Celebrity candidates are back in the news, raising the old question of what precisely constitutes such a creature. Handy shorthand for anyone who’s recognisable off the telly? Or a dismissive moniker?
The GAA, of course, owns the territory. When the revolutionary generation of political dynasties began to fade in the 1960s and prospective candidates had to find a new way in, the hot new admission ticket turned out to be sport. And it was never going to be the foreign games.
The GAA’s influence was fathoms deep (which partly explains the absence of women candidates through the decades). As well as the 15 GAA stars elected in 1969, for example, there were four GAA county officials and another 25 TDs who had been or were still active as GAA players or officials. But the outstanding GAA “celebrity candidate” of the era was already well on his way. This was Jack Lynch, “whose complete lack of a political pedigree was compensated for by having won six All-Ireland hurling and football medals”, as Donnacha Ó Beacháin put it.
Some 76 years ago Lynch was the celebrity candidate’s poster child, though no one would have pinned such a silly label on him. He had studied law by night and was a barrister but showed some respect for political craft by first declining to stand, saying he needed some experience. He went on to dominate Irish politics for many years, nine of them as taoiseach.
All of which makes him a prime example of the problem with lazy monikers and a label that lumps all candidates with name recognition but wildly varying backgrounds into the same basket. It’s unlikely that Orla Guerin’s mind wanders to that first sliding-door moment when she chucked in the coveted RTÉ job to stand as a Labour Party candidate for the European Parliament in 1994 while she ducks bombs and bullets as senior international correspondent for BBC News. She hardly thinks much about the voters who failed to look beyond the sticky “celebrity candidate” label to discern the steely courage and seriousness of purpose. But current voters might give it a thought.
The label also sticks to former agriculture journalist and broadcaster Mairead McGuinness, who went on to pursue a highly successful career in Brussels as European commissioner. Notably, Seán Kelly, born into GAA royalty and a former president of the association, who is now into his fourth term as an MEP, rarely gets lumped with the “celebrities”.
One of this year’s crop, former Eurovision presenter and RTÉ journalist turned MEP Cynthia Ní Mhurchú, is now perceived by a delighted Fianna Fáil as a model for recruitment policy. Though happy to “take any label”, as she said around the European elections, she had been a busy family law barrister for longer than her TV career. Hyper-energetic on the campaign trail, she was open to interviews of any length with a focus firmly on EU competences.
She too exemplified the silliness of the label and what it fails to tell voters. By contrast, Nina Carberry’s ascent to the European Parliament went through almost without trace.
While the champion jockey and RTÉ reality-show participant ran mainly with soft-focus social media videos, it was Maria Walsh – the other Fine Gaeler on the Midlands-North-West European ticket and a previous celebrity candidate herself – who carried the party’s exposure burden with multiple appearances on national broadcast panels.
After persistent requests and stand-offs, my encounter with Carberry’s canvass finally materialised on a day that just happened to coincide with a barnstorming appearance by the freshly minted Taoiseach, Simon Harris. With Harris devouring all available oxygen, there was little for Carberry to do but exchange fleeting pleasantries with village wellwishers. Which was undoubtedly the intention.
The tactic worked perfectly. A two-seat haul in the constituency and a massive thumbs-up for Fine Gael strategists. If Carberry’s election was a resounding accolade for celebrity candidacy – a fact borne out by the polls from the off – the question is how voters sees their role in the process. On the one hand, a celebrity profile may lure out some who might otherwise stay at home. On the other hand, what does it mean for the broader collective interest?
The label is having its moment again as two Fianna Fáil women known from broadcast journalism, Gráinne Seoige and Alison Comyn, are parachuted into the forthcoming general election. Both are experienced communicators with worthy ambitions for their distinctive constituencies. Seoige’s repeated deferrals of confirmed interviews with this paper’s political correspondent Harry McGee may well reflect a clumsy campaign strategy that seems to be focused – as Carberry’s was by all accounts – on meeting and greeting constituents.
Citing a new ring road for Galway city as her “number 1″ issue, Seoige was asked in a warm Sunday Independent Q&A how much it would cost. “It’s going to cost millions and millions and millions…,” she replied, which seemed a touch vague but remained unexplored.
Most of us love the whiff of an election. But a media tendency to focus on the horserace aspect of politics rather than the exhaustive negotiation skills that go into difficult political compromises can come back to bite everyone involved. If the end result is that voters want to hear simple solutions rather than the hard-won details (think hospitals, infrastructure, climate emergency), no one is being served, still less the democratic process.
No doubt Seoige will have her numbers to hand when next called upon. The point is that “celebrity candidates” are not all the same, to be patronised or indulged. They each warrant the same scrutiny as any new aspirant. And that obligation to respect the voter begins with political parties.