Shaun Tracey stalls outside a house in Sandyford, Dublin, where in just a few minutes he will convince a hesitant woman to lend her vote to Sinn Féin.
Before he approaches her door, he tries to articulate what is happening to the party he joined in 1997.
“They are engaged in a battle with us for the hearts and minds of working-class communities,” he says, referring to right-wing election candidates.
Tracey, a local election candidate in Glencullen-Sandyford, served as the party’s press officer for more than 16 years and is now their national administrator, so he has a good idea what he is talking about.
The topic is immigration.
“We are fighting a battle trying to deal with misinformation about Sinn Féin’s position. I had one man a few weeks ago, and he said ‘Sinn Féin: no way. You are a bunch of sell-outs’. I explained the position and when I walked away from the door he said, ‘you’ve changed my mind – a little bit’.
“There’s another family who used to vote for me and they said, ‘you are bringing a load of refugees in’ and I said well hang on, we are not in power. The problem is: is that narrative out there? Are we getting to enough people to talk to them?” Tracey says.
He’s right: on canvasses around the country, this writer witnessed multiple voters speak to Sinn Féin as if they have been in Government for the last four years. Being viewed as a government-in-waiting for such a long time has clearly had an unexpected downside, almost as though Sinn Féin has become part of the establishment by stealth.
Tracey says some people “believe some mad stuff, such as that Sinn Féin is an open borders party, that we are bringing in refugees, that it is everything for them and nothing for the Irish”.
Where’s it all coming from?
“There are people who are agitating against Sinn Féin. They are on the far-right and spreading misinformation. Their target is us, even though we are not in power.”
Tracey wins the vote of the uncertain woman not by arguing about Sinn Féin’s position on immigration but by promising her that more green verges will be left uncut to boost biodiversity.
There have been other unexpected challenges.
“Straight after 2020 we were doing public meetings with the leadership and they were mobbed. We had thousands of new members join during the general election and straight after. We were trying to process all of that, trying to get them into structures in new areas, and then Covid hit us hard. But people still have a big appetite for change. We are still above the record levels that we got in 2020.”
One part of the country where the immigration debate is not troubling Sinn Féin is Castleisland in Kerry. Here, housing is the big issue.
But one local resident – a Sinn Féin voter – is unhappy with Mary Lou McDonald.
“She’s not all that popular here now. That’s because of the referendum. Her decision to back a Yes vote was a terrible move,” they say, referencing the resoundingly defeated Family and Care referendums.
Deirdre Bell is Sinn Féin’s candidate and is surrounded by a team who appear to know everyone. Anything that moves gets canvassed – including (willingly) a convalescing man in his bed.
“It’s housing, housing, housing,” Bell says.
“I canvassed two girls that I’ve known all my life recently and they said to me ‘we are not voting’. They said ‘what’s the point, we will never be able to have our own house’. They just saw no future.”
In Dundalk, Sinn Féin TD Ruairí Ó Murchú bounds into his constituency office after a day in the Dáil, ready to go canvassing with councillor Antóin Watters who is running for re-election in Dundalk Carlingford. A faded poster of Gerry Adams is plastered to the side of a cabinet, and the walls are covered in thank-you cards: a testament to the slog put in by Ó Murchú's team, Anne Campbell and Kathleen Byrne. The latter is also running for election.
Watters is relaxed and chatty on the doors. An entire family come out of one house to detail the help he gave them after recent flooding.
Canvassing rurally involves more driving in between houses. The Irish Times asks Watters if he has noticed a difference between now and the 2019 elections. His face momentarily darkens in the back of the car.
“Yeah, without a doubt. There are a lot more of the national issues coming into play. The people who you are getting will engage with you. But there are a lot of people who don’t want to see anyone. I am finding a lot of not-ins.
“But Sinn Féin are very proactive here. People know we are not just here at election time; we are here all the time.”
His team are optimistic, but there is a glimpse of the pressure they are under in the way they ask for votes.
“Do what you can for us, obviously we are trying to get Antóin and three of our party members elected. It’ll be a hard day for us on that basis,” Ó Murchú tells one man. “We’ve put ourselves under pressure,” he tells another.
