Greek-style street protests over economy can be cathartic but are ultimately not effective in changing outcomes, writes MICK HEANEY
FOR ALL the fulmination and despair associated with our new age of austerity, the Irish have lately been berated for their docility. So Tuesday’s pie-borne assault on Rupert Murdoch, during his appearance before a Westminster culture committee, was a reminder of how effective direct acts of protest can be. For the most part, they are futile; at worst, destructive.
This is not a view shared by everyone. There is a notion, generally propounded by TDs with a penchant for untucked shirts, that if public resentment were translated into street action we could take back our economic sovereignty, just as the recent Greek protests tore up the political script. But despite the romantic appeal of such protests, be they individual gestures of defiance or acts of mass disobedience, they rarely achieve much beyond a frisson of confrontation and a flurry of dubious coverage.
The Murdoch incident was a case in point. For most of the Commons hearing, the News Corporation boss looked under pressure, even when his early humility gave way to more robust defence. But after the intervention of comedian-cum-activist Jonnie Marbles, Murdoch looked more like a vulnerable old man attacked by a publicity-seeking prankster, with only his loyal wife to protect him. Murdoch became an unlikely object of sympathy; Marbles (Jonathan May-Bowles) was rightly derided as a prat.
Such ineffectual protests are not confined to Britain. Last September, a cement lorry, driven by self-styled “Anglo avenger” Joe McNamara, attempted to ramraid the Dáil. It proved a diverting news stunt but no more, with his motives ultimately driven by personal grievances: he was a struggling developer upset by his treatment by the banks.
In November, then-minister for health Mary Harney was splattered with paint by a Dublin city councillor outraged at cutbacks. Again, the act was counter-productive. Harney, who was actually opening a new hospital unit at the time, displayed a dignity which even critics grudgingly admired; meanwhile the republican beliefs of her assailant, received more attention than the spending cuts she was protesting against.
Largely driven by ulterior motives, such isolated deeds may attract fleeting coverage, but do not provoke a wider response. Even if such gestures had succeeded in bringing people to the streets, it is doubtful they could have changed much, and not because of the old canard about a media establishment manufacturing consent. If the general population has shown little inclination to take to the streets, it is probably because such an approach has little history of success here.
The protests in the run-up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq attracted large numbers here, but did not reverse the government’s policy of allowing combat-bound US troops to use Shannon airport. More recently, the anti-cuts march organised by the Irish Congress of Trade Unions in November drew around 50,000 people, with little impact on the resulting budget. (In any case, the march was aimed at bolstering the old status quo of social partnership rather than smashing the system.)
And if the recent protests over Roscommon hospital had a rowdy flavour, this expression of local passion did not reverse the decision.
It might be argued that these protests did not work because they did not go far enough. After all, this year has witnessed a spectacular example of people power. The Arab spring was a mass movement sparked by an individual act of desperate defiance: the self-immolation of Tunisian fruit vendor Mohamed Bouazizi is credited with setting off the upheavals that ultimately toppled the regimes in Tunis and Cairo. But there was much more at stake for these populations: disenfranchised and impoverished, they had reached a tipping point where it was worth risking their lives to pursue their aims.
Ireland, for all its problems, is a long way from such a situation.
Which brings us back to the Greeks. Like this country, Greece has suffered the indignity of a bailout and harsh cuts seemingly skewed against working people. Unlike the supine Irish, the Greeks have fought back, with violent protests bringing the government to the brink of collapse and forcing Europe to confront the injustice of the situation.
It is a neat narrative, but one that does not bear too much scrutiny. The protests may have been a cathartic expression of rage, but while they temporarily paralysed daily life, they did not alter the ultimate outcome, with the austerity measures eventually passing. The most palpable legacy of the street action was altogether more tragic: three bank employees perished during an earlier protest, when their workplace was petrol-bombed.
For all Ireland’s supposed culture of rebelliousness and petty illegality, few are willing to make the leap to direct action: even now, too many people have too much to lose. But the absence of mass protest should not be confused with unquestioning compliance. Simmering apathy and cynicism with the political process is not a healthy state.
Rather than looking to Greece, a better example may be gleaned from northern European, where a culture of constructive political engagement prevails, one which in the past helped countries like Sweden and Finland to overcome their own economic calamities.
The Irish political class should take note while the public is still receptive.
John Waters is on leave