In the end, what resonates is the unfulfilled potential of an era that promised so much.
Leo Varadkar came to power as the country was engulfed in a process of social change, propelled by grassroots activism and protests led mostly by LGBTQ+ people and straight women. This was an era of great empathy, of meitheal, one which gave people space to think and evolve, and to have sensitive and mature conversations.
Ireland was illuminated internationally, aglow in the positivity that there was hope for societies battered by crash, recession and austerity. We bucked trends, emerging from the brutality of a shattered economy with ground-up movements that fought and won, including the water charges movement. People became politicised. Hands reached across aisles. There was a sense that maybe we could do things differently after all.
And yet, while we were marching, the country was changing for the worse. The ways in which Fine Gael’s neoliberal policies undercut the desire for an equitable society – a society in which people can rely on a caring State and a helpful government, and basic things such as shelter are within reach – has caused huge damage. Varadkar presided over this. The social cohesion that was built by ordinary people participating in progressive change has taken a battering. Conditions were created – primarily the housing disaster – that fostered a festering resentment. Anger and disenchantment took hold, there was an erosion of trust of Government, in institutions and the media. This period saw the growth of a vicious and violent far-right movement.
When he resigned, the public saw Varadkar in a rare authentic emotional state. There were even notes of humility. And yet back in the Dáil, he continued to lean into the type of rhetoric that lacks empathy. “That perfect country that has no problems, it doesn’t exist,” he said, “it only exists in fairy-tales.” The old Varadkar had returned, now drained and unenthusiastic. Holly Cairns rose to her feet: “I think one of the biggest problems this Government faces is just not being able to acknowledge the issues that people are facing. And to refer to them if they were addressed as fairy-tales is farcical ... it’s not a fairy-tale to be able to own a home in this country.” Varadkar, head down, grimaced and blinked.
As he quit, he seemed to say there was nothing left in the tank, that his leadership was no longer a net benefit for Fine Gael. But Varadkar is also fulfilling the prophecy of the cynics: that he would jump ship once things really started to fall apart. There is no way he would be able to lead his party on the other side of what will be disastrous local elections for Fine Gael. He is now part of a pattern of Fine Gael TDs leaving in their droves. A third of their TDs have thrown in the towel, and there are likely to be more.
Battered, bruised, in existential crisis, Fine Gael is trying to conjure the belief that it’s turning a corner, while to many people it looks like an entity in free fall. In a “private” meeting, Varadkar sounded a retrospective warning: perhaps he had risen too quickly, his leadership premature. Sound familiar?
[ Una Mullally: Too many conifers, too many sheep, too few birdsOpens in new window ]
Enter Simon Harris, pitched as the great reinvigorator. He’s enthusiastic, young, energetic, ambitious and believes his own hype. This is very similar to Varadkar’s initial leadership trajectory. The Blueshirt bubble has titanium panelling; it’s an echo chamber inside which the confirmation biases of the self-satisfied bounce around.
In many ways, they are making the same mistake with Harris they made with Varadkar, convincing themselves that the personal ambitions of an individual are compatible with broader long-term strategy.
The biggest gap in support between Fine Gael and Sinn Féin is in Leinster-minus-Dublin. Harris will appeal to some younger suburban and commuter belt families. Harris is affable (at least publicly), much less socially awkward than Varadkar, and tends not to run his mouth. But these are also serious times, and they require experience, authority and gravitas. Are these the three qualities most associated with Harris?
Last week was a rollercoaster in Irish politics, with the political sphere and media reeling from an ‘earthquake’
His social media activity has been viewed as a plus, despite the fact that Fine Gael has slightly backed away from a “strategy” of politicians acting like influencers. Not Harris, though.
“Whatever your interest is, whatever your age is, there is a book out there for you,” was a Big Tubridy-energy gem for his Instagram followers three weeks ago on National Reading Day. Does this connect? Perhaps. But his social media cheeriness feels vacuous, broad and anodyne. People want housing and health policy that delivers, not infantilising ChatGPT-like content.
People who are rankled by Fine Gael’s love affair with the superficial are not going to be won over by Harris’s “live, laugh, lead” online persona.
One of the huge existential issues for this Government is that there is an authority gap as well as a connection gap. There are credibility issues across the board. That’s not just down to a toxic brand of criticism online and off, it’s actually that a lot of people just don’t take them seriously. There’s a lack of respect in the air.
Last week was a rollercoaster in Irish politics, with the political sphere and media reeling from an “earthquake”. Strangely, I don’t think the broader public felt such tremors as deeply. When a show outstays its welcome, it’s difficult to make people care about a change in the cast.