That pressure has been intensified by the recent Irish Times/Ipsos B&A poll which put Sinn Féin at 23 per cent, a steep drop from their July 2022 high of 36 per cent.
Asked about the poll, Ó Murchú identifies another factor.
“It’s very difficult to be leading a race for a long time. People, on some level, they wanted change, they voted for change, they didn’t get change. Time has gone on. We need to reinforce the idea that it can be done, that change.”
He finishes this sentence standing outside a house that has around five cars parked outside, but no one answers the door. It doesn’t faze him. Where it should worry Sinn Féin is in places like Clondalkin, a seven-seater where Sinn Féin is going all-in with four candidates.
If this was a general election, the area would be Dublin Mid West where Eoin Ó Broin and Mark Ward took 42.8 per cent of first preference votes in 2020.
Hopes are high, but many doors go unanswered and the issue of immigration is again seeping into canvasses.
“People are fearful. They say they don’t know who these people are and talk about unvetted males. But I think that’s the wrong language that people should use,” says William Carey, a sitting councillor who is running again.
“Clondalkin Tidy Towns are carrying out unbelievable work. Around 50 per cent of their volunteers on a Saturday morning are all from the IPAS [International Protection Accommodation Services] centres,” he says.
Why are people so angry at Sinn Féin in particular?
“I think what’s happened is because we have been seen as the voice of nationalism in Ireland, that this right wing nationalist voice that is out there is trying to recapture a space away from us. I think that is why they are targeting us. They are not interested in targeting Fine Gael or Fianna Fáil.”
One of the accusations thrown at Sinn Féin canvassers is that they are “traitors” and “sell-outs”.
“It’s a mantra that has been set out by the far right, that by accepting migrants into the country, you are somehow betraying a nationalist principle. I personally believe that the ideals in the Republic as it was laid out in 1916 was about justice for everyone in the country and accepting people into the country. We have become an easy target for those who are, in some cases, out and out fascists,” says Carey.
He believes Sinn Féin will recapture the 80 or so seats lost in 2019 and that, on a good day, Sinn Féin could win around 225 seats.
Daithí Doolan, one of two EU candidates for Dublin alongside Lynn Boylan, is also out in Clondalkin. He put a lot of thought into his decision to run but, with a son and daughter moving to New York and Barcelona respectively, he felt the time was right. Even though he was polling at three per cent, he is undeterred.
“I was not fazed by that. I’m the only one of the serious players, for want of a better word, who is not in the Oireachtas or has been in the Oireachtas or been an MEP. That’s what I am up against. I need to put myself out there.”
He certainly has the energy for it as he charges from door-to-door with a direct pitch: “This is about positive progressive change and dislodging Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael. We want them out of Europe, out of local government and out of Government.”
Sinn Féin knows, though, that the route to power might well involve Fianna Fáil or Fine Gael. What’s interesting is that they don’t shy away from that, even when presenting themselves to the electorate as an alternative.
“I think we’ve had to have realistic conversations ourselves on that. If Fianna Fáil are prepared to support our policies and the emphasis we want to put then we will happily accept. To be honest, we wouldn’t be in favour of Fine Gael given their policies but if it came to pass, it would be the same thing,” William Carey says.
For now, it is incidental.
In Waterford City South, veteran councillor John Hearne topped the poll in 2019. Locals credit him for his work in places like Larchville and Lisduggan, areas which were previously described as some of the country’s most disadvantaged.
Standing in an estate in Lisduggan, where a new green area grows in front of the houses, he says: “it wasn’t long ago that there would be bonfires blazing”. After working with gardaí and residents to tackle antisocial behaviour, it is serene on a sunny evening.
In nearby St Francis Court, Hearne pitches in with local volunteers to paint the bungalows which house the elderly and disabled, while a centre on site is now equipped with a gym for the community.
The sense of pride in the area is evident, with the Larchvillle Lisduggan Residents’ Association crowned All Ireland winners at last year’s Pride of Place Awards.
Drinking tea in his home, Hearne is reluctant to get dragged into national debates.
“I come from a time when Sinn Féin were at two per cent. All we want is a chance. One go. How bad would it be to give us one go?”
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