Why should I? On the face of it, the judges deserve all the opprobrium heaped on them last week. By the standards of Ireland today, they are a pampered élite, insulated from the real world.

Only 19 out of 148 volunteered a pay cut in line with the pension levy imposed on public servants. It's a shocking indictment of their capacity for social solidarity, irrespective of what spin chief justice John Murray puts on it.

Why should I? It is reasonable to speculate that those who failed to contribute posed to themselves that rhetorical question. Why should I suffer for the sins of bankers and developers and those dumb-ass politicians who ransacked the state for electoral gain?

That refrain has been heard up and down the country over the last year wherever employees, trade unions and small business owners gather. Why should I take the hit for that which was perpetrated by others?

In this, the judges' inability to demonstrate solidarity suggests that they are wholly in touch with the man and woman on the street today. Social solidarity is in short supply, among judges or jailers, farmers, politicians or candlestick makers. At this time of national crisis, the overriding impression of the sentiment informing public discourse is that everybody is out for themselves, first, last and always.

After the recent elections, opposition politicians parroted the spin that voters on the doorstep were prepared to make sacrifices, but not under the current government. Does anybody really believe large tracts of the population are willing to make these sacrifices?

A brief romp through history illustrates that social or national solidarity has featured at times of crises or upheaval. When this state was being established, hard-pressed citizens dug deep to purchase government bonds. The purchase was a big gamble, yet they were willing to do it in the national interest.

During World War II, the 'Dunkirk spirit' saw the British face into dark days shoulder to shoulder. In Sweden, during the banking crisis of 1992, political parties set aside their differences to show a single face to the outside world. The foreign country of the past is littered with these examples. Solidarity, on the other hand, is an alien concept on the familiar terrain of the present.

In the political arena, the furore over serving politicians drawing ministerial pensions is the most obvious case. When Brian Lenihan attempted to put flesh on his proposal to abolish the practice, his department wrote to the 33 TDs affected. Only 16 had the courtesy to even reply, with precious few of them offering to give it all up in the name of the national interest. What we have, we hold, because we're worth it.

Inside the chamber, point-scoring trumps genuine efforts to get to grips with the crisis. Fianna Fáil must be held accountable at the ballot box for creating this mess, the culpability for which was spelled out by the IMF last week. But right now the opposition is more intent on following the trail of FF blood, rather than dragging the state out of the mire.

In the private sector, the crisis is seen by some as an opportunity to cut the cost of employment. Others use prevailing conditions to scream that the public sector is the root of all evil.

Last week, U2 drummer Larry Mullen said the country was now picking on the rich. The poor little rich drummer boy is part of an outfit which benefited from tax-free status for 25 years, and then moved offshore when the rules were changed. Now he feels victimised. Solidarity, how are you?

The public sector has its share of whingers. Elements in teaching and medicine use cutbacks in services as cover for venting rage at a relatively minor reduction in their own circumstances. One delegate at a teachers' conference last Easter said the pension levy was all that was spoken about in staffrooms. The savage cutbacks obviously didn't get a mention. (Some teachers, to be fair, are primarily focused on the savage cutbacks.)

Hospital consultants, who turned their noses up at a "mickey mouse" 200 grand a year, blame the shortcomings in the health service on the HSE, the government, anybody who might threaten their own position or earnings.

Elsewhere, anecdotally, thousands of over-70s on generous pensions have failed to give up their medical cards, following the changes in October's budget. They show little solidarity with those relying on the social-welfare pensions, who are in danger of slipping further into poverty.

Meanwhile, daily, hundreds lose jobs, have their dignity assaulted, undergo a depressing transformation. Others are pushed further away from the light of opportunity or comfort.

There is precious little evidence that their plight is eliciting any solidarity among those more fortunate.

Many reasons can be forwarded for our arrival at this cold place. Over the past 50 years, the ties that bind communities have been loosened in many different ways. The affluence that permeated sections of society in recent years may have left a residue of selfishness in its wake. And then there is the sense of entitlement engendered in many sections of society during the bubble years, when Bertie Ahern's uniquely destructive brand of politics prevailed. What we have, we hold, because we're worth it.

Whatever the reasons, there is little doubt that solidarity is absent in the current crisis. How to locate it is a matter for debate that should be pursued. Wherever it is, we could do with it right now.

mclifford@tribune.ie