Before being edged out of Cabinet upon Joan Burton’s accession to power, Pat Rabbitte had a plan. As minister for communications, the Labour veteran proposed a general broadcast charge, to be levied on all households. It was slated for introduction this month, and was designed to replace the current regime, which requires citizens to pay for a special Government permit before obtaining any equipment capable of receiving a TV signal. In 2013, 411 people were jailed for failing to do so.
Rabbitte’s proposal was abandoned, and so the criminalisation of unlicensed TV possession remains on the statute books. The Government and An Post have instead intensified the business of extricating the €160 fee from the slowly shrinking pool of people who have a TV set. In doing so, they continue to ignore the one in 20 people in this country who live in homes without a television.
Limiting their screen time to laptops and cinema, this 5 per cent (up from 3 per cent in 2010) are the NTV (No Television) generation.
“There’s definitely a shift, in my own experience, away from TV,” says Kevin Mullaney, a 27-year-old from Tipperary who lives in Dublin. “Out of my peers, I don’t think any of them have one. We’re not of a generation that needs it, and that’s mainly because of wifi. You can watch whatever you like and be more selective.
“I think that’s probably the new source of mind-numbing distraction,” he laughs. “What I really don’t like with TV is that you’ve less choice; it’s so passive sometimes. What I always associate with television is sitting on the couch, and just flicking, even if you’ve Sky Plus. If I’m on my laptop or computer, I have a sense of choice, a sense of mental activity.
“The other big thing with television, then, is advertising; you just can’t get away from it. It just makes you start craving things you don’t want. With the internet for some reason I’m always under the impression I’m impervious to it, with ad-blockers. But maybe it’s actually worse. I don’t know why people have televisions.”
Focal point
Ever since the 1960s saw the cathode ray tube supplant the hearth as the focal point of the Irish home, it has been unthinkable for most of the rest of us to be without it. You might as well take the kettle away. Generations who were reared on the communal ritual of The Late Late Show; who watched Lynch, Haughey and Kenny address the nation; who sat transfixed before Bloody Sunday newsreels; who dressed up in their finery for Maurice O'Doherty to impart the news in his Donegal baritone; and who, latterly, tuned into imports such as Friends; are giving way to a new breed.
"We used to have a TV until two years ago, but we got rid of it, we recycled it," says Fodla O'Brien (30), a conferencing operator based in Clonakilty, Co Cork. "We never watched it. I used to watch it religiously years before, pretty much every day. You'd stick on Home and Away, and it'd be left on for the evening.
"A lot of my friends do have a TV but prefer DVDs. We can pick what we want to see now rather than whatever's been decided by an RTÉ department. Every now and then my mom gets into Eastenders, and I'd tell her to get away from it. It's like crack; it's not good for you."
O’Brien now accesses Netflix on her laptop, which allows her to watch series or movies simultaneously with her sister and mother, wherever they are. In October, Netflix reported 36.3 million global subscribers, but refuses to divulge Irish audience figures. “We watch fewer ads, but that’s because we pay for the service. I don’t really watch TV on my laptop; I’d watch a bit of RTÉ Player but not often.”
The rest of us might be forgiven for wondering what these people do with their spare time in the evenings.
“We’re probably more active now since we got rid of it,” says O’Brien. “I started running this year, and I’m working on a film project. Also, all the furniture was pointed at the TV, which was really ugly. The room is just a nicer place now. I’ve got a stereo there now instead. I listen to a lot more music.”
Mullaney says he speaks to his housemates more than they would otherwise. “I have some friends who have no TV and also no wifi. I’d love to be able to do that, but I’m not sure I’m able. There’d be less input, which we’ve loads of, and there might be more real connections between people.”
Sally O'Dowd, an artist and curator from Killeshandra, Co Cavan, became used to life without TV while living in London. "I watch stuff on my laptop. I read. I stay out. I go and visit people. I go running. I go walking. I cook food. I work. I make stuff. I work on Photoshop. I talk to people. I'm not telling myself I have to be home at eight o'clock for an episode of Downton or something like that any more," she says, laughing.
An old set, broken for two years, continues to dominate her living room: a monument to the pre-wifi age. “It’s still just sitting there in the room, and I was just looking at it the other day saying, ‘You don’t need to be here’. It takes over that space.”
She streams series, Downton Abbey and New Girl in particular, which she says can be slow via wifi. "And at this time of the year, when you know there are films on all of the time, it'd be nice to be able to just switch on the telly."
Atomised by the internet
The internet has atomised society in many ways. But of all the changes, the gradual moving aside of the television is arguably the single biggest physical adjustment to people’s homes since the advent of the PC. If so, Mullaney, O’Brien and O’Dowd, by quietly choosing other media, are the vanguard of a new cultural revolution.
There must be other downswides. What about water-cooler moments? Don’t our pioneers feel left out when Nidge’s latest brutal killing spree is up for discussion?
"I don't know if not having a TV is going to remove those cultural references," says Mullaney. "In certain circles, Game of Thrones is the equivalent. Isn't it the most illegally downloaded series in history? You can still be part of society."
