It is completely remarkable that the people who, just a week ago, thought Irish Soccer Player Callum Robinson should not play again for Ireland until he was vaccinated against Covid-19 have gone so quiet in the wake of his five-goal week for the national team.
After all, the argument that Robinson should not be playing for Ireland was never based on his performances. Yes, RTE’s Joe Duffy, in an unworthy and (as it turned out) ill-advised dig, said that Robinson had Covid more often than he had scored for Ireland. But that was never the main argument. The argument was that an unvaccinated person was a threat to his teammates, journalists covering the team, opposing players, referees, and potentially many other people. Callum Robinson’s goalscoring form has changed in the last week. But he remains unvaccinated. So, the argument that he should not be playing for the national team on the basis of safety remains just as strong, or weak, as it ever was.
And yet, and yet: You won’t find a single Irish media figure, or politician, or Joe Duffy caller, willing to make that argument today.
Why is that?
The answer, of course, is that Callum Robinson is a hero now. And they are afraid to attack or criticise a national sporting hero. Even if, as they apparently sincerely believed just a week ago, that hero is endangering people’s health.
They were content, these writers and tweeters and talkers, to make that argument when Callum Robinson was a relatively unknown and unloved member of the national squad. The relative power was in their favour, and so, making that argument was easy. Now that the relative popularity stakes have changed, they’re less keen to challenge him.
This says a lot, really, about Ireland, our culture, and why we end up in so many messes. We talk a lot in this country about “bravery”, but, in our public life, bravery is almost entirely absent. The herd will almost always focus its attention on, and single out for sustained criticism, those who are unloved: anti-lockdown protestors, teachers, anti-vaxxers, property developers, landlords, bankers, and so on. Those who are popular are immune from any criticism, because criticising the popular is dangerous. And so, for example, President Higgins is a national saint who it is almost sinful to speak a harsh word against. Housing charities and NGOs, similarly, escape almost any critical coverage. And so on, and so on.
Of course, the problem has always been that when those who are broadly popular are above criticism, they are not criticised until it is too late, and the damage has been done.
And so, the reaction to the Callum Robinson story has not missed a beat. Much like the story with the Carlow Teachers last year, when the media called them everything short of paedophiles for a week, and then pretended the story had never happened, once it was shown to be a lie, the Robinson story has moved in a similar way. The criticism of him has evaporated, and, being as it is, embarrassing, it will shortly be put in the memory hole, and we will all pretend it never happened to begin with.
Unlike the Carlow teachers though, the basic facts have not changed. Robinson is as vaccinated today as he was last week. He is as potentially infectious. The core issues about the responsibility to get vaccinated have not changed. The argument is either right, or wrong. But they cannot, any longer, make it about Callum Robinson.
So what will happen, ultimately, is that they will find somebody else. Somebody less sympathetic. Perhaps a nurse in a Covid ward who hasn’t taken a jab. Or a taxi driver. The same argument will be made. But official Ireland will only, ever, be willing to stand up against people they think are unpopular.
Never – not now, not tomorrow – will they have the courage of their convictions to challenge somebody they worry is more popular than them.
And that’s why it is hard, ever, to take them seriously.