Gareth O'Callaghan: People are wondering if they will bother to vote at all
While Tánaiste Simon Canvassing Election With Taoiseach Hands Shakes Martin Harris Voters In Ahead Killorglin, Co Micheál Of Kerry, Friday's
On a damp dull Saturday morning in late January 1987, Charles Haughey stepped out from the passenger seat of his detective-driven Mercedes into a dense fog outside Langtons Hotel in Kilkenny.
He glanced around and waved to the large crowd of spectators who had waited for hours to get a glimpse of the Boss, and then engaged in some flesh-pressing.
As he was about to board the campaign bus, he apologised for his late arrival.
“It’ll take more than fog to stop Fianna Fáil this time round,” he shouted to the roars of the crowd.
The country was in tatters, buckling under the harshest tax rates in Europe, with a quarter of a million of its workers unemployed. Garret FitzGerald’s coalition government had imploded only days before as a result of the withdrawal of the Labour Party — caused by a disagreement over budget proposals for massive cuts in social spending.
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Haughey’s genius was his charm, mixed with a large helping of obscurity.
Despite promising little of interest in the hope of swaying the public vote, he simply reminded voters that coalition governments were unreliable. He urged the country to give him a strong majority, but the population back then had more to worry about than an election.
Fianna Fáil received 44.1% of the overall vote, and went on to form a minority single-party government which had the qualified support of Fine Gael, the main opposition party; but typically Haughey was far from comfortable governing by consensus. Concessions and compromises didn’t come easily to him unless they were exclusively his. What resulted was a cobbled-together government.
You would be forgiven for thinking that history has repeated itself in recent times, especially if you replace Haughey’s and FitzGerald’s names with Martin and Harris.
The days of the Soldiers of Destiny, the wartime name ascribed to Fianna Fáil, are long gone, as are the pedestals that voters once placed their politicians on.
Gone also are the days when a crowd of hundreds would wait for hours on a cold foggy Saturday to see any Charles Haughey-type.
November is the month of early darkness and cooler temperatures. Leaves are falling as we reach for the winter clothes. This month is all about change. It’s as though there’s a routine we follow that’s strict and checked — same as last year and every year in memory. Its heralding of winter is a reminder of the importance of looking after our health, both mental and physical. It’s a month for being excessively gentle as we remember those who won’t be here this Christmas. It’s both sad and sentimental in equal measure. What November doesn’t need is an election — the second in six months.
The fog that Haughey encountered on the campaign trail in 1987 has descended again; except this time it’s a different type of fog. In fact, there are two fogs swirling around.
I believe we have reached a point where many people are no longer wondering who they will vote for next Friday; now they’re wondering will they bother voting at all.
I fell asleep 15 minutes into the leaders' first televised debate on RTÉ last Monday. I thanked my wife the following morning for not waking me. She then confessed she had also missed it because she was watching Wise choice if you ask me.
It’s a year since the Dublin riots shocked the country and beyond when a major part of the capital’s north city was plunged into a blazing hellscape of violence, destruction and looting following multiple stabbings at a nearby school earlier that day. It’s nothing short of a miracle that no lives were lost.
Responsibility for restoring law and order fell to the gardaí, 60 of whom were assaulted, while three were seriously injured. Could it happen again? Of course, it could. Would the gardaí be better equipped if it did? Unlikely.
One young garda, a member of the Public Order Unit, told me confidentially that he received a call shortly after 5pm that Thursday evening to prepare for duty with one of the units. He had to drive home in heavy rush-hour traffic to collect his body armour, helmet, and riot shield because there was nowhere to store them at the garda station.
He agreed that many of his colleagues took huge risks that evening because they were left with no choice. He laughed when I asked him if the resources they had at their disposal were adequate for what they were faced with.
“Absolutely not,” he replied. A record 459 gardaí were injured while on duty last year. None of this was mentioned on Monday’s debate.
Micheál Martin last weekend revealed that Fianna Fáil wants the Justice portfolio in the next government, as if his party is better equipped to protect the country. He was only short of embracing Martin Luther King Jr’s famous words “I have a dream” as he discussed plans for his new Department of Domestic Affairs, which would incorporate justice, immigration, integration, and children’s rights — somewhat like moving chairs around on Titanic. Daft stuff.
At one point he was starting to sound like Paul Mescal’s character Lucius Verus in .
A son of a friend of mine quit the gardaí last year and emigrated to Perth. He is now a member of the WA Police Force. His father sent him a link to each of the party’s justice manifestos. His son sent him back a photo of the BMW X5 SUV highway police vehicle he drives, with all its eye-catching decals and flashing lights. Below the photo were the words “Loving it here Dad. Living the dream.”
And what about all those would-be parents if Fine Gael is re-elected? Simon Harris will put €1,000 into a trust fund for every newborn baby in the next five years, payable on their 18th birthday, at a snippety-snap cost to the taxpayer of half a billion. So even if you can’t afford childcare — that’s if you can find a creche that’s not full — at least the 18th birthday party is paid for. Not a single mention of the 4,170 children who are homeless.
Dense fog sums up this election campaign, with its harebrained manifestos full of cobbled-together bluff. I think the biggest shock next week will be the number of politicians who lose their seats, including some who give the impression that retaining the old seat is an on-the-nose certainty. Nor would it surprise me if the turnout was the lowest ever.
No doubt many of them are sniggering at Gerry Hutch’s political ambitions, and his chances of getting elected in Dublin. Hutch could have the last laugh, even if he doesn’t get in.
Haughey’s charm, with its blatant sense of entitlement, might have been what got him elected in 1987, but those days are long gone. Sometimes it’s better to promise nothing. History might remember you more favourably.