OUT FOR A RUN in the Phoenix Park the other day, and passing Farmleigh, I noticed a sign advising the public that something called “Fawning Season” is now under way. Among other things, it warned that all dogs had to be “kept on leash” during the process, which would last throughout June and July.
The sign caused me to gaze – a little resentfully, I admit – up the driveway of the former Guinness mansion, on which the State lavished so much taxpayers’ money. Yes, of course we need to entertain visiting foreign dignitaries, I thought: especially those whose countries trade with ours.
But “fawning”? Did we have to be so blatant about it? And was it really necessary to devote a whole season to such activity, disrupting normal park life for two months? Memories of the first official visit to Farmleigh – by Chinese premier Zhu Rongji in 2002 – floated back to mind. I imagined our then leader, Bertie Ahern, tugging his forelock as he told him how much Ireland valued its links with Beijing.
The occasion must have been unique in that, no doubt, both parties had their best China out for it. And maybe there was fleeting mention of Ireland’s concern about human rights. But I’m sure this was passed over quickly. Then, probably, it was “have another cucumber sandwich, Premier”, or “would you like some more of this excellent Chinese tea?” By now, savage indignation had begun to rise inside me at the whole sham of international diplomacy, causing me to quicken my stride as I approached Castleknock Gate. It angered me that I was expected to restrain my dog – even though I don’t have a dog – lest he do something to offend these oh-so-important visitors.
Then I saw another sign, with the same wording. And suddenly it hit me (not literally – I wasn’t running quite that fast) that it had nothing to do with diplomacy. No: the fawning in question was the expected arrival of those charming little four-legged creatures whose parents roam freely around the park.
Sure enough, there were similar signs all over the place, including the environs of Áras an Uachtaráin and the US ambassador’s residence: where intense fawning activity is apparently also expected in the coming weeks. Silly me, I thought. But at least the misunderstanding passed some time, which is always welcome when you’re doing a long run.
SPEAKING OF diplomacy and things canine, my favourite definition of the former is: “the art of saying ‘nice doggie’ until you can find a rock”. Which is just a wittier variation of a more famous definition, by the first premier of China, Zhou Enlai, who said diplomacy was the “continuation of war by other means”.
Of course both these sentiments belong to more troubled times and places. Neither quite applies to 21st century Western Europe, where countries tend not to go to war with each other any more. A point underlined by the imminent closure, announced earlier this year, of Sweden’s Irish Embassy.
Explaining the decision then, the outgoing ambassador said it resulted from a “paradox” whereby relations between the countries were so friendly now that a permanent mission here was unnecessary, whereas Sweden needed to concentrate resources in places where relations are “strained”. And yes he would say that: he’s a diplomat. But you can see his point.
Barring an unexpected rise in tensions during the millennium of the Battle of Clontarf (as a subset of the Danes, the Swedes were indirectly implicated in Brian Boru’s assassination) in 2014, it’s hard to envisage any future problem in Hiberno-Swedish relations that couldn’t be resolved by phone-call or e-mail: or, at worst, by a flight to Stockholm.
In fact, in these days of easy travel and instant communication, the wonder is that more governments don’t close down embassies here, and that we don’t reciprocate.
We could probably replace most of our foreign missions with Facebook accounts: inviting other countries to become our “friends”, share photographs, post comments, etc. When necessary – if we found they were forging Irish passports, say – we could also “un-friend” them. Would this really be any less effective that the traditional, vastly more expensive, arrangements? It’s true that instantaneous communications have their pitfalls. Facebook etiquette is a vexed subject. And although we’ve had longer to get used to it, even phone-texting can be problematical. The elliptical nature of
texts is prone to cause misunderstandings: hence the use of “emoticons” to compensate for the lack of actual faces we can read for clues to meaning.
History students will recall that the Franco-Prussian War was precipitated by a text – or “telegram” as it was called then – slightly edited by Bismarck and published with just such sinister intent. Had the King of Prussia included a “smiley” – even the humorously exasperated one – to describe the ultimatum presented him by the French ambassador, perhaps Bismarck would not have been able to manipulate public opinion as he did.
Regardless, that event will serve as a useful reminder – should embassies become a thing of the past – about the limits of electronic communication. One can imagine that during the Clontarf millennium commemorations, for example, some Irish politician somewhere may mention that the King of the Danes back then was a “Cnut”. Which is only the truth, of course. But you can see how it might be misinterpreted.
- fmcnally@irishtimes.com