Support for treaty muted even in Cowen country

Even with the Taoiseach and Garret FitzGerald canvassing together, the going is tough for the Yes campaign in Co Offaly, writes…

Even with the Taoiseach and Garret FitzGerald canvassing together, the going is tough for the Yes campaign in Co Offaly, writes  Kathy Sheridan.

THE BILLY Goat Gruff persona has clearly taken a hike for the bank holiday weekend . . .

Jacket off, short-sleeved stripey shirt nodding to Saturday informality, every pore exuding grace and geniality, Brian Cowen's canvass around his county capital is a masterclass.

Accompanied by Dr Garret FitzGerald, the two never quite link arms but the mutual liking and unity of mind and purpose are palpable.

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Unlike his predecessor whose galloping "Ah, the hard man"-style repartee strangled any chance of a meaningful exchange, Cowen's canvassing pace is considered enough to invite questions.

For two intellectual heavyweights, the Lisbon canvass must be a hard station. "It's about the enlargement of the union . . . We were just nine countries in the EU, now it's 27 . . . It's about showing solidarity with the new nations . . . The Referendum Commission has outlined the issues in a cogent way . . . This goes beyond party politics . . . It's very important not to be misled." Repeat ad nauseam.

And following accusations of arrogance against Yes people and talk of punching elder statesmen - ie Dr FitzGerald - on the nose, do your damnedest to repeat without sounding exasperated, weary or dismissive. This is a neat trick when the sixth citizen of the day boasts gaily of their ignorance either because "no-one is telling us anything" or "everyone is telling us something different".

Garret looks rueful. "It's terrible . . . The reason we have representative democracy is because direct democracy has great problems, especially when you are asking people to master complex details. This is a very difficult way to ratify a treaty . . ."

So he concedes that goodwill is what is needed to carry the referendum but remains clearly bemused that anyone should doubt the bone fides of its promoters. "This is a skilfully negotiated treaty. All our interests are protected. No international treaty has borne the mark of Irish involvement as this one has," he adds, crediting a slew of politicians from all parties. "No treaty has been so well designed for Irish interests."

Should people take more responsibility for informing themselves? Cowen says carefully that "people are very busy in their lives . . . but they're well disposed towards Europe".

He believes we will act according "to our higher motives and the selfless character of the Irish people . . . I'd appeal to the young to show idealism, to show solidarity with their peers in the newly joined states, to recognise the wider sense of the landscape in which we are operating, sending a signal that will be understood . . . A No vote will not be understood . . ."

The two make a formidable pair - the starry, cerebral aura around Garret evoking one kind of response, the urbane down-home approach of Cowen evoking another.

Their mutual fan club goes back a few years. A similar joint canvass during the Nice treaty referendum went so well that a picture of the two of them emerging from a Tullamore bookies was used on FitzGerald's publicity for his last book, which in turn was launched for him by Cowen.

So would Garret have come out to canvass with Bertie if the latter was still Taoiseach? "Yes, I would have done it with Bertie Ahern . . . But um, let's say I'm doing it with more enthusiasm at this stage . . . I believe it's much better now. He [Cowen] is a social democrat, an able person . . . But of course, no-one is perfect. We all have our own problems. We all react in particular ways and don't always put the best foot forward . . ."

"We always got on well," says Cowen later, describing Garret as a man "of ideas, one with a rational intelligence . . . who always wanted to debate issues".

In fact, so comfortable are they together, that this reporter wonders whether these joint appearances might not trigger some dangerous notions. Like what are the chances of a Fianna Fáil-Fine Gael merger, since there is little essential difference between the parties now?

"I don't think it's an issue we can resolve before the 12th of June," says Cowen with a grin."We are at the beginning of a new dispensation in Irish politics in terms of the island," he says, musing on the recent dramatic pace of chance.

"How things develop in the future we can never predict . . ."

Mmmh. So you're not ruling it out? The famously loyal Fianna Fáiler's eyes widen and there's an alarmed laugh: "I'm not ruling it in . . . Jeez, I can just see the headlines now . . ."

Meanwhile, behind the geniality, there are serious intimations of Lisbon negativity around Cowen country. Both sides talk privately about the near impossibility of motivating activists. "It's very hard to get people out and motivated, very hard," says one wearily. "I get a sense of more negativity now than last week," says another.

The call on the faithful to assemble in Tullamore on Saturday morning only arrived at four o'clock the day before, due to some uncertainty about Dr FitzGerald's schedule, said Paul Stephenson, Fianna Fáil's director of organisation for Offaly.

That may - or may not - account for the poor showing of elected officials on every side. Only three out of eight Fianna Fáil county councillors showed up for what should have been a high-profile canvass: Noel Burke from Edenderry, Danny Owens and Barry Cowen from Tullamore, plus a couple of town councillors, John Flanagan and Sinéad Dooley, who also happens to be Cowen's PA.

As for Fine Gael, without deputy Olwyn Enright and her father, Tom (himself a veteran of five decades in the Dáil), plus three or four supporters, the ranks would have looked very thin indeed.

By now, we've pitched up at a café where fireman and Dublin football legend Charlie Redmond is taking a break with nine mates from a 300km sponsored cycle in aid of a cystic fibrosis unit at Beaumont Hospital.

Among them is fireman Jimmy Walshe, who lost a six-year-old son to cystic fibrosis and whose 21-year-old daughter also suffers from it.

The Taoiseach, happily ensconced beside Redmond, encourages the media to meet the fundraisers, despite the fact that their very presence highlights the official neglect around such cases. What can it all mean?