You can learn a great deal in an Irish classroom. But the most eye-opening lessons aren’t necessarily those on the school curriculum. By ignoring the blackboard and simply taking a good look around the room, an alert pupil can acquire a first-rate education in contemporary politics, and the myriad ways in which a deceitful and incompetent government has squandered the boom.

Irish class sizes are the second-largest in Europe. One in five primary-school pupils — approximately 100,000 — are being taught in classes of more than 30.

As students returned to their congested schools last week, the Department of Education sought to lighten the mood with a history lesson. It released figures showing that the percentage of children in classes of more than 30 fell from 25% in 2006 to 20% in 2007.

By boasting about this modest statistical advance just as the cabinet was bracing itself for severe spending cutbacks, Batt O'Keeffe, the education minister, knew he was publicising what is likely to be the last positive news about class sizes for years. Moreover, following the abandonment of commitments in this area in last December’s budget, he must also have been aware that the trend has already gone into reverse.

Even if the 2007 figures had been sustained, however, this slow marginal improvement fell well short of what was promised. During the boom years, successive education ministers pledged to make decisive progress on class sizes. In 2002, before the children who started school last week were born, the government promised class sizes of 20 for pupils under the age of nine.

But the true scale of the government’s failure on class sizes can be gauged by examining what its constituent political parties were promising as recently as last year. A vociferous campaign by parents and the Irish National Teachers’ Organisation (Into) in the run-up to the general election spooked the political establishment, which had seemed blissfully unaware of mounting anger about the issue. Class sizes suddenly moved centre-stage.

At the Fianna Fail ard fheis, Bertie Ahern, then taoiseach, promised 4,000 new teachers, and class-size reduction became a prominent manifesto pledge. The Green party promised 2,400 extra teachers while the Progressive Democrats committed itself to a maximum of 25 pupils per class. When all three parties agreed their programme for government, they offered a detailed timetable for improvements: class sizes would be reduced to 26 pupils in 2008, 25 in 2009 and 24 in 2010.

The apparent sincerity of these pledges defused the controversy, and then education minister Mary Hanafin was afforded a warm welcome at the Into annual congress shortly afterwards. Almost as soon as the ovation had begun to fade, however, the government’s commitment did likewise.

Faced with the early signs of global economic downturn, Brian Cowen, finance minister at the time, declined to provide funding for more teachers, effectively ensuring that some schools would actually lose staff even as their pupil numbers increased. Class sizes are now destined to continue rising for the foreseeable future.

If the government thinks any of this sorry saga has gone unnoticed by parents, especially middle-class parents, it should think again. As it’s the “better” schools in the more salubrious areas that attract the highest number of pupils, these institutions are often lumbered with the larger class sizes.

Middle-class parents are, therefore, intimately familiar with the consequences of the government’s litany of broken promises, and are not a demographic renowned for their forgiving nature. Having already demonstrated their ability to mobilise efficiently on this issue, they’re likely to do so again, and will not be so easily fobbed off next time.

RoboCop is back (again)

Under proposed new anti-piracy laws, gardai will be given increased powers to seize counterfeit DVDs. But safeguards are required to deter officers from watching these movies, as some appear to be overdosing on action fantasies.

Nothing else explains the OTT machismo with which Garda bosses unveiled their Regional Support Units (RSU)— armed tactical response teams for critical incident back-up.

Like all superheroes, RSUs have a secret identity. Each unit patrols as regular gardai until they are required to change into RSU mode.

When fully tooled-up with their techno-weaponry, RSU members resemble crime-fighting cyborgs — half-man, half-artillery. Just what we need in one of Europe’s least violent countries. Whiz-bang policing works in movies but, in reality, the long arm of the law always functions better without a heavy hand.

Farmers' beef over funding exposé

The resourcefulness of Irish farmers knows no bounds. Having spent decades pleading poverty, they now claim to be terrified that criminals will discover how rich they are.

Leading opposition to the planned internet publication of EU farm grant details, the Irish Creamery Milk Suppliers Association says the move will expose its members to the threat of being kidnapped.

This is more claptrap from the country’s most intensive bull-breeders. The routine publication of the names and partial addresses of doctors, pharmacists, solicitors and others who receive money under state schemes has not proven to be a security risk. What farmers really resent is the fact that information about the enormous state largesse they receive is about to become available to the taxpayers who provide it.

Taxpayers want to know how their money is spent. Farmers would understand this if more of them paid tax.

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