Originally published in print in October 2023.
This summer, I moved from a small village in Kildare to the bright lights of Dublin 1. I had some previous experience of living away from home; last summer I lived in Berlin. I had been through all the struggles of independent living. I had no money, I stayed out too late, I had to find a way to eat dinner every night… and so on. I thought that I had seen it all—yet I hadn’t prepared myself for the blinding city lights of Parnell Street, nor the savage conditions that exist cycling in Dublin. With rising crime levels, violence and intimidation, and punishing levels of rain in twenty-degree heat, my question stands: is Dublin beyond repair?
My story begins in my quiet village of Prosperous, Kildare, on a quiet February day when I was deciding how to spend my summer.
LIVE IN DUBLIN! The travel agent in my mind had set up shop.
YOU’LL SEE MORE OF YOUR FRIENDS!
They said.
YOU WILL SEE BLOOMSDAY!
They said.
YOU CAN CYCLE FROM A CITY CENTRE FLAT AROUND THE BOROUGHS!!!
They said.
And so, I packed my bags and moved to Dublin 1 in mid-May. I had moved into a semi-rotted Victorian flat with three bedrooms and a bathroom. Soon, I had a job and a bike and I saw my friends every single day. Life was good. I had money as I began working full-time.
Every day, I would wake up at five forty-five in the morning to be at work for six thirty. I either got the 13 bus (a very smelly, all male bus) or if it was dry, I cycled. Off to James’ St I popped. I opened the café and stayed until four thirty. I had a lot of regulars who knew me by my name and I spent the day drawing out conversations about the city, life, or the weather. From talking to the people of St James’ Hospital, or the Basin Street flats, I was gifted some Dublin knowledge that I keep with me to this day. I found out that Ger’s Deli of Ballyfermot is the best place to get a breakfast roll, that you could catch some nurses on the lash at Cooper’s Corner of Kilmainham on a Thursday night, that you should “question everything you see in the media”, and so on. Working in this café exposed me to the callousness of the Dublin City Corporation and the relentlessness of building the new Children’s Hospital. I was provided with unstoppable small-talk skills, and a good hand at latte art.
After work I would text my friend Brian, whom I lived with. We would set up some kind of plan for the night, be that going out to our locals, or having a cosy night in with some pasta Amatriciana and a myriad of charcuterie boards. Brian and I carved our own depravity into the damp month of July, and with our reckless cycling in tow, we had the city wrapped around our respective fingers. Our house became less unfriendly regardless of the mould. We quickly became obsessed with Dublin, the Dubliners, Luke Kelly, our neighbours, including David Norris and an affluent family with a newly crowned barrister, Cassie Stokes, and Professor Christopher Morash. The latter, who is a lecturer in the School of English, described some parts of Dublin as ’rich in literary texture’. To use the words of the King of Depravity, Woody Allen: Dublin was our town and it always would be.
We frequented a pub on the outskirts of town (which I will be gatekeeping) which exhibited to us some of Dublin’s real-life Bohemians. Every Thursday there is a trad and folk session run by hash-wielding OAPs who have more musical talent than sense. The pub has not only one of the best (and cheapest) pints in the city, but also a foggy ambience that sets it apart from some of Dublin’s more heralded spots. God bless. We quickly became regulars and got to know everyone that came every week. It was, and still is, a place that we know for certain we can call home. We are reminded of that every time we go back.
However, with all this excitement, there was a sad and scary rise in the public violence of the city. The city was destroying itself from within. A combination of the housing crisis, cost of living crisis, and a sense of lawlessness amongst groups of youths on the street, saw Dublin lose her dishevelled charm. After the brutal attack of Stephen Termini in July, the people of Dublin in both the cafe and the pub were remarking how dangerous their city had become. One of the regulars in the pub told me: ‘I feel shame. Most people initially assumed that an immigrant had attacked the American tourist, but it was one of our own. The only people causing trouble on the streets are young Irish kids. I know it’s terrible to say, but it makes me feel ashamed to be Irish.’ There was disappointment in his eyes.
It seemed that the people of Dublin had a summer of discontent in their city. The summer wasn’t sunny anymore. We had record-breaking levels of rain in July. I stopped cycling. Grey skies and mucky shoes were at the forefront of daily life, and the regulars at the cafe started to say, ‘I think the summer is over already’.
With the cost-of-living crisis, Dublin’s inequality of wealth has become starkly apparent. The impact of this crisis has brought a new wave of alt-right thought to the streets of Dublin, a more recent example being the riots on Kildare Street, a protest in which thirteen people were arrested. The protest put a spotlight on the popular phrase ‘Give Ireland Back to the Irish’. The phrase originated in an anti-Troubles song by Paul McCartney but has now become a slogan for xenophobia and anti-immigration activists in Ireland. All over Facebook and X (previously Twitter) there are messages of hate from Dubliners.
My question is, how can these problems of violence, poverty, and intolerance be solved? Is Dublin herself beyond repair? What certainly remains in Dublin is the people: Dubliners. But do they survive under the extreme cost of living crisis? Are bohemians and charlatans being swallowed by a 7+ euro Guinness?
Of course, one could say that if these problems have been caused by the cost-of-living crisis, shouldn’t they be solved by it too? I’m not sure it works that way. The damage has certainly been done to Dublin. Rent is too high, the small businesses have already closed, the millennials have moved away, the emigration to Australia is at an all-time high (2,310 Irish in 2022, Irish Times). What’s next? Personally, I think a return to the greasy spoon cafe is the answer. But I’m not sure that will happen. With an inevitable breaking point, there is some hope in Dublin’s future. Dubliners have to understand that Dublin is rapidly changing, and to adapt to that is to accept it for what it is. Of course, this is easier said than done. When the bigwigs over at Leinster House find a way out of these terrible crises, maybe then Dublin will be ‘fixed’. Anyway, it could be worse. We could be living in Tullamore. At least for now we can have a nice auld sit down and a cup of tea in the Hibernian Metropolis.
WORDS: Ciara Munnelly
