If it hasn’t already landed on your doorstep, the political knock will soon be upon you. We don’t yet have the precise scheduling for the looming general election debates, but it’s certain that the taste is as tantalising. Nevertheless, the Irish Communist Party will not wind up holding power. Indeed, the public relish the campaign, as does any populist. Politicians may detest it, but for the common man, it’s an entertainment piece, akin to the All-Ireland finals or the Listowel races, just with less athleticism.
I’ve been observing elections as a fixture of our national schedule for some time now. Back in my Leaving Certificate year, I possessed more knowledge than I do today. My friend and I decided to drop into the Fine Gael headquarters in Cork. We sought a copy of their foreign affairs and education policies because we believed elections should be about strategies more than faces. Indeed, we thought voters thoroughly read and considered different policies, discussed them intensely, and then cast their vote with the nation’s wellbeing in mind.
To our surprise, we were cordially received which left their right-hand man rather baffled. We were seen as two simple conservatives eager to understand party policies. Our naivety didn’t let us recognise that gentleman we inconvenienced was Peter Barry, who later served as a Tánaiste. We caught sight of him retreating into a side room, rifling through some papers, and resurfacing having rummaged through a pile of discarded files. Eventually, he came out brandishing a couple of sheets, much like Chamberlain declaring peace on return from München.
The exact context of those documents escapes me now, but they did little to provoke thoughts or ignite a beacon of hope.
The couple from Dublin that built their own home within a week
‘Our existence will forever be altered’: Lady loses her father, son and brother on a treacherous stretch of the same road
Cillian Murphy: ‘We endured the Kerry infants, the animated statues, no facility for abortion, no provision for divorce. It felt like we were living in primitive times.’
The deterioration of Paddy Cosgrave’s rapport with his previous companions, from sour to violent.
I ought to have absorbed a lesson from a previous experience, though a few years subsequent to that, I found myself lightly involved with Peadar Mac An Iomaire’s crusade in Galway West. His aim was to secure seats for the Gaeltacht Civil Rights Movement. My role was two-fold – to coax votes from the tightly knit farming community in the isolated west who would congregate outside churches on Sundays, and to engage in pleasant conversation with patrons of Galway city while canvassing door-to-door.
Most were genteel, their faces revealing no hint of influence from our discussion. However, I recall having an extended conversation with a particular gentleman outside his residence. Our discussion revolved around the election as a whole. His profound understanding of the political landscape surpassed my own, which came as no shock. I was under the impression that perhaps our discussion had resonated with him, and that the lengthy chat could potentially be worth the expended time. As I was parting, he uttered with a smirk on his face, “Ah, well in this house, Bobby gets all our votes.”
Who he was referring to was Bobby Molloy of Fianna Fáil.
I had had identical experiences with every constituent who I encountered during my canvassing expedition that night.