Ducking the real issues of dealing with rubbish

A great Irish tradition took its first steps towards extinction this week

A great Irish tradition took its first steps towards extinction this week. The tradition is not spoken of often, or used as a cultural indicator of the state of the nation. Still, for generations it was nourished by the Irish people's compassion for lesser beings, the joys of recycling and the rewards of life's simplest pleasures.

Nothing ever stopped the nation from feeding the ducks. Men, women and children shared stale bread and scraps with birds in ponds and rivers all over the island, in every liquid place ducks swam, for no obvious return. No matter what political temperature was scorching the times, or how much money the average person had, feeding the ducks was a ritual in which almost everyone played their part.

Thomas Gallagher of Ballyshannon has just learned the hard way why feeding the ducks can land you in deep waters.

After sharing his grub with ducks at Donegal town quay, he was fined and faces the prospect of analysing his past and future alleged littering behaviour for inspection by waste mandarins in Donegal County Council.

READ MORE

The man has no known history of, say, dumping old cars on Fanad Head or letting slurry leak into the sea off Rossnowlagh. He did not leave election posters flapping on electricity poles or throw brown envelopes on to back lanes after opening them.

What he did, as he told the Donegal Dem- ocrat and Radio West, was to give his last chips to the Donegal ducks after having a takeaway in his car with his girlfriend, Dianne. He said he put the packaging in the bin.

The ducks reportedly loved the chips. All that salt and vinegar must have made a change from the soggy crusts they usually get. But whatever the state of their palates, they ate the evidence. Mr Gallagher said he was fined because a litter warden saw him and tackled him on the spot. After exchanging words - rarely a good idea with determined officials - Mr Gallagher's fate was sealed.

This silliest story of the silly season deserves a prize for its subversive commentary on how the pot calls the kettle black, and then makes the kettle sing for its supper. Mr Gallagher is now obliged to pay £50 and to declare in writing details of his previous litterdisposal practices and an account of how he proposes to deal with his litter in the future.

The term "litter" is not defined. Must Mr Gallagher tell Donegal County Council and then the Minister for the Environment, Mr Dempsey, whether he puts his used socks in the laundry basket or leaves them scattered on his bedroom floor?

Must teams of philosophers and scientists be summoned to distinguish between public and private littering, to decide whether chips are biodegradable and, if so, whether that gives them a different status to the non-degradable polystyrene cartons and plastic boxes in which hundreds of takeaway outlets legally package their products?

Ireland needs its own Kyoto protocol for litter and waste management. On the surface the Government fully supports Kyoto and its global benefits, even in the currently reduced form following the US withdrawal. In reality, Ireland is behind its agreed EU targets on reducing industrial and agricultural pollution, and visibly behind in its commitment to tackle public littering radically and effectively.

The Gallagher effect is evident, too, in the new wheelie-bin systems being introduced by local authorities in Dublin and Cork regions. The letter of the law is observed, but the spirit is turning into an ass.

One bin per family, however many occupants; threats of being ignored if you unwittingly turn your bin in the wrong direction or of facing action if it disappears. In some neighbourhoods, older people are starting to worry in case they get into trouble for doing it the wrong way.

Traditions of untidiness and littering take years to break, of course. But it's telling that despite Dublin city's new campaign to change public habits, the capital still hasn't enough bins, or enough bins of the appropriate size in the appropriate site.

Throughout the 1980s Dublin's budget for its anti-litter campaign was almost exactly that of the Arts Council's annual grant. The latter managed to upgrade the status and visibility of the arts. The former is still caught somewhere between a public relations campaign and a mild attack of guilty conscience.

Some quack could lecture everyone on the lack of civic spirit littering involves, on how people must reclaim their public spaces for themselves and treat them well. This is all true, and everyone knows it.

But the more the authorities make waste disposal an onus rather than a straightforward task, the more they tackle ordinary folk instead of big waste-generators, the harder it gets to respect the rules they otherwise apply.

And the feeling of powerlessness in the face of so huge a challenge is reinforced when a young man and his girlfriend sharing the old pleasure of having a bag of chips find themselves scapegoated for being lippy and in love. After all, do you love anyone enough to give them your last chip?

mruane@irish-times.ie