Travellers have to negotiate changing attitudes within their own community,as well as their place in wider society. Kathy Sheridan reports in the third part of our series marking the Citizen Traveller campaign
It is a story of chicken and egg. Settled people say: "We'll agree to a halting site here if you guarantee that 50 more caravans won't arrive come summer."
Travellers: "No guarantees as long as the accommodation programme is not implemented in full. And why do we need your say-so anyway?"
Settled people say: "If that's the way you want to live, dumping and littering, you're not living anywhere near me."
Travellers: "We condemn dumping. But if local authorities provide economic infrastructures for settled people in return for rent, etc., why not for Travellers?"
Settled people say: "We hear too many stories of money being extorted to make you leave private property. We want to change the laws of trespass."
Travellers: "Why do you pay up? It costs less than €5,000 to get an order from the Circuit Court. And if a transient site programme was implemented, it wouldn't happen."
Settled people say: "Can you blame us if our attitudes harden after all the dumping, etc?"
Travellers: "What's new? There's been that relationship for 30 years".
To some, it's simple.
Deputy Olivia Mitchell's "practical" solution is give local authorities "the simple right to move Travellers on if you think you should".
And the problem with gathering the information needed to shift the occupants could be settled, she claims, by legislating to simply slap a notice on each caravan.
There is the equally practical matter however, of families in genuine need, under repeated evictions, or fleeing violence, who are often caught up in large groupings. Do you simply evict them - again? And to what end? As long as the chicken and egg situation remains, there is stalemate. On one side, the NIMBY residents, conjuring up excuses not to open their area to Traveller accommodation; on the other, the Travellers who feel victimised but refuse to see the mote in their own eye.
The brightest hope lies in the many Traveller women who are challenging the obstacles inside and outside the culture, that impede their children's chances of a better life. According to one school principal, mothers are the "backbone" of the push towards Traveller education. "We've seen three or four cases where fathers were getting the wanderlust and the mothers just refused to leave because the children were doing well here."
But where does that leave the men? The pull between tradition, grim isolationism, and the yearning for a dignified existence has stranded many in a desolate landscape. Meanwhile, the public perception of them ranges from sly conmen to whinging victims to violent alcoholics.
But it bears repeating: Travellers are not a homogeneous group. David Joyce of the Irish Traveller Movement says a "major gap" has opened up between rich and poor Travellers.
"About 20 per cent of Travellers own their own property. About 20- 25 per cent are reasonably well off though most of them would probably be as well off as men on the average industrial wage. And about 40 per cent are living in dire conditions."
Travellers don't just need to live among huge extended families; the men, we are told, also march to a different economic drum beat. This is not always true. David Joyce is studying law; Thomas Stokes, a settled Traveller, owns an electrical/hardware shop in Granard, is a member of Longford Co Council (where "the councillors went out of their way to make me feel welcome") and is heavily involved in non-Traveller community projects.
But in the main, unlike most settled folk who work shifts and aim to separate home from job, Traveller men have a tradition of self-employment involving the extended family. "They have no education," says a Traveller woman, "and a lot see no point in educating their children because the discrimination out there means they'll never get a job".
And the shiny new vehicles?
"It's possible that when you see a shiny new car, that that's their whole life," says Joseph, a 24-year-old Traveller. "A Traveller doesn't see himself staying in a house, that's why the money will go into a caravan or a car. It's a man thing. But they need a motor for work and it will be a good one, yes, because they could be saving years for it. Some might be into hire purchase but if they were, they'd never admit to it."
As Joseph says, he doesn't look like a Traveller. This has enabled him to hide his origins from his employers and hold down a responsible job in a western hotel. He also hides the fact that he is illiterate, despite the "nightmare" of having to handle long rosters.
He travelled all his life up to about seven years ago, left school in Ireland at 11, "acted the eejit", and finally left school in England at 15 with no exam.
"Nothing could have kept me there but I regret it to this day. Traveller families like to see their sons out working," he says, blaming no one. "Anyway, there's no better education than a street education. I know what hard work is . . . I did it all. Tree-topping, tarmaccing, labouring . . . I've broken three-inch thick concrete with a sledgehammer."
Back here, when such work was scarce, he heard about CERT through a support group, did a course, and never looked back.
Joseph challenges every stereotype: a boy who grew up on the road with a couple of siblings who still travel; one who likes settled life, wants to see the world, is fairly indifferent to the loss of Traveller culture ("What is it? I don't know"), is determined not to be trapped into marrying young and having lots of children - and yet keeps a very smart, "almost-new" caravan in his parents' back garden for which he saved hard for five years.
"It doesn't mean that I intend to go on the road. I just don't like to depend on others. My father has two little ones - just in case. I don't understand it but a lot of Traveller people see their lives going by very fast in houses."
Joseph senses change. "A lot of fellas still want to get married young and have a lot of kids - it's because they want to feel 'I'm a man'. But I know a lot too who don't want that so young, who want to go on holidays and see a bit of life first."
He is "embarrassed" by the fistfighting ("often, sadly, it's for the 15 minutes of fame") and the increasingly vicious feuds ("over stupid things - my father knows of one here in Galway that's been going since he was 11") and the infamous families who taint them all.
He reckons the loss of respect for the old has facilitated a new culture of drugs among his community.
"Drugs are involved now, bigtime. A lot are hooked on heroin and coke. You'd see them at weddings - it's bigger than you'd see among settled people. In England, it's massive, an everyday thing. They steal, work at tarmac and PVC jobs to fund it."
It's because of the "pressure of society", he says. "They can't go for a drink, or to a nightclub. If you show ID, they want a passport, if you show a passport , they want a driving licence. I've been pulled in hundreds of times and had my car searched. Friends of mine have been strip-searched."
He is equally conscious of the drink culture: "Travellers get in to places so rarely, that when they do, they drink a lot and they're not used to it; it's the same at weddings. If they could be allowed into places for a few drinks every so often, I know the barmen would say 'he's a nice man'."
But as a front-line worker, he is appalled at the equality ruling in favour of a Traveller, which effectively allows children onto licensed premises at all hours. "That was stupid. It's very irresponsible of people to keep kids in pubs till closing time."
He is aware of the irony. "I'd never be allowed into this hotel if they knew I was a Traveller, never mind work here. I know. I hear the way they talk about 'knackers'."
Joseph's ambition for his own children, whenhe has them, is to tell them: "School till 16, get your exam, and then at least if you have your Junior Cert and want to get into the fire brigade or the Army, it's open to you."
Series concluded