OUR RUNAWAY train is coming to the end of the line. Don’t panic! Don’t panic! Why not? The two Brians are in the engine room.
Fair enough; away with you so.
The two Brians keep doing sums and coming up with formulae and they keep getting them wrong. It’s not great for engendering confidence, going backwards. Sorry, forward.
And the train is still out of control. Buffers looming.
Yesterday, they came up with their definitive figure. €6 billion. It’s the final “adjustment”. Like “correction”, adjustment is such a wishy-washy word.Nobody is fooled in the knowledge economy. As a nation, we are “shovel ready”.
No wonder the Government is worried.
Nerves are in flitters in Fianna Fáil. You can almost touch the rising sense of fear around Leinster House. It was not a happy place to be yesterday.
Two years of talking and the Government is finally going to do something about their train-wreck of an economy. The cost of repairing it is monstrous: the aforementioned €6 billion, to start off with. Look at that number – it’s just one big abstract figure. Let us “frontload” it. Like an automatic washing machine. Another buzzword to add to the abstract.
But the picture won’t be abstract for much longer, once it is broken down into countless shards of cuts. People will be hurt. That realisation is dawning in the corridors of power. Politicians can talk about “taking the pain” until the cows come home, but that’s just abstract stuff.
With the imminent four-year plan, the visit of European commissioner Olli Rehn next week and the rapidly approaching budget from hell, all the talk will be translated into action. This is a frightening prospect for people already pulling the divil by the tail. They are fit to murder their elected representatives (but they’ll just give out instead). Hence the jittery mood in Leinster House.
There were ructions at the start of play yesterday morning, when the Opposition seized the opportunity to embarrass the Government over the fact they were forced by a High Court judge into holding the Donegal byelection.
It looked and sounded like the usual knockabout routine. But there was a definite edge to proceedings this time.
Taoiseach Cowen sat hunched in his seat, his arms wrapped defensively around his chest. Enda Kenny and Eamon Gilmore howled over his Government’s decision to appeal to the Supreme Court.
Cowen said he did so on “advices” from the Attorney General. Kenny roared so much that the Ceann Comhairle twice had to suspend the sitting, belting his bell like a demented panel beater. Gilmore’s questioning of the legal status of the ruling annoyed the two Brians so much that the Taoiseach muttered venomously in the direction of the Labour leader while snorts of “fool!” were heard emanating from the general vicinity of the front bench.
Tánaiste Mary Coughlan moved the writ for the Donegal byelection. “An immediate and short campaign is warranted” she announced, an irony-free zone.
There then followed a party political broadcast on behalf of Fianna Fáil. Followed by similar from the rest of the parties.
While the rumpus in the chamber provided diversion, an interesting little group of people were observed in deep, animated discussion in the car park beside the plinth.
Minister for Finance Brian Lenihan seemed to be having a rather intense conversation with Beverley Flynn, John McGuinness, Tom Kitt, Noel Treacy and Seán Fleming. These Fianna Fáil deputies would not be seen as paid-up members of the Brian Cowen fan club.
There was a very fraught air about the corridors.
The Greens had gone uncharacteristically quiet. Fine Gael and Labour people tip-toed around the place commenting on the weird atmosphere. Fianna Fáil held a parliamentary party meeting which was over in little more than 10 minutes. It’s a bad sign when politicians don’t want to talk.
This was followed by a side meeting of Ministers (Greens not present).
Backbenchers scuttled off to their constituencies. “I’ve never experienced such hostility in my life,” said one rural deputy, “the people are seething. But it’s better than being up here.”
There were whispers of heaves and general elections. Meanwhile, Jackie Healy-Rae was giving his shopping list of demands in return for keeping the Coalition afloat. The Government deputies were disgusted. So too were the Opposition ones, but in a gloating sort of way.
A mad rumour went around at teatime that the Taoiseach was going to resign on the Six-One news. The interesting thing about it was that people didn’t dismiss it out of hand. The situation has become so volatile that nothing surprises anymore.
Michael Noonan and Joan Burton were briefed on the €6 billion adjustment/correction plan. Bucking the cliche, they didn’t look ashen-faced. They sounded ashen-faced.
Michael had seen the “doc-oo-mint”. The Government still doesn’t get it, he drawled. “They really don’t realise the people are pining for hope and optimism.”
Abstract is more comforting, though, when you have to do the cutting.
The Taoiseach went on the Six-One news. He did his best. Who would want to be doing his job now? It may not be the popular thing to say, but God love him. He’s a decent man. It can’t be easy, and it shows.
The hugger-mugger continues in Fianna Fáil. Nobody can predict what might happen in the coming weeks. If it were not for the budget – which has boxed everyone into a corner, it seems – matters might have moved more swiftly.
It’s a shambles. The Opposition doing a Quasimodo, running around holding their ears, quivering “the bonds! the bonds!” The homes of Donegal under siege. Government deputies on the verge of a nervous collapse. A general election a distinct possibility. Brian Cowen refusing to budge. Brian Lenihan, er, right behind him.
And a runaway train with the end of the line looming.
It’ll be one helluva bump.
