THE START of Fianna Fáil’s pre-Dáil think-in and sing-song went off quite well yesterday. Nobody died, although the near riot on the lawn was a bit unfortunate. And those images of police officers with their batons drawn, pushing back elderly farmers as they screamed abuse about the Government, mightn’t have been the image party headquarters wanted to project.
Nevertheless, under the circumstances, Taoiseach Brian Cowen could have looked far more depressed than he did as he briefed the media inside the Hodson Bay Hotel, while farmers were being rugby-tackled by Templemore’s finest outside on the lawn.
As for Brian Lenihan: with those doleful panda eyes, he looks pale and worried at the best of times.
He inadvertently came out with the quote of the day at the evening press conference to report the progress of the party’s deliberation. He was, as always, talking about Nama, and his role in its establishment. “This is a very important economic initiative. And I will be responsible at the bar of Leinster House and Dáil Éireann for it,” said Brian.
Never mind the fact that a nation worries about Nama – if Brian can’t sell it to the boys in the Dáil bar, then it’ll be curtains for everyone. But it’s nice to know that he intends to be responsible at the bar, no matter what. (Upon further examination, it was decided that Senior Counsel Lenihan was employing a legal term.)
The rank and file were buoyed considerably when they heard their Taoiseach tell them that he knows he needs to do better, and is “determined to justify to the last ounce the great confidence this party has reposed in me”. On the negative side, they didn’t really get the weather they wanted for the photos, although most of them were afraid to come out into the open in case of snipers.
There was further bad news when deputies and Senators were informed that, due to the continuing unpleasantness surrounding The Bull O’Donoghue’s expense account jaunts, they will not be able to claim danger money for attending this year’s think-in. This, in turn, threw the sing-song into doubt.
At least the students, who came along to protest a number of hours after the farmers ran amok, were well-behaved. Some suspicious souls in the media alleged this was because the party threw drink into them before they left the college bar.
This is untrue, and purely down to annoyance among the press corps because FF wouldn’t let them use the hotel leisure centre. (Probably worried about photos of Ministers draped in robes swanning out of the massage rooms.) As parliamentary party members met in private during the afternoon, a journalist wondered if it would be possible to use the swimming pool. There wasn’t a sinner in it. Word came back from on high: “Fianna Fáil said that they were the only ones to use the facilities.” And people say the party has lost the run of itself after so long in power?
Fortunately, they chose a hotel situated on the side of a lake – if they stuck to their word about the facilities, at least the lavatory situation wouldn’t be a problem.
Given their unpopularity, they arrived expecting trouble, and they got it. It was 10am when the klaxons sounded. Time froze for a fraction, then all hell broke loose.
Action stations! You could really feel the love at this Fianna Fáil think-in. To enhance the mood of informal embattlement, they drafted in heavy duty security for the occasion. The Soldiers of Destiny are on a permanent war footing these days – just because they’re paranoid doesn’t mean everyone’s out to get them. But, as a political species, they look a particularly haunted lot at the moment. Sirens shattered the morning silence. This is it, boys.
Hired help positioned at the entrance roared orders, well-drilled in the exercise.
“Lock Down! Lock Down!” The hired muscle dived for the doors. The politicians dived for cover. The police dived for the farmers, and the farmers dived through a gap in the fence. There were submarine overtones for this lakeside gathering. Certainly, the protesting farmers wanted to give Fianna Fáil Das Boot.
There were scenes of pandemonium as the marauding farmers made for the hotel entrance. Despite all their numbers and their vans and their boat and their control centre with its huge satellite mast, the Garda couldn’t contain 300 farmers.
Mind you, things looked bad enough without pictures of men in zip-up Fair Isle cardigans getting hit by batons. The farmers were angry and physical, but they weren’t dangerous.
One garda was rather embarrassed when she found herself having to body check her uncle.
“Come outta there! Come outta there yis f***kers!” they roared. One man in a suit and maroon tie and black moustache looked was the image of Mick Bailey, but the speculators have yet to turn nasty in these pre-Nama days.
The melee was worse than the aftermath of the hurling final. It finished when farming leaders pleaded for calm, saying they would bring their message to “the boys inside”.
The protesters had carefully planned their demonstration, right down to the burger van which arrived ahead of them to provide sustenance. They also knew they could get near the hotel by driving along a public road to a council carpark right in front of it.
After they had made their point, and shaken up the deputies and Senators inside, they turned around and left. There was only one way in and out.
The hotel – former family home of the Lenihans – the late Brian and deputy Mary – is at the end of a road leading to Lough Ree. (It’s supposed to have a monster. That’s all FF need.)
“This road goes nowhere. It’s a dead end,” explained a local farmer.
Which explains a lot about Fianna Fáil’s choice of venue.
