ON THE CANVASS:THE CONTRAST between the Bertie Ahern and Brian Cowen eras is never more marked than on a walkabout.
Behold “Boyzone Bertie” as he swept along in a bubble of party hacks, pixie dust and delusion. Now observe “Brian the Besieged”, beset by a barrage of foreign camera crews, a few tribal followers of the old FF brigade, a slew of two-faced voters, and Maleficent, an evil godmother who cursed him to prick his finger on a spindle in mid-2008 and has hovered ever since.
With little fanfare he pitched up in Loughrea, Co Galway, yesterday, a town at the sharp end of the bust. In a town boasting two Lisbon posters – both for the No parties – he was canvassing for a Yes, but Maleficent had got there well before him.
The spirits of Mary Coughlan, Rody Molloy, the closed factories, the inadequate cancer services at the purported centre of excellence in Galway city, the waste, the hopelessness hovered above.
A quick trawl of the town beforehand revealed a restless citizenry. A well-informed businesswoman who was veering towards a Yes has finally made up her mind.
“I’m a No. You hear things like the Fás pay-off and what strikes you is the waste, oh my God, the waste . . . And then you hear how people with cancer are being treated in the hospital.”
At the newer end of town, the Gallery Bistro opened only last November but will be closed by Christmas if things don’t improve, says Declan McWilliams.
“It’s been horrific . . . And to cap it all, I got a rates bill yesterday for €1,700. There’s absolutely no way I can afford it and I’m not paying it.
“I’m doing everything right – paying all my taxes and charges – and here they are, just wanting more. Everyone’s in a state of fear but no one in Government is offering even a small spark of hope or saying ‘hang on, here’s how we can help you’.”
But he’s a Yes after all, only because – as much as he likes the Aran Islands – he doesn’t want Ireland to end up like them – as an outpost of Europe. He believes, however, that many of his customers have no intention of voting at all.
The Taoiseach arrives to a small welcoming committee, including the ever genial Michael Kitt, the ebullient Noel Tracey and one of the few FF survivors of the local election debacle, councillor Mary Gunter-Nix.
But by far the most eager enthusiastic folk present are the camera crews from German and Japanese state broadcasters, Ard and NHK. As the Taoiseach starts up the street, their cameras are practically up his nose. Finally, he cuts loose: “It’s not all about yourselves,” he barks. “Try to spread out, I want to meet people.”
The few people around town show little sign of the rebelliousness evident earlier. To most, the fact of his presence is a surprise and he encounters little but slightly starstruck smiles and courtesy. “Do right by us, Brian,” says an older woman.
“I’m praying you get your wish,” says another.
The sight of his bent, slightly awkward figure, rashly reaching out to all-comers, triggers a maternal feeling in some. “He’s a very nice man,” says a woman definitively after a handshake. “Sure he’s only a human being,” agrees her friend.
Standing in a pub doorway, Eamonn Murphy, a businessman, was the sole dissenter. “I don’t appreciate what you’re doing at all,” he said sharply as the Taoiseach reached for his hand.
But the walkabout style of non-engagement ensured that no engagement would occur and the motley group swept on.
When The Irish Times asked Mr Murphy if he had a particular problem, he looked baffled at the question: “They’ve bled us dry, for God’s sake, but look at them running around shaking his hand now. Is anybody happy with what they’ve done to this country? We’ve been taken for a logious ride. I have four kids and there’s no future for them in this country.”
After 35 minutes or so, it was over. Next stop, University College Galway for a sod-turning ceremony to mark the construction of a new €40 million engineering building. As he dug a hole (for himself, in the words of a scathing observer), another pointed out that he was doing so outside the JE Cairnes School of Business, named after the Irish economist who, all the way back in 1857, wrote an introduction to economics as a science under the title Character and Logical Method of Political Economy.
“D’you think we should give him a copy?”
As a helicopter flew over (ah, the glory days of Ballybrit), drowning out his response to questions about the character and logical method of former Fás employees, a journalist asked for his response to the growing criticism of the Government’s actions. “Who are those people ? I don’t know who those are,” he batted back, before deciding for himself. “Political opponents.”
A closer engagement with Loughrea might have told him otherwise.