glass house philosopher / notebook 1
Sunday, 30th September 2001
Dublin International Airport is a conveyor belt of seething humanity spewing out its product into the sky. With several hours to kill, I have taken refuge at one of the round tables in the eating area which I have covered with my work. On every side, there is constant motion and clatter while I remain an island of calm.
The European Education Technology Forum at University College Dublin was a great success. I was showered with praise for my presentation. But I am far from happy. I wish I had never come to this God-forsaken island.
A few moments ago, I was putting the finishing touches to my piece on the murder of Philosophical Society student and newspaper reporter Martin O'Hagan for Pathways News Issue16 which is going out today. Let me repeat that in case you were not paying attention. I said cold blooded, brutal murder. How could those around me be so indifferent to the words screaming from this page? Ah, but most of them already know! The story is front page news in all the Sunday newspapers. Another death in Northern Ireland to add to all those that have gone before.
For me, however, the sectarian struggle has finally become personal.
When I first heard the news on early Saturday evening, watching the BBC News in my hotel bedroom, I telephoned my wife June in Sheffield. She could hardly comprehend what I was saying to her. I had to keep repeating myself.
Just two days earlier I was telling several conference delegates about Martin O'Hagan's brilliant article for the Six of the Best feature, Philosophical considerations on discourse/ praxis where he describes his transformation from political prisoner to philosophy student. The path to freedom and enlightenment came, for Martin, through the philosophy of the Greek Stoics. Yet as I spoke, I knew nothing of his heroism as a reporter dedicated to unmasking the lies of the men of violence. I didn't know because Martin chose not to tell me. In Ireland, on both sides of the border, Martin O'Hagan's name is well known. Martin must have realized that I was ignorant of all this. It wasn't relevant to his attempts to put together a portfolio of essays for his Associate Diploma.
I have to own up and say that Martin did not get very far with his studies. I was looking forward to his essays on Epicurus, and Zeno of Citium, as well as on the influence of the Stoics on the philosophy of Spinoza. The Stoics advocated fatalism. For the man of knowledge who strives to live a life of virtue, there is nothing to fear from pain or suffering or even death.
Though Martin enrolled way back in 1998, he kept in touch. Last March, I received a jovial e-mail for St Patrick's day: "Wishing you a great St Patsy's Day. I'll spare a thought for your good self as I down a couple of big black pints in the local bar." Then in June he wrote a brief note complaining that he could not unstuff the files on the newly added Pathways Downloads page, and I wrote back. He was following the developments on the Pathways web sites.
After I had spoken to June, my mind began to turn over and over.
Should I contact the Sunday World where Martin worked to tell them about his connection with the Philosophical Society, and about his writing which they had never seen? Surely they had a right to know. But why? The extra jig saw piece of information would not bring him back to life, nor help in any conceivable way to bring his killers to justice.
Could there conceivably be a connection between my talking about O'Hagan at the conference and his death? No, that was crazy...yet not so crazy when seen, say, from the perspective of the police detectives following the case...What about the 3001 chance that I should be in Ireland when the murder took place. Didn't that make me a suspect? No, no, for God's sake keep a sense of proportion!
But the paranoia had set in. Suppose I did contact the Sunday World, what then? The Philosophical Society might get a brief mention. I was Martin's philosophical mentor. It is not totally far fetched (unless, of course, one knew him!) that he might have confided with his mentor about his investigations into the racketeering of the Loyalist paramilitaries. Didn't it follow then, with remorseless logic, that in writing about him even if I decided not to contact the Sunday World I was putting the lives of myself and my family at risk?
How could this be happening to me?
The alternative, with equally remorseless logic, was to remain completely silent about Martin O'Hagan's connection with me and with the Society. Martin stood for truth. Taking tremendous risks, he died in the cause of bringing evil and injustice to light. I could not accept the ignominy of allowing myself to be silenced by the tiniest probability that an ape from the Loyalist camp might just happen to be browsing through a philosophy web site.
So my words stand. I am so sorry. I couldn't have imagined that this is how I would restarting my notebook after a two month's gap. None of us really knows what's coming, and that's the truth.
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