How not to sound like a politician and yet get your message across

I’M insulted about not being asked to attend a think-in.

In the boom days, any decent think-in would have non-politicos arriving in limos to talk to them. Maybe Fr Sean Healy didn’t arrive at the Fianna Fáil think-in by limo, but he would have been the exception. No matter what party they were addressing, the external VIP speakers were the highlight of the event. They carried an aura of having seen the future and returned to tell the politicians how it would work.

Sometimes, they were chosen because they could be relied on to make points to the gathering that would not be acceptable coming from a speaker within the particular political party, which might in turn improve the chances of those ideas seeping into party policy. On the other hand, if they never got near party policy, the guys at the top table still got the credit for bringing along an advocate for the poor or people with disabilities or the arts or whatever, while the lower orders were in line for any perceived blame over the advocate’s views not becoming part of the next manifesto. The backbenchers who were interested could listen to the talk and be seen to be smart and current by asking informed questions. The backbenchers who were not interested could buzz off to the bar and have a great time ignoring the outsider.

It wasn’t a win/win. It was a win/win/win. No taint attached to the visiting VIP. Nobody ever assumed that because Joe Bloggs, CBE, came to address the think-in on his favourite topic that he had any sympathy with the political party involved. Yet, at the same time, the appearance was a notch on Mr Bloggs’s bed post, transferrable into his CV and mentioned thereafter in media despatches. It might even increase the sales of his or her books, if he or she had produced a volume or two.

Mighty, it was. But austerity put paid to a lot of speaking gigs, and think-ins came top of the list. Or maybe it was coincidental. I’m not sure the kind of TED-type change-the-world idealists who used to pitch up in front of the political party think-in would have charged that much to get their ideas in front of the movers and shakers at the time. To have a present or future Taoiseach welcoming you to inform their thinking was a hell of an accolade, so demanding money with menaces might not have seemed appropriate. So it is possible that the abandonment of the visiting speaker has been influenced by considerations other than austerity.

Parties that have shrunk in the electoral wash, for example, might be a bit embarrassed about asking a world-class thinker to address a mere handful of survivors. Parties in government, in contrast, might not want the shine taken off them by celeb visitors when they can be photographed with Barack Obama, the head of PayPal or the brewmaster at Diageo in the natural course of events. All of them might have reservations about being seen to lash money at celebs in these straitened times. Assuming that the celebs wouldn’t turn up for free.

One way or the other, I’ve missed my chance. For several years now, I’ve been trailing my coat in the hope a political party would ask me to address their think-in on the subject of my choice. The subject of my choice being “How not to sound like a politician.”

Nobody wants to sound like a politician. Politicians are the litmus test of how not to communicate. Ask any group of people what they don’t like about politicians on TV and they break out in a rash at the invitation, talking about fudging and avoiding the question and waffling.

It’s a given: we all know politicians who do this. Of course, the reality is that if you consume a lot of political media, you also know lots of politicians who don’t fudge, avoid the question or waffle. But if asked to name one, you’ll probably mention Leo Varadkar, because heuristics dictate that, just as the quickest route between two points is a straight line, so the quickest available definition of political straight-talking is Leo Varadkar. Lots of politicians in lots of different political parties are interesting, vivid, authentic and straightforward in their media communication, but once a stereotype has been established, it’s difficult to eradicate, and one of the most powerful stereotypes in Ireland right now is that of the politician communicating so badly that they sound like a politician, than which, most ordinary citizens agree, there’s nothing worse.

I’d love to have appeared at a think-in to tell all those present how not to sound like a politician, but since my chance has permanently passed, let me offer readers the ten vital rules.

1) Do not talk about anything as not being fit for purpose. Say its wheels have come off, that it’s rotten to the core, toxic, lamentable, illegal, immoral, unethical, crooked, incompetent, broken, bankrupt, built upon lies and libels, founded by fraudsters, used only by those of evil intent. Say anything but “Not fit for purpose.” You may think it makes you sound sharp and up to date. It doesn’t.

2) Do not talk about putting things in context. Just put them in context.

3) Do not tell the presenter of the programme you’re glad they asked you that question. You aren’t. Even if you are, it’s completely irrelevant. It’s your job to answer questions, not comment on them.

4) Do not complain about being invited on a programme to answer questions about one topic only to find yourself being quizzed on a quite different topic. Here’s the rule: Walk — or Talk. Walk off the programme — as Ian Paisley did countless times in his life, thereby generating headlines for himself and a reputation to match. Or stay put and talk. Moaning will do you no good at all. When you’re invited, don’t let vanity make you miss the fact that the programme wants you because of your involvement in a current controversy. If a researcher persuaded Oscar Pistorius to go on a TV show this weekend by telling him that the show is dealing with the future of prosthetic limbs, Pistorius would have only himself to blame if he didn’t expect questions about how long he expects his sentence to be.

5) Don’t mention your constituency every three sentences. As in “The voters of Upper Portlaise tell me...”

6) Do not accuse anybody of “having an agenda.” Makes you sound paranoid. And silly.

7) Do not say “To be honest with you.” What the hell else would you be?

8) Do not talk about your achievements or those of your party. We, the listeners/viewers will decide what are achievements.

9) Do not tell us you’re excited about a new policy. Get a life.

10) Do set out to be interesting, understandable and memorable.

They break out in a rash at the invitation, talking about the fudging and avoiding the question