IF THERE has been something oddly half hearted about the making of promises during this campaign, it may reflect the strange sense that the parties do not quite expect anyone to believe them.
Most of them have used their party political broadcasts, not so much to make pledges as to apologise in advance for their lack of credibility. The message, almost universally, has been not so much "Trust us" as "We know you don't trust us but..."
All the game plans have been defensive. Fine Gael's main broadcast is the notorious cowboy film of an idealised middle class suburban home (entirely untouched by jammy fingers) being wrecked by the builders from hell. What is most striking, however, is the complete absence of politicians in the film. The party evidently decided that John Bruton fixing the camera with a look of deep sincerity would be less effective as an appeal to the voters than a cross between High Noon and Some Mothers Do Ave Em.
Democratic Left has gone even further, putting Proinsias De Rossa on screen but making great play of the fact that he is not allowed to say anything. In its ingenious film, the main character is the antithesis of sincerity or even authenticity, Brendan O'Carroll dressed up as a middle aged and indefatigably sceptical Dublin woman.
The party's answers to her accusations are put into the mouth of her clownish sidekick. Again, the hidden assumption is that the voter is more likely to believe a comedian acting the eejit than the party leader acting sincere.
Labour, likewise, manages to leave Dick Spring out of its main broadcasts. It does use politicians, but none who are Ministers or Ministers of State. Its films lay all the stress on clientelist politics. The message is simply that the party's TDs are good workers on the ground who deliver tangible benefits to their constituents.
The Progressive Democrats have opted for a rather less clever version of the same defensive strategy. Their main broadcast is studded with actuality of disillusioned members of the public sounding off about their lack of faith in politicians, including one woman who threatens to tear up her polling card.
Not quite having the courage to go as far as Fine Gael and DL, however, the PDs attempt to answer these complaints with what is clearly meant to be a soulful sidelit Mary Harney promising change.
Even here, though, the lack of conviction is startling. Instead of showing Mary Harney at her passionate best, on her feet in the Dail, they manage to make her look as if she is reading a script that someone else has written from an autocue going at half speed.
The only major party which has chosen to try to sell its leader as uniquely credible and trustworthy is Fianna Fail, which presents itself unapologetically in its broadcasts as the Bertie Party. Its film on crime, for instance, does not even mention its justice spokesman John O'Donoghue, whom most voters would be likely to identify with the party's zero tolerance policy. Even in this presidential hard sell, Fianna Fail, too, implicitly accepts that voters do not trust politicians.
Thus, one of Fianna Fail's broadcasts begins with a lingering shot of the Oireachtas register of interests, a tacit acknowledgment of the cynical view that politicians are "in it for what they can get out of it". We are told that a few entries on the register stand out for their brevity and the camera focuses in on the two line entry for Ahern, Bertie.
This is a rather bizarre strategy, implying as it does that there is something inherently untrustworthy about those members of the Oireachtas who have a long list of entries after their names. Since many of the names with long entries that we see in this shot are those of Fianna Fail TDs, the message seems to be the rather ambivalent one that Bertie Ahern is at least more trustworthy than some of the members of his party. As a vote of self confidence, it is hardly inspiring.
Then of course, the largest party in the State, Fianna Fail, is running on the basis that it is not really a political party at all. Its slogan is "People Before Politics", which means presumably that mere politics is somehow unworthy of the voter's trust.
When the parties themselves are so deeply diffident about the value of their work, how can they expect the electorate to be enthused?
