ONE of the great nuisances of our time is the fellow who has picked up all the buzz words but has only the haziest idea of their meaning.
It's not easy to see where he's coming from, never mind what he's getting at. Now, if only he'd take something very heavy on board before plunging through the nearest window of opportunity on to the rusty remains of a hidden agenda...
And while he's running it past us, on his way to (or from) the bottom line, could he be persuaded to take his version of zero tolerance with him?
Zero tolerance is a snappy phrase, imported for electoral purposes by our longest-winded politician, John O'Donoghue. Straight from New York to Cahirciveen.
It was instantly adopted by every pub bore and chattering wiseacre who'd revelled in the old news that the country was going to the dogs. For decades
What it meant depended on the speaker and the audience. It was capable of many interpretations by angry citizens, depending on how angry they were and with whom.
Drug dealers and addicts certainly. Burglars and car thieves, of course. Young people hanging around street corners, probably. Beggars, if deemed aggressive.
Naturally, there were limits. Zero tolerance, yes. But not for traffic offences. Not double yellow lines. And of course, the guards should get tough but not by stopping and questioning right-thinking people in their own areas.
But those who make it their business to phone chat shows on such issues - and those whose business it is to chat back - know well what they mean by zero tolerance and whom they think the guards should be after.
This is class warfare being advocated by people who would have us believe that class warfare is a thing of the past. Zero tolerance meant something to the people of New York: huge increases in the police force, the prison population and the public service pay bill, for a start.
But, as Dr Paul O'Mahony, the author of Criminal Chaos: Seven Crises in Irish Criminal Justice, wrote in this newspaper a fortnight ago: "Zero tolerance has been oversold on claims that its introduction... led directly to substantial reduction in serious crime and safer streets."
Is there a danger of its being oversold here? The Garda Commissioner, Pat Byrne, seems to think so. He called it a lovely, catchy idea, in a tone suggesting caution: "Let's debate exactly what we want." George Maybury was equally cautious when he spoke to the Association of Garda Sergeants and Inspectors: "Zero tolerance is an absolute concept. There is no room for discretion."
Con Donoghue of the Garda" Juvenile Liaison Scheme, addressing a conference on child care, warned of the particularly serious effect on the children now being helped by the scheme.
Almost 90 per cent of those "cautioned under the scheme - stayed out of trouble. Under a regime of zero tolerance, they would be prosecuted.
Tom O'Malley, a lecturer in law, spoke at the same conference of the growing public appetite for punishment and a vastly reduced tolerance of wrongdoing by children. It wasn't easy for any western government to strike a balance between control and welfare in juvenile justice policy, he said.
Given its decision on bail, the slow passage of the Children's Bill and the tardy implementation of other protective measures, I'm not at all sure the Coalition would resist the temptation to go for control.
Crime threatens to loom large in the general election. The public appetite for punishment, whipped up by the media, is growing dangerously. As a recent Irish Times/MRBI poll showed, fear of crime is stirred, both by politicians and media, even where the threat and the experience of crime "are least.
Zero tolerance is already practised where local communities have learned the barbaric lessons of the paramilitaries; where gangsterism, intimidation and mob rule masquerade as concern for morality or law and order.
We've seen the most extreme examples of this deadly parade in the deaths of Josie Dwyer and David Templeton, one because of an old addiction, the other for no better reason than that a wretched newspaper pointed a hypocritical finger at him.
Finger-pointing has been Eamon Dunphy's stock-in-trade at the Sunday In dependent, but he seems to have turned over a new leaf lately, if his Last Word interview with Martin McGuinness on Radio Ireland is anything to go by.
In about 40 minutes, the only finger pointed was at a listener who called to say that Dunphy was giving McGuinness a very easy time. "What do you expect me to do, John Dunphy inquired, "head-butt him?"
Not exactly, but he might have asked a few hard questions. As it was, be and McGuinness sounded like Pat Kenny and Danny Morrison, only more so.
"Martin, the difficulties of calling a ceasefire for the republican movement ... It's a very, very difficult thing to do. What are the difficulties in calling it?"
"Well," said Martin, "there was a psychological difficulty ... But you could sense that some of Dunphy's insights floored McGuinness. As when he suggested that "the truth of the matter, Martin, is that you have decided - you and your generation of republicans - violence as an answer is futile".
"Well," said Martin again, "what we have here within Sinn Fein is... "And we were off on a tour of South Africa, the Middle East and Hume-Adams.
IN 1994 the task had been to convince the IRA that John Hume and Albert Reynolds were "virtually guaranteeing that within a few short months, inclusive peace negotiations about the future of the island would be up and running".
Ireland's leading republican, as he'd called McGuinness at the beginning, had already hinted at the promises that had prompted the ceasefire.
What were they?
Dunphy didn't ask, skipping ahead to what he believed was the heart of the matter: "We come to the kernel. And the kernel is, this was a repressive state..."
"It still is," said McGuinness.
Dunphy ploughed on. "And there was a violent response from the people on the streets. That response hurt and maimed and was terrible in its consequence. Now you have to, get back and retrieve that ground and be trusted.
"Now, the people most exposed, you could argue, would be the unionists. I've spoken to friends of mine in Derry - middle-class people - and during the period of the ceasefire, they came to the conclusion that the loyalist people are bigots at heart. The institutions there are beyond reform."
Did the thought cross Martin's mind, too?
It didn't, but by now it probably didn't matter: the interviewer was interviewing himself.
Dunphy summarised what he thought was the Provos' stance: "We are prepared and have been prepared to reflect, reconsider and review our position. On that basis we are willing to do a deal, but if you don't do a deal we are going back to war. That's it, isn't it?"
"That's not my position," said McGuinness.
Dunphy tried again later: "Effectively you are willing to say the IRA ceases to exist if we can have a reformed Northern state."
"Oh, no," said McGuinness. This was Dunphy's Damascus, not his.
Dunphy, carrying on regardless, wondered how McGuinness got on with the unionists: "I frequently see you on television with these people. Do you talk to them?"
"They don't do programmes with us," said McGuinness.
But his political ambition was modest, which impressed Dunphy. "Absolutely. One of the reasons why you are so respected is that you live in a nice small house and live a working-class life."