When Simon Harris pops up on my phone saying he is going live on Instagram, I find it difficult to ignore him.
I think it must be because I have a lot of leftover loyalty to the Minister for Further and Higher Education, Research, Innovation and Science since he led the previous government’s campaign to repeal the Eighth Amendment. I can’t understand it otherwise.
“What are you doing?” I ask myself every time. “Would you ever stop?” But then I click through anyway. Can’t help it.
“Simon Harris is going live,” my phone tells me every few nights. I try to carry on with my evening activities – drinking wine, eating crisps, flicking through photos of the fun I was having and taking for granted this time last year – but more often than not I go in to see what Simon has to say.
Now I’m at the stage where it feels unlucky if I don’t click in. So I have to. Bad things might happen if I don’t. Well, even more bad things, if you know what I mean. If that’s possible.
Sometimes people just say 'thank you, Simon, smiley face emoji' or 'I wish you were still minister for health, heart eyes emoji'. That last one happens a lot
On a good night he’ll have 700 to 1,000 people watching. Lately, he is usually windswept, out on one of his 100 days of walking jaunts. One night, during recent atrocious weather, he was outside in the lashings of rain in the dark telling us the latest news from pandemic central. I watched raindrops falling down the bridge of his nose and wondered about his umbrella.
The other night he was indoors, either just back from a walk or about to go on a walk. I knew this because he was wearing a sports top with a familiar logo on the chest.
He always looks tired. People say it in the comments.
“You look so tired, Simon,” they offer, like they are talking to their mate down the pub. Which is what they might be doing in happier times instead of watching Simon Harris on the Instagram Live and commenting on the dark circles under his eyes.
Simon sort of says pretty much the same thing every time but gives different numbers on different days. Cases. Deaths. Hospital admissions.
“Look,” he says. “I just thought I’d come on and talk to you about what’s going on.”
“Look, wanted to come on tonight to tell you a few things.”
Look. Do not ask me why but Simon Harris on Instagram Live is comforting in a way regular politicians’ pronouncements are not and cannot ever be. He tells us about that day’s cases and about the vaccination roll-out. He tells us to mind our mental health. “It’s okay,” he says. “Not to feel okay”.
It’s an interesting thing, watching what people say to Simon Harris on his Instagram Live. “Thank you for your positivity, thumbs up emoji.” (And it’s not a passive-aggressive thumbs up either, it’s the thumbs up that means “grand”, or “fair play”.)
This is not a normal way of living, he says. Sometimes just getting out of the bed is success. But there are reasons to be hopeful. Please mind yourself. Please stick with it
Or sometimes they just say “thank you, Simon, smiley face emoji” or “I wish you were still minister for health, heart eyes emoji”. That last one happens a lot.
They talk about his hair. Some people think he needs a haircut. Other people – bald people I am assuming – are envious that he has so much of it. Sometimes, people take the opportunity to tell him what a terrible job they think the Government is doing.
But more often it’s “thank you for all you are doing Simon, prayer emoji”.
As Simon Harris talks, a steady stream of love hearts careen up across my phone screen, and this means many of the people watching are liking what he has to say.
The other night, as he spoke, there were more people than usual talking about the 5km restriction.
“Get rid of the 5km.”
“We’re so sick of the 5km rule.”
“End the 5km rule.”
“Sick of it now going along like muppets.”
“5km going on too long.”
These were starker, darker messages. No emojis here.
“There is a lot of depression now.”
“Really not coping anymore.”
“I know,” Simon says wearily, and it’s like he’s there with them, feeling their pain instead of in his kitchen in Greystones, about to boil the kettle.
“I know,” he says. “We’re at this a bloody long time. But we’re making progress. Don’t let all the doom and gloom and negativity drown out the positive things happening.”
He tells us people are feeling fragile, that it’s okay to feel low.
I know what some of you might be thinking. Cop on. It's a Fine Gael politician on Instagram Live. Reach out, me granny. And yet some people appreciate it
“This is not a normal way of living. Sometimes just getting out of the bed is success. Look, I’ve always tried to be blunt with you about the good and bad. There are reasons to be hopeful. Please mind yourself. Please stick with it.”
“You are never ever alone, and no matter how you feel right now you can always receive support. Don’t leave each other alone. I’m worried that you can become introverted because you can’t physically see lots of people. Have a Zoom chat. Reach out to people”.
Look. I know what some of you might be thinking. Cop on. It’s a Fine Gael politician on Instagram Live. Reach out, me granny.
And yet some people appreciate it. Take comfort from his words. Especially those with no emojis left to give. He tells them there’s a number where they can get help. “Just text hello to 50808. Mind yourselves,” he says. Then he’s gone until the next time.
Look, I know. But any port in a storm is the way I’ve decided to look at it. We’re at this a bloody long time.
For free 24/7 support in a crisis, free-text HELLO to 50808