Cormac MacConnell: My belated apology to President Michael D Higgins
The dreadful truth facing me in these twilight years is that when I eventually and inevitably find myself standing outside the hot gates of Purgatory, I will be aware in advance that I will have to spend an extra decade and more within because, though I resided in his political constituency of Galway West for more than 20 years, I never once voted for Michael D Higgins.
Not even a stroke at the bottom of any ballot paper of the many elections of that era.
Michael D Higgins was the lone standard-bearer for Labour for many years in this Fianna Fáil heartland and, frankly, I not alone worked for Dev’s newspaper at the time, but was also heavily addicted to Fianna Fáil.
I was warmly handshaken into the ranks of the Soldiers of Destiny initially by Neil Blaney, and so my vote became a blunt instrument for the Soldiers during the elections in which Michael D was always hammered.
My vote always went to Bobby Molloy (RIP) until his defection, and later, along came Dev Óg Ó Cuív, living spit of his grandfather, and he inherited my loyalty.
It took the excesses of Charlie to eventually bring me to my senses but, by then, Michael D Higgins was a senator.
I have to say here that, even in the pits of my political addiction, I always hugely admired the gallant way in which he always accepted his defeats, numerous though they were, and plunged anew into the next battle.
There was a lot of commitment and courage there, at all times, and he never whinged or complained.
That recollection, and the manner in which he now serves us as President, prompts me today to coin yet another mighty new word —protocolics.
He is a master of that art, the skill of pushing the boundaries of the protocols that surround his high office to the leading edge of our current political issues at both national and international level.
About every busy week of his life, our President has effectively been acting as the voice of conscience, both for us citizens and for those who lead us through these difficult political minefields.
He pushes out to the edge of his envelope to address the often obscured and hurtful problems such as compassion for all those in need, here and elsewhere, and the need to deal urgently with the relevant social and economic realities around us.
That is what I mean by protocolics. It is a fine art.
It is such a shame that global politics, brutal and cruel as they are, do not permit us to loan our President for even six months to the American people.
Over there, as we all sadly know, two flawed presidential candidates are battling down in the dire gutter in the race to the White House.
It would be comedic if it were not so dreadfully dangerous — for all of us.
Because the winner will have their thumb over the red nuclear button that marks the end.
Hilary Clinton has many flaws for sure, and is neither trusted nor liked by many Americans. But Donald Trump, frankly, scares me to death and it is incredible, after all his appalling spewing, that he is still in the race at all.
But he is still in there, has a lead in some states, and nobody is saying that he cannot win the race in three weeks time.
That is frightening.
Again, it is such a shame that we cannot loan our principled, articulate, informed and compassionate President Michael D Higgins to the Yanks for even six months.
If they listened at all to his caring brand of protocolics, there is just a chance that the most powerful nation in the world could indeed become great again.
This piece, all those years later, is my apology to President Higgins for my failure to give him even one stroke during the decades when I could have done so.
It is probably too little too late but he can rest assured I will accept the punishment of that extra decade in Purgatory with the same gallantry as he displayed in his political years.
And that is the pure truth.
