Mick Clifford: Luckless Micheál Martin made to wait for his day in the sun
In 2020, when first Micheál Martin got to wear the Taoiseach’s mantle, it was a lonely occasion. Covid ensured that his family could not be there. Picture: Fergal Phillips/Maxwells/PA
A day destined to end in historic chaos began bright and shiny, perfect for a coronation. The queue to get into Leinster House lengthened out the door, heavy with Cork accents. It could have been the turnstile at Páirc Uí Chaoimh before a big match. All the indications were that the Taoiseach to be had invited half the city to travel up the M8 to witness history. And why wouldn’t he?
In 2020, when first Micheál Martin got to wear the Taoiseach’s mantle, it was a lonely occasion. Covid ensured that his family could not be there. Instead his big day was confined to a cavernous Convention Centre, stripped of the pomp, wild celebrations and affirmation that traditionally mark the occasion. This was going to make up for it.
Even the streets appeared to be coming out in his support. As is customary these days all approaches were blocked off, barriers manned by knots of gardaí, bags checked, and passes requested. This has been a standard feature in recent years in response to protests that were at times multitudinous, and occasionally turned violent at the fringes. Not yesterday. The only protest was on Moleworth Street, facing the steel gates of the House. Somewhere between 100-200 people were there to remind those inside of the slaughter of the innocent in Gaza and the West Bank.
The protest consisted of a chant of Gregorian character, renting the air with anger and resolve. “The Occupied Territories Bill,” went the line, over and over. “Enact,” went the response each time. On and on, over and over, the gardaí standing in front of them surely entitled to medals for bravery at this assault on their senses.
These people are serious and committed but their thinned ranks served notice that the time had changed from when Molesworth Street would be thronged with disaffected legions. It was as if most people felt they couldn’t begrudge Mr Martin his day at the summit.
Inside, the Taoiseach-to-be’s family took their place in the distinguished visitor’s gallery. His wife Mary, his three adult children, his brother Sean, and other assorted close friends and relatives made the journey to witness history.
Just after 11am, the new Ceann Comhairle Verona Murphy entered the packed chamber to, in effect, officiate at the ceremony to elect a new Taoiseach and then….well, the mother of all parliamentary shemozzles broke out.
It soon became obvious that the opposition had planned an attack. They were, with some justification, determined that all the shenanigans that went into forming a government were not going to be tolerated.
In particular, they had no intention of accommodating an arrangement where some of the Regional Independent Group would sit on both the government and opposition benches. Speaker after speaker on the opposition benches got to their feet to invoke outrage, and nobody does righteous indignation like Richard Boyd Barrett.
“We are off to a farcical start to this new Dail,” he thundered and continued to rise in that vein until he arrived at a dangerous height of apoplexy from which there was a possibility he might never return.
On it went, Ceann Comhairle Murphy valiantly attempting to maintain order against a riding tide of chaos. The line of the day went to Sinn Féin’s Matt Carthy who referenced Mattie McGrath, normally a highly voluble contributor to Dáil debates, but who here was part of the technical group at the centre of the row.
“This is one of the first times on the Order of Business that I have been part of, that Deputy Mattie McGrath has not had something to say.”
A guffaw rippled across the House, a fleeting moment of levity and an acknowledgement that for once Mattie had had his cough softened.
The Ceann Comhairle suspended the Dáil amid shouting. It reconvened and was suspended again, this time for a scheduled hour that turned into three. On the final occasion, Verona Murphy attempted to proceed with the election for Taoiseach but over 50 opposition deputies were on their feet roaring at a volume that would have gained major brownie points among the protestors out on the street.
In the end, the Ceann Comhairle adjourned until the morning and the day that was to be was cancelled owing to lack of civility.
Micheál Martin left the chamber like a man, one part angry and another disappointed. He stopped briefly to fill his loved ones in on the story, letting them know that they would all have to wait at least one more day before he fulfills this chapter of his destiny.
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