Celebrities can go from paragon to pariah in politics
Here’s a good pub quiz question, with the additional merit of having a moral. In June 2009 there were two by-elections in Dublin: in Dublin South, RTÉ economics editor George Lee was elected for Fine Gael by 17,000 votes; in the other, the party’s candidate was resoundingly defeated. Who was he?
The answer, of course, is our beloved Public Expenditure Minister Paschal Donohoe, beaten for the second time 15 years ago, on that occasion by Maureen O’Sullivan in Dublin Central (where the second runner-up was future Labour leader Ivana Bacik).
He went on to storm that seat in the 2011 landslide and has been at the top of the tree since.
When he is not an evangelist for the centre, Saint Paschal is a poster boy for that essential political quality of stickability — an area in which poor George was conspicuously lacking.
For younger readers, George Lee was at the pinnacle of his career in RTÉ at the time and was garlanded for his analysis and wise counsel.
Before his year of absence was out, however, he had scuttled back to the mothership amid complaints about the money TDs earn and the lack of respect shown to him by Fine Gael grandees.
Inexplicably, they hadn’t welcomed with open arms a political parachutist with scarcely concealed designs on their plum jobs.
Once elected, it was clear George was an outlier, marked apart by his naivety and sense of entitlement. One of the Fine Gael TDs assigned to woo and cosset him likened the RTÉ man to Christ arriving in Jerusalem, surrounded by cheering crowds, his path strewn with palm leaves.
I texted him when there was a delay in the chosen one’s arrival into the Dáil chamber; “his donkey has gone lame”, was the grumpy reply.
Although it’s 15 years ago, George was the last of the real “celebrity” candidates, elected because of his TV profile. RTÉ was then at the height of its powers and its economics editor was in his pomp, having been seen — rightly or wrongly — as tut-tutting his way through the boom that was just then visibly unravelling.
True, the tsunami election two years later saw some high-profile individuals unexpectedly thrown up on the Dáil beach, but that was entirely due to the economic collapse and the extraordinary political context which it shaped.
In the recent European elections we saw two candidates elected who had an RTÉ background. One of them, Cynthia Ní Mhurchú, hadn’t been on our screens for many years, and had carved out a successful career as a barrister. That didn’t stop her Fianna Fáil handlers describing her as a “former RTÉ star” of course.
The other successful “celebrity” was former midlands correspondent Ciaran Mullooly, whose departure from the station was much more recent. Ciaran is nobody’s fool, and I believe he had his eye on a political career long before he left RTÉ.
He knew he had to put the boot into his former employer after its year of scandal and he did so with gusto. RTÉ remains a toxic brand for any candidate; an association to be overcome rather than exploited.
But name recognition is everything in the sprawling Euro constituencies, and Ní Mhurchú and Mullooly had “former Eurovision presenter” and “former RTÉ man” as hooks to remind voters with scant interest in politics who the candidates were.
In truth, it is a stretch to describe either as celebrities. One had a 25year career at the bar behind her, while the other had amassed a wealth of contacts through his work as a correspondent and his time as a community worker.
Things may be different in the contest for the Dáil now Gráinne Seoige and Alison Comyn are limbering up.
In their favour, they have worked hard for whatever profile they have achieved.
I remember Alison Comyn 30 years ago as a lively BBC reporter and newsreader in Belfast and since then she has never been out of work.
Likewise Seoige, who has worked for all the main channels here and has strong roots in Galway West, where she hopes to run for Fianna Fail.
Politics, though, is a hostile ecostructure for those used to the media cosseting that goes with the world of freelance celebrity.
Much television is essentially a marketing construct; how many times have you been disappointed by a documentary or a series that had been preceded by extravagant claims in its publicity campaign?
Likewise with the personalities that populate our TV screens. They are invariably wonderful fun to be with, live
For most, a career in politics is no longer either desirable or attractive — the economic crash and social media have seen to that
in a gorgeous house, have succeeded in their career against the odds...
Going directly from that world into politics will involve a noisy and painful change of gear.
Anyone who thinks that is the real world has a rude awakening coming in Leinster House. The two Fianna Fáil hopefuls are, I am sure, well aware of the pitfalls that await them, but our political system remains uniquely adversarial.
A former Tory MP reminiscing recently about his time at Westminster observed that the only real allies he had who he could rely on to watch his back were fellow parliamentarians.
That may be so where there is only a single MP for each constituency, but it certainly is not the case in Leinster House where every TD is a potential rival, for votes, preferment, the leader’s ear... the list goes on.
Since the days of George Lee’s transfiguration the political scene has radically changed.
For most, a career in politics is no longer either desirable or attractive — the economic crash and social media have seen to that.
Despite decades of lip service to family-friendly hours, life as a TD for anyone with young children is uniquely difficult.
In terms of social status, the status of a Dáil deputy has gone from paragon to pariah in some communities.
That could get worse. Sinn Féin absorbed some of that toxic energy, but the decline of the party means more independents with populist outlooks are set to be returned, whose interests won’t lie in the direction of fostering respect for our institutions.
For all that, good luck to Gráinne and Alison. Win or lose, it won’t be boring.
We all admire exemplars of persistence and stickability like our Paschal, but Leinster House has room for TDs who come late to the idea of elected office.
With 14 more seats, it will be an even bigger Dáil in any event and, I’ll hazard a guess, one that will contain more than its share of surprises.