The Scent Of Blood

When Peter Mandelson announced his resignation on Wednesday, he implied his decision had less to do with the passport affair than with the constant media pressure that was a politician's lot. And to underline his point, in a sneaky use of metaphor typical of New Labour, he claimed he had been "dogged" by the press for the past five years.

The canine image was clearly calculated. A spinner to the last, Mandelson was exploiting the emotions aroused in Britain recently by the fox-hunting bill; subtly portraying himself as a defenceless, furry animal, exhausted from the chase and finally run to ground by the slavering beagles of the press and their horn-blowing Tory masters on horseback.

The message had the shaming effect it intended, causing his media pursuers to pause and reflect for a moment, before remembering themselves and viciously tearing him apart. But when the dust and fur finally settles, his words may rekindle the debate in Britain on the whole issue of cruelty to politicians. And if it does, we in Ireland will inevitably be dragged in.

As with fox-hunting, the debate on press cruelty has been largely an English one because, as with fox-hunting, there's a lot more of it over there. But as coincidence would have it, in the very same hour that Mandelson was announcing his resignation, Liam Lawlor was being released back into the wild here, after his week in Mountjoy jail. And even some of his worst enemies must have winced at the more triumphalist coverage in the Irish press of his incarceration.

It is admittedly fanciful to compare politicians and foxes, two species which have little in common except their famous cuteness and the fact that you wouldn't want either of them near your henhouse.

It is also clear that the British government has an interest in muzzling the press, at least temporarily. The red Labour fox will be particularly vulnerable over the next few months as it attempts to cross the dangerous open ground of an election campaign, hoping to make it safely into the thick undergrowth of a new parliamentary mandate. (That's enough metaphor - Ed).

But as a gesture to Mandelson's efforts for peace in this country, it might be worth briefly considering whether there is a case for introducing curbs here on the ancient sport of hunting politicians. Not even he would urge a total ban, I'm sure. But is there - as his party leader would put it - a "middle way"?

First of all, let me say that, for those of us in the Dublin media, hounding politicians is a way of life. It is a part of our "culture", dating back centuries. More to the point, many livelihoods depend on it, a point which country folk - many of who have a sentimental attitude to politicians - often forget.

But all of that aside, we would argue that, in the absence of proper scientific study, there is no real evidence to show that hunting politicians is cruel. It is admittedly very difficult to tell what is going on in the mind of a politician. But there is always a danger - as with foxes - of attributing human emotions, when these may simply not be there.

In fact, as anyone who has spent time covering politics knows, there is much to suggest that politicians actually enjoy the chase.

Politics is by its nature a grim life, with long periods of boredom punctuated by short bursts of high-adrenalin activity. It is a constant battle for survival, where fear is a natural, necessary state. Even without journalists dogging them, many politicians would come to cruel ends; savaged by the opposition or enduring long, painful demises at the hands of the electorate. Nature inures them to suffering.

The other point that we in the hunting community would make is that the politician always has a sporting chance. A classic example is Liam Lawlor who, even as he was going to jail last week, scored a major victory over the media by defying all their attempts to record his entry into Mountjoy.

In a display of truly vulpine cunning, which included laying out several false trails across Dublin, he threw some of Ireland's most experienced newshounds off his scent and, at Mountjoy, left them barking excitedly at the wrong gate. It was a situation rich in irony that Lawlor thus entered prison as "the one that got away" and, of course, he repeated the trick this week as he left.

The final, traditional justification for hunting is that it helps to control the population. This is clearly not true of Irish politics, unfortunately, which boasts one of the highest incidences of full-time public representation in the world. And very few vacancies, because hardly anyone ever resigns.

Which, hanging our heads in shame, brings us back to Mandelson. We can only wish him well in his (second) retirement from government and, if his former colleagues want to crack down on political dogging in Britain, that's up to them. But we in Ireland believe the sport is well enough regulated already, and we really don't need to tamper with it.

Frank McNally can be contacted at fmcnally@irish-times.ie