THE MAKEOVER is almost complete. The green-drenched party trailing the far-left credo and the whiff of cordite is virtually unrecognisable.
But it’s hard to dislodge the ghosts of history. A cameraman is proudly sporting a T-shirt with the outline of a revolver and the message “Guns don’t kill people /People with moustaches do”. And when the big backdrop starts to emit smoke and a whiff of melting material during one of Pearse Doherty’s lengthy perorations, one war-veteran photographer claims to have heard a “pop” before making a craven, crab-like movement towards the door.
To much hilarity, a hopeful Shinner yelps, “We’re burning the bondholders!”.
Sadly, it’s only a spotlight placed too close. When a second one sends up more smoke a few minutes later, a few of us start eyeing the open windows, estimating how far it is to the ground. When the third and last one is switched off , we have only the magnificent, glittering chandelier in the way of lighting . . . which is something you don’t often get to say about a Sinn Féin gathering.
Which brings us back to the makeover.
The intriguing location is the National Gallery extension, in a lovely Farrow Ball-painted, Georgian boardroom under that sparkling chandelier from Russborough House, and graced with some very large, serious paintings. Fianna Fáil would doubtless be accused of sending dog-whistle signals to certain donors if it hired a room dominated by a portrait of the dandy offspring of a property developer – in this case, John Rogerson, scion of Sir John, who gave his name to a Dublin quay . . . But look, we’ve all moved on. Right?
The new dress code is anything but green. The colour is banished entirely from the platform party and virtually gone from the room. Apart from the smoking backdrop, the only flash of green is the smoking (but very pale) green jacket of Théresé Ruane, one of two SF candidates in Mayo and a sister of Caitríona up North.
The “fear a’ tí”, as he dubs himself, is Gerry Adams, looking sharp with a good, neat haircut and very white teeth, flanked by new fair-haired boy Pearse Doherty and Caoimhghín Ó Caoláin . On the cold side of the three – on the fringe to Doherty’s right – stands Mary Lou McDonald, the party’s vice-president, carrying off the cool, elegant, grande dame look with a well-coiffed head and glittery, multi-stranded necklace. It’s 40 minutes into the press conference before she gets a word in, which may or may not mean something.
Adams’s blanket declaration early on that the economy is in crisis “because of political choices being made by a deeply corrupt – and I couldn’t stress this enough – a deeply corrupt, political elite” sets media teeth on edge.
Who exactly is corrupt? “Well, the tribunals didn’t come out of nowhere. The people who created the banking crisis . . .”
Can you name them?
“No, I can’t name them. You know who these people are . . .”
But who?
“Bad government, and apart from the team led by Caoimhghín, the bad opposition which means bad government . . . which FG and Labour went along with by facilitating this recent budget”.
But does that make them corrupt?
“It makes them compliant in what is wrong . . .”
Would you include political parties in the list of the corrupted?
“Absolutely. Individuals clearly are corrupt but I wouldn’t be about naming them.”
Members of the current Cabinet?
All of those who will in due course be found out by the tribunals, he says.
But surely making bad political decisions doesn’t necessarily amount to corruption?
“Well, when you keep makin’ them, keep makin’ them, and keep makin’ them and then when you come in in the course of an election and it’s as if you’re tryin’ to make a virtue out of necessity . . .”
Would you include those people who voted for the bank guarantee in your list of the corrupt?
Somehow, oddly, the question never gets answered – unrelated surely, to the fact that “the team led by Caoimhghín” actually voted for the guarantee?
Anyway, the new finance top dog is young Pearse and the boss makes no bones about it, implicitly admitting he made a hames of economics issues by handing over all such questions to Pearse. “Well, Pearse is our finance spokesperson – and isn’t he very good at it?”, he says, as though showing off a pet offspring. The 41 candidates applaud enthusiastically.
On the way out, Larry O’Toole graciously shakes the hand of the gallery’s events manager, Sinéad Leahy. “Thanks very much”, he says, “even if we nearly burned the place down”.
But it’s hard to shake off the hand of history. A few hours later, up at the Royal Hibernian Academy , the Greens are calling for reform of the political funding system by cleverly staging a graphic presentation of corporate donations to parties. This takes the form of large wads of banknotes piled up according to the size of each party’s cash pile in proportion to its Dáil membership.
Fine Gael’s pile positively towers over the others. The Greens’ is minuscule. “The Galway tent has been replaced by the Castlebar campsite”, says Trevor Sargent. A bit clumsy maybe, but it’s doing the job until we cop on that all the parties’ wads are designated in (fake) euro notes except for Sinn Féin’s. Their pile is in (fake) Northern Bank twenties.
John Gormley looks ambushed when asked about it during the press conference. He looks at Trevor. Trevor looks back: “It’s legal tender!” he protests innocently.
Yeah, right. It’s not Trevor’s fault the media are easily amused on a wet Sunday.
