Politicians are a tricky lot to cover as a photographer.
How does one convey some sense of personality, when the whole machinery of a political shop is basically designed to produce a smooth, controlled and fundamentally frictionless media event?
The worst outcomes are unfortunately very imaginable in the minds of many political operators: six o’clock career ending bulletins, invoking Veep-like gaffes, pinging around the internet in perpetuity.
Unfortunately for us, this increasingly robust stage management creates a bubble that is hard to pierce most of the time; it is difficult to get a glimpse behind the façade in daily rounds of press conferences and programme launches.
What a photojournalist is constantly looking out for with political coverage is not some embarrassing gaffe – although they do happen – but rather the revelation of something authentic, not a small task these days (and to be fair, this could be interpreted as a good or bad thing, depending on who you ask). This is where a general election canvass comes into play: the tight grip of control meets the unpredictable contours of reality, known as the public.
There were a variety of stops planned for the first day of a ride-a-long with Taoiseach Simon Harris’s campaign bus in mid-November. Canvassing at Dublin City University’s main campus, walkthroughs of Capel Street’s shops and pubs, and visits further afield in Raheny, Dublin 5.
And while the public certainly held forth at these stops, in both predictable and unpredictable ways, the one thing that struck me about the Taoiseach himself was how quickly he moved. It was no joke: the entourage of security, political staff and news media had to hustle to keep up, and if you turned around, he was off in another direction already and, alas, you were sadly out of position. From the start to finish he moved swiftly, and sometimes was running, even late in the day.
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