Emissions

As a kid in history class, I was struck by the image of starving Gaels lining the banks of Ireland's canals during the Famine, staring helplessly as barges straining under the weight of crops passed them on their way to Dublin port to feed the Sasanach. It must have been Hell.

What made it worse was the fact many of those forlorn souls gaping wordlessly at this just-out-of-reach bounty had formerly been employed by the Commission for Public Works to build the very waterways that were now carrying away their only means of survival.

Why, I'd wonder, did they not rise up, storm the barges and make off with the cargo to feed their famished families? Easy for me to say, a well-nourished mollycoddled schoolboy who'd yet to stare down the barrel of a gun. There is a modern equivalent, though it's hardly a matter of life and death. Although some of the unfortunates stuck in its midst may beg to differ.

I speak, of course, of Dublin's empty buslanes. There are, at last count, 13 of them, laying idle because of a shortage of buses. And eyeing them wistfully are thousands of motorists, stuck in interminable jams, their lives ebbing away, half-expecting three buses to come along at once to allay their indignation. But never do they come. Although "empty" is the wrong word when describing these ghost lanes. Devoid of buses, rather. There is a plethora of non-bus traffic using them: taxis, gardaí, ambulances, ministerial limos, presidential cavalcades and the like. This non-bus traffic makes matters worse. (Did you know that a few years back, undertakers tried lobbying to get on the buslane gravy train, claiming traffic was causing problems for funerals because they were always arriving late. Dead late. Their request was declined.)

There's a lot to be said for mass non-violent direct action in the face of such injustice. If everyone rebelled against this madcap situation and started using buslanes en masse, nothing could be done to stop it. They can't arrest everyone, can they? Of course, I can't be seen to condone lawbreaking. That just wouldn't do. Anyway, I'm a great believer in leading by example. Don't ask someone to do something for you that you wouldn't do yourself. Except, perhaps, a surgeon. Or dentist. You know what I mean.

Someone would have to break ranks first. I'm telling you here and now, it's not going to be me. I'd bet my knees that out of a whole line of interlopers, I'd be the one singled out in my little red car - and be fingered for attempting to kick off a slave revolt.

"I'm Spartacus!" I'd bellow as the peelers dragged me from my car. I'd look around me, waiting for the chorus of support from my fellow insurgents. My beseeching stares would be met with stony gazes, embarrassed titters and loud guffaws. I'd then be carted off for immediate psychiatric treatment.

At least my sacrifice would not have been in vain. Scores of motorists would take advantage of the fact that every garda within 20 miles would have left their posts to come and gawp at me.

The coast would be clear. All systems go. They'd pour into the buslanes like D4 housewives into a sale, scrabbling over each other like wild beasts just so they could get home and tell their loved ones about the crazy loon they saw doing Kirk Douglas impersonations on the Rock Road.