MIRIAM LORD on the canvass with George Lee: The other parties hoped the hysteria about Fine Gael's candidate would die down. It hasn't
THE FINAL set of posters have gone up. Lozenge-shaped, with yellow letters on a blue background.
“Vote for George.” There is no surname. How’s that for confidence? Or is it presumption?
It usually takes years for a politician to arrive at the political nirvana of first-name status. Charlie. Albert. Bertie. Enda. Michael D, to name a few.
It’s a rare privilege.
And now it seems George “The Superfluous Lee”, has joined that exalted company. Fine Gael cheekily reckon their candidate in Dublin South has made such an impact on voters that he has already burst through the first name recognition barrier.
This is not a normal election. Even if the Government is getting hammered on doorsteps everywhere and opposition politicians might expect a warmer than usual reception, it’s not a normal byelection.
It’s Disney politics. If Carlsberg did elections . . . they’d being doing Dublin South.
How to draw a comparison? Think Charlie Haughey in his heyday, fighting off the aul wans in Donnycarney. Think Bertie in his prime, cresting the waves of admirers.
A couple of hours on the hustings with George, and you begin to wonder what his main rivals did in a past life to deserve him. Labour’s Alex White was motoring along nicely and favourite to take the late Séamus Brennan’s seat. Shay Brennan, flying the flag for Fianna Fáil and his father, looked an outside bet.
Until the former RTÉ economics editor – chief hand-holder of the coping classes – announced he was standing for Fine Gael. Such an entry. He couldn’t have made a bigger splash had he belly-flopped into the Liffey from the roof of Liberty Hall. “It’s only 28 days since he made his announcement,” says Brian Hayes, TD for Dublin South West and the candidate’s campaign manager. Clearly, every one of them a joy for the besotted Hayes, who has been wafting around in a state of euphoria.
But four weeks is long enough for the initial madness to have passed. The other parties conceded they couldn’t fight that early hysteria but, latterly, they began to suggest the contest was settling down.
Wishful thinking, by yesterday’s evidence. And in the middle of all this is Just George. The Superfluous Lee.
First stop is Nutgrove Shopping Centre. Alex White is outside the front door, politely greeting passing shoppers.
Inside, George is doing a walkabout with Hayes and local deputies, Alan Shatter and Olivia Mitchell. The three of them are battle-hardened politicians. They know the territory of the frosty stare, the muttered rebuke, the slammed door and the vicious insult. They have known defeat.
But here, even though Shatter and Mitchell will ultimately become constituency rivals of George, they and Deputy Hayes can only stand back and marvel. It’s Disney politics, and they have entered the Magic Kingdom with Prince Charming.
Bustling Brian goes ahead, gathering the willing women (mainly women) and propelling them towards the candidate. “Here’s George now. Oh, delighted to hear that!”
They tell him things about themselves. He listens. What do you think, George? Tell me, George. He leans in and tells them what he thinks. “I love him!” trills a lady in a blue cardigan.
It’s all about the economy, and their worries and fears for their families. They are angry with the Government, and politicians in general. He talks and talks. They blush. There’s a lot of blushing.
A lady is sorry that he left RTÉ. Thought he was more useful there. “It’s so serious now, I just felt I had to play a different role. You’re constrained by television.”
At SuperValu in Churchtown, Deirdre de Búrca of the Greens is at the front door. The Fine Gael crew hover a few yards away. Deirdre introduces herself and hands out her leaflets. It’s not going too well. One woman shoots a poisonous look at the leaflets. Deirdre does her spiel. The woman is holding a small cauliflower in her hand, like it was a shot putt.
We hold our breath. Mercifully, she holds on to the cauliflower.
It isn’t helping Deirdre when the same people look up and make a beeline for George. Even the elderly lady who told her “politicians – you’re all a load of gangsters” is simpering at him.
Alex White lands with Brendan Howlin in tow. Brendan banters with the politicians and then effects a tactical withdrawal of the Labour troops.
A few men stop to discuss the economy with The Superfluous Lee. You can imagine the opening pub gambit: “Like, as I said to George Lee yesterday . . .”
And so, to George. It’s all a bit unreal, isn’t it? He says he doesn’t know. He’s been getting a good reception, but “some people are saying that next time it will be different”. Cynics, like journalists and politicians. People who worry that George will be eaten up and spat out by the system. It’s a worry. “I still trust people,” he says. Bless him.
The commentariat is divided between those who think George is an innocent abroad, and those who think George might be an innocent but is also a driven man who is passionate and sincere and could confound the doubters.
His self belief is overwhelming. “I am going to speak out and I don’t care if they don’t like it.” He notices the raised brow. “I WILL!” He worries. He can’t understand why the government would put banks before people. He talks of ushering in a new era of responsibility.
You can hear the hope in people’s voices. But are they expecting too much of one man? Even if he is Just George, The Superfluous Lee? Time will tell.