Noel Dempsey's partisan guff and bluster overshadowed the Taoiseach's speech, writes MIRIAM LORD
WITH HIS gladiatorial style, Noel Dempsey, the Maximus of Meath, doesn’t take prisoners. That made him the perfect warm-up man for a windy Fianna Fáil audience in recessionary times.
During the Bertie boom, a mixture of poetic whimsy and one-liners from John O’Donoghue was enough to get the Soldiers of Destiny in the mood for their leader’s speech. But a more hard-edged approach was required on Saturday night. But what the faithful needed was not so much a Russell Crowe, as a Russell Carp. So the backroom boys took a gamble and unleashed Minister Maximus on the crowd. There was a gasp when the Toughie from Trim stepped forward. Noel is not exactly known for his sparkling line in light patter.
Surely this was taking the whole notion of “sharing the pain” onto an entirely new level. Delegates may have been happy to allow the Bull O’Donoghue whip them into a frenzy with a few lilting lines from Sigerson Clifford, but exactly how was
Noel proposing to do it? The grassroots braced themselves. Maximus strode centre-stage, planted his feet firmly behind the lectern and let fly.
He turned in the performance of the night. It was a stiff tonic for the tired troops and just the ticket. In his wildly over the top “introduction” to the Taoiseach, Noel lunged at the enemies of Fianna Fáil and took vicious swings at the Opposition as he fought the FF corner with uncompromising pugnacity.
He howled in indignation at those who have dared suggest that his beloved party might, on occasion, have enjoyed a special relationship with builders and bankers. The delegates howled back in approval.
It was great stuff – marvellous guff.
“Friends,” began Maximus, “tonight is one of the most important nights in Fianna Fáil’s history.” With that first line, the Minister for Transport marked his territory. This was a speech of the party, by a stalwart in the party, for the party.
Brian Cowen would be along later with the touchy-feely stuff for non-believers.
Noel tore into bankers for committing “economic treason”, charging them with “reckless endangerment of a nation” and setting them on a par with Oliver Cromwell. “And even Cromwell was motivated by reasons other than personal gain.” The crowd cheered up immensely.
Unfortunately, he then had to fess up to the fact that Fianna Fáil has been in government for most of the last 25 years. This was to bolster his argument that, in a small place like Ireland, the ruling kingpins regularly bump into bankers and builders in the normal course of events. But, “that does not amount to guilt by association”. Better to gloss over the evidence that emerged from the tribunals. Best forget those recent parades of Ministers on to the plinth, fulminating about the disgraceful treatment of their party leader in Dublin Castle, while the same man sat in the witness box spinning incredible explanations for why large sums of money kept coming his way when he was minister for finance.
Bertie Ahern, back from his foreign travels, was welcomed into the hall with great fanfare and a sustained standing ovation. He had one of his dig-out buddies, Paddy the Plasterer, in tow.
Meanwhile, Maximus counselled the foot soldiers to be of good heart, even though the people are restless and angry and “much of that anger is directed at us”.
No matter, for Fianna Fáil is strong. Fianna Fáil will fight. “We cannot be defeated – because we absolutely refuse to accept the possibility of defeat.” They were also absolutely refusing to accept that they – with their long service record – might have something to do with starting the war.
Bearing in mind that this was for party consumption as opposed to public consumption, The Toughie of Trim got stuck into the Opposition. Brian Cowen never laid a glove on them.
“Fine Gael and the Labour Party will some day regret the way their danced around a wounded economy”, declared a wrathful Minister, and him a fully-paid-up member of the Brian Cowen School of Dithering Dancing.
“They have not served Ireland well in the past few weeks.” Remind us, Noel, how many years did you just say you’ve been in government? This was high-octane rhetoric from the Maximus of Meath and it put older delegates in mind of another heavy hitter who used to get their blood pumping when he did the warm-up speech.
Not since the dander-rising days of Brian Cowen had they heard such an impassioned rallying cry. They liked it.
God knows, there wasn’t much for the hardy delegates to be happy about. Even the win over England in the rugby didn’t get them going. Privately, many were conceding that “a spell in opposition would do us good”. That was a view expressed by some deputies too.
But they all knew the Saturday night drill, roaring to the rafters when Brian Cowen made his entrance. Earlier, a short video was shown of the boss at work. The choice of music to accompany it was strange, to say the least.
“If you start me up/ If you start me up I’ll never stop.” Maybe so. But is there any chance of making that start any day soon? Most people in the hall had their fingers crossed for the Taoiseach. But the build up to his speech was such that he could never really hope to match expectations.
Those increasingly tiresome invocations of Barack Obama didn’t help either. This isn’t America. Brian Cowen is not the US president. Get over it.
He delivered his speech well. Clearly nervous, but with undeniable sincerity and passion. The script was simple and cleverly written, but it was short on substance. The Taoiseach didn’t always manage to hit his oratorical marks. If he had, the crowd would have been more engaged, and on their feet more. That lack of substance wouldn’t have been an issue. When he mentioned tax increases, the audience went ominously quiet.
Full marks, though, to the young people. At least Ógra Fianna Fáil is doing something to boost the national coffers. The Cadets of Destiny posted signs around the Citywest Hotel advertising their “third-level student organ donation campaign”. That shows a level of decisiveness and a willingness to inflict pain that has, so far, eluded the Government.
On stage, the platform party was made up of youthful local election candidates, with the more hoary Cabinet members sprinkled among them. When the Taoiseach came to his rather low-key finish, they rushed forward and clustered around him. Biffo looked somewhat relieved; he didn’t have to keep kissing his wife in public for the cameras. But the scene looked a little odd. The stage had been raised to such a level that it was hard to see everyone. When the politicians engulfed the Taoiseach, all you could see was part of his face, and his upstretched arm, as he waved to the crowd. More piled in, and all you could see was his hand, rising up from the sea of people. Was he waving or drowning?