So it’s, like, the middle of the afternoon when the old man rings. He asks me if I’m at home, then he tells me to come outside because he has a little surprise waiting for me. The surprise ends up being – quite literally – a white Transit van. The old man is sitting in the front passenger seat, with the famous K... K... K... K... Kennet at the wheel and Hennessy wedged in between them, sucking on a cigor as long as – it sickens me to say it – the Blackrock College senior cup roll of honour.
I’m like, “What the fock is this?” the same question that everyone on the Vico Road will be asking right now.
“This,” the old man goes, “is the Charles O’Carroll-Kelly Truth Bus!”
I actually laugh. I’m like, “The what?”
He goes, “Oh, you heard me right, Ross! There are none so deaf as those who won’t listen!” and then he holds something like a walkie-talkie up to his mouth and goes, “BUT I’D LOVE TO SEE THEM IGNORE ME NOW!”
I end up jumping backwards with fright. The old man’s voice is coming out of four speakers mounted to the roof of the – again – Transit van.
I’m like, “Wait a minute – is this about UCD refusing to accept your offer of an O’Carroll-Kelly building?”
He’s there, “No, Ross, this is about the student body’s refusal to hear my reasons for wanting to make them such a gift.”
Yeah, no, he got no-platformed before a public meeting a few weeks ago and he wasn't happy about it?
“So what’s the plan?” I go. “You’re not going to drive around the Belfield campus just bellowing insanely at passers-by, are you?”
He’s like, “That’s exactly what I intend to do, Kicker! Charles O’Carroll-Kelly isn’t about to be silenced by a bunch of bloody well teenagers who’ve been brought up to believe that they don’t have to listen to the opinions of others! This is real life – and, unfortunately for them, real life doesn’t have a block or mute button!”
I slide open the side door and I climb into the back of the van. I’m there, “I’m not missing this for the world.”
Twenty minutes later, we take the left turn off the Stillorgan dualler into actual UCD. Kennet goes, "Wh... Wh... Wh... Wh... Wheer am I th... th... th... th... thriving to, Cheerdles?"
The old man goes, "Straight ahead, Kennet. There's a cor pork next to O'Reilly Hall. We'll drive a few circuits of that while I get my voice warmed up. Veritas liberabit vos – eh, Hennessy?"
Hennessy has a little chuckle to himself. He’s like, “Even the great Livy, in all his wisdom, couldn’t have put it better.”
The old man holds the walkie-talkie thing up to his mouth and suddenly his voice storts coming out of the speakers. He’s like, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, THIS IS CHORLES O’CARROLL-KELLY SPEAKING! SEVERAL WEEKS AGO, I MADE PUBLIC MY INTENTION TO GIFT TO YOU – AND TO FUTURE GENERATIONS OF UCD STUDENTS – A BRAND-NEW BUILDING THAT WOULD BE AS IMPRESSIVE AS IT WOULD BE LORGE!
“THE REASON BEHIND THIS EXTRAORDINARY ACT OF PHILANTHROPY IS ONE OF GRATITUDE! IT’S MY WAY OF SAYING THANK YOU TO THIS WONDERFUL SEAT OF LEARNING – THANK YOU FOR HELPING TO MAKE CHORLES O’CARROLL-KELLY THE MAN HE IS TODAY!”
I’m going to be sick. It’s, like, dizziness from doing circuits of the cor pork, although the old man’s so-called speech isn’t exactly helping my stomach either.
I’m like, “Pull over, will you? I’m about to vom.”
Kennet stops the van. And that’s when I spot the cavalry coming. A crowd of 60, maybe 70 students tipping down the steps towards the van.
“Sh... Sh... S... Sh... Shut the bleaten door,” Kennet goes – and I don’t need to be told twice.
They obviously have some kind of loudhailer themselves because I hear a girl’s voice go, “LEAVE THIS CAMPUS IMMEDIATELY! YOU HAVE NOT BEEN INVITED TO SPEAK HERE TODAY!”
Instead of winding down the window, the old man decides to talk to her through the speakers on top of the van.
He’s like, “I DON’T NEED YOUR PERMISSION OR THE PERMISSION OF ANY OF YOUR BLOODY WELL SNOWFLAKE FRIENDS TO SPEAK! YOUR FEELINGS ARE NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD – EVEN IF YOU THINK THEY ARE!”
The girl goes, “WE WILL NOT ALLOW FASCISTS TO DISSEMINATE THEIR POISONOUS VIEWS ON THIS CAMPUS!”
"YOU'RE CALLING ME A FASCIST? OH, THAT'S RICH! THE DENIAL OF FREE SPEECH IS A CENTRAL TENET OF FASCISM, I WOULD HAVE SAID – EH, ROSS?"
I decide to just stay out of it, though.
The girl goes, “YOU ARE THE LEADER OF A POLITICAL PARTY ESPOUSING RIGHT-WING VIEWS THAT ARE MISOGYNISTIC AS WELL AS RACIST!”
“IT’S NOT RACIST TO SAY THAT CAVAN PEOPLE ARE CAUTIOUS WITH THEIR MONEY AND THAT LEITRIM PEOPLE DON’T LIKE OUTSIDERS!”
“LEAVE THIS CAMPUS IMMEDIATELY! WE DON’T WANT FASCISTS HERE!”
“I THINK YOU’LL FIND THAT YOU’RE THE FASCIST!”
"NO, ACTUALLY, YOU'RE THE FASCIST!"
"NO, IT'S ACTUALLY YOU! ACTA NON VERBA, EH, HENNESSY?"
"YOU'RE A LITERALLY FASCIST, THOUGH?"
“THERE ARE A GREAT MANY FASCISTS HERE – AND I CAN TELL YOU NOW THAT NONE OF THEM IS IN THIS TRUTH BUS!”
I’m sitting in the back of the van wondering why they can’t just have this conversation on Twitter like normal annoying people.
And that's when I feel the van move. It's, like, only slight at first, but then the thing storts actually rocking and it's obvious that the crowd outside have storted shaking the thing. It's when I feel the wheels on the left-hand side lift off the ground that I stort to get seriously worried.
The old man should probably shut his mouth at this point but he decides to ramp it up. He goes, “THIS COUNTRY SAT AND WATCHED THE REST OF THE WORLD FIGHT A WAR TO GUARANTEE YOUR RIGHT TO FREE SPEECH! AND THIS IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO DO WITH THAT RIGHT!”
The rocking becomes more violent and suddenly I’m being thrown back and forth across the floor of the van.
“FASCISM IN ACTION!” the old man shouts. “FASCISM IN ACTION!” until eventually – inevitably – Charles O’Carroll-Kelly’s Truth Bus is tipped over on to its side.
