like a party to which you’re not always certain you’ve been invited. Oh, the hosts have said hello and they made tiny little gestures of welcome, but other people are looking at you funny and some people openly hiss.
I blame the Declaration of Independence, the founding document of the United States, written by Thomas Jefferson in 1776. You could call it the ultimate invite.
Now they're just flat out saying he's Hitler. And Stalin. And the Anti-Christ. And other Really REALLY BAD things, you guys.
That means we can dispense with the blatant fiction that the Tea Party represents a legitimate political strand of the GOP anymore. Apparently what they really represent are arrested adolescents who express themselves as though they were still in junior high. With multiple exclamation marks, because they really really mean it!!!!!
The fondest hopes of millions, still hidden in the nations shadows, have just met the Republican Party.
Message: your hopes and dreams are 'dead on arrival.'
One late October, just before Halloween, I remember my father raking leaves on the lawn in front of our house in Co. Donegal.
It was early evening, the sky was grey and the air was absolutely still, not a puff of wind about. Dry twigs cracked and split under my shoes as I walked toward him.
Love, real and enduring love, is exceptionally hard to find. It’s a miraculous flowering that happens in this otherwise coldly indifferent world.
It’s what we live for, love. It’s what creates many of us, it’s what ultimately defines us and it’s certain it’s all that remains of us.
