After a depressing performance in the Dáil, the Taoiseach finally spoke clearly at teatime
A FULL-SCALE state of the nation address would have been surplus to requirements.
Everybody knows the nation is in an awful state.
People didn’t need Brian Cowen to waste their time by telling them how bad things are.
They live in the real world. They wanted to know what he intends to do about it, so that they might not feel so worried about the future.
It’s not like people hadn’t been patient. They’d waited to hear him for a long time.
There is only so much talk about “sharing the pain” that a body can take.
Then came the terrible shock yesterday morning, when the country awoke to hear news that the talks with the social partners had broken down and there was to be no deal on public pay cuts.
After weeks and weeks of lectures from the Taoiseach about the importance of partnership, and why it was so necessary to postpone critical budgetary action in order to have these union leaders on side, it came as a confidence-sapping blow.
An agreement, for what it was worth, would have signalled a start to the difficult process of getting the public finances in order.
So Brian Cowen kept reassuring a doubtful public. Urged on by a Taoiseach who believed passionately in securing such a deal, people were told not to worry. The wait would be worth it.
It was supposed to be done and dusted yesterday morning. Instead, it was dead in the water before breakfast.
The mood around Leinster House was grim. Government deputies were thin on the ground. Their leader’s much-vaunted partnership approach, which they had gone out to sell to their jumpy constituents, had failed.
This was not a good day for them.
Word emerged before lunch that the Taoiseach was to make a statement to Dáil at 4pm. After all the cul-de-sac talking, he was going to come into the chamber and strike out for the future on his own.
In truth, given that Cowen has been less than dynamic in his performance since the downturn tightened its grip, he would have to make a hell of a speech to restore the confidence in his ability to do the job of leading the country.
There was much speculation beforehand about what he might say. This would be a defining moment in his leadership, and the mood of the country depended upon it.
Some citizens, we heard, set the alarms on their mobile phones so they didn’t miss what the Taoiseach had to say. His statement would be broadcast live on television. Given the circumstances, many saw this as Cowen’s “State of the Nation” address.
It was only going to take 10 minutes. Not a long time, when you consider the problems facing the Government and its people.
It was such a short amount of time a rumour took root that the Taoiseach would simply go into the Dáil and declare it was time to hold a general election.
Deputies and Senators poured into the chamber. The business of the day continued.
Minister for Social Welfare Mary Hanafin was involved in a lively scrap with Fine Gael’s Owlyn Enright. Nobody was listening. Like the suits who arrived in the public gallery, everybody wanted to hear what Cowen was going to say.
How far was he going to slash? How much was he willing to burn? When the Taoiseach rose to speak, televisions and radios were turned up in homes and workplaces all over the country. It had been a long time coming, but finally Cowen was ready to talk.
God, but he was awful.
He stood and read his speech, full of the usual talk of “adjustment” and “capital investment” and “upskilling” and “stakeholders.”
It was littered with figures. It was dreadful.
Cowen muttered through his script, head bowed, a defiant tone to his voice. There was no talk of hope. No attempt to win over his audience. No spontaneity. No shred of leadership.
It was depressing.
When he concluded his speech, the Taoiseach sat down with the thunderous silence of his backbenchers delivering the most telling verdict on what had just gone before.
Had he looked to his left, Cowen would have seen the defeated expression on the faces of his Cabinet colleagues. Had he looked behind, it would have been the same. What must the people watching on television have thought?
Fine Gael’s Enda Kenny replied. His speech wasn’t anything to write home about, clearly written in advance and showing up his weakness when it comes to thinking on his feet.
On the other hand, Labour’s Eamon Gilmore wiped the floor with Cowen. Not that it was that difficult, as the Taoisesach’s speech had all the characteristics of a mop – limp, wet and spineless.
“What people want to get is a sense of where all this is going to lead, and what it means to them . . . and we still don’t know,” he thundered. This statement from the Taoiseach had been keenly awaited by the public. They expected leadership, but in his words, they didn’t get it. “The country expected you to come in today and have a road map,” he pointed out. There was none.
The Taoiseach looked downcast and weary. The mood in the House, on all sides, was heavy. Cowen didn’t stay for the Order of Business. He got out of the chamber as quickly as he could, leaving Tánaiste Mary Coughlan in charge.
Word came through that he was holding a press conference at six. Just in time for the teatime news, although viewers who witnessed his earlier performance might not have had the stomach to listen to him again. Another bite at a live television audience. This time, in Government Buildings.
At the top table, three Marys, two Brians and one John (Gormley). Sitting in the front row, six Cabinet Ministers. But only one person would be doing the talking – Cowen. Still doing it his way which, so far, had been woeful.
He bustled out to the platform when he got the signal. The place was heaving with advisers and handlers.
The Taoiseach gripped both sides of the wooden lectern and looked into the camera. He seemed nervous as he began to make his pitch. Clearly, this was going to be the state of the nation address. It’s a pity that all the advance publicity from Government Buildings pointed to it being made earlier in the afternoon, in the Dáil.
Cowen, while avoiding any of the language used in the famous Charlie Haughey belt-tightening speech, essentially disseminated the same message. We are living beyond our means.
He had no script – this was the way the handlers wanted it to be. He had to speak as an ordinary man to the ordinary man. He ditched the jargon, sometimes going a bit too much by the Ladybird book with his clipped deliveries and short words. He began one sentence saying: “So, in ordinary person’s language . . .” He kept fiddling with his cuffs.
Clearly, this was not coming easy to Cowen. “Today, we start the fight back,” he said. His tone wasn’t confident. His shoulders were hunched, his brow furrowed. You couldn’t but help feeling a little sorry for him.
Yet, there was no mistaking the Taoiseach’s passion. Everything about him cried: “Trust me. You can trust me. I’m one of you. I want to help and I have the drive and determination to do it.”
This was not really a press conference. Rather, a device to make that watershed address to the public. “We can do it and we can pull together and I am confident that we can come together” he declared. “We can work through this problem and press on through on to prosperity.” He has lots of ideas. “There’s a whole lot of initiatives we can take, and a whole lot of things we can do,” promised the Taoiseach. Perhaps he should have looked at his Evening Herald yesterday, which carried a most sensible headline: “Just Do It!”
As for the social partners, who broke his, and the country’s, heart that morning, Brian Cowen still believes in them. “It is my political belief and philosophy. It is fundamental . . . I don’t agree with political opponents that suggest to the contrary.
“I don’t agree with them . . . they’re wrong.”
Whatever about the state of
the nation, at least Cowen’s fundamentals are sound.
So why are we all so scared?
