What's in a name? Everyone is hung up on the naming of Lucinda Creighton's new party, writes Caroline O’Doherty
You gestate for what feels like forever, a brand new life slowly taking shape inside you, testing your nerves and stamina to the limit, while all around you expectation builds.
Then when you finally, agonisingly, push your creation out into the world, kicking and squealing with vibrant newness and wondrous potential, all anyone is interested in is what you called it.
What did she say? Is that Irish? How do you spell that? What’s wrong with John or Mary, I’ll never know.
And so Lucinda Creighton gave birth to the country’s newest political party, swaddled in cute primary colours and carrying the promise of all newborns to keep the denizens of the Dáil awake at night — and yet it seemed nobody could get past her decision to call it Renua Ireland.
Granted, it is a moniker that comes with questions. Such as: Did the Google search not show up the boiler service company in Monaghan with the same name? Or the Dingle health food shop? Or the trad band from West Cork? Or the medical devices firm in Carson City, Nevada?
Where exactly Lucinda got her inspiration from is unclear but the links to the spanner wielders of Monaghan are appropriate given that her new party/movement/alliance has been on and off the boil so often these past 18 months that it was bound to be in need of a good service.
Now that it’s fully fired up, the test of its efficacy is whether it generates more heat than light, which may be a good thing in the case of a boiler but not so encouraging when it comes to political parties.
Certainly, on its first day on Earth it belched out clouds of frustration. It has its pro-market Progressive Democrat eyes and its socially conservative Fianna Fáil nose but the wail sounded a lot like the battle cry of an election-conscious Fine Gael.
So who did it really take after? And what was it going to cost? Don’t tell me she hasn’t factored in the cost of swaddling the self-employed in tax breaks, rattling the trade unions, or buying nappies for civil servants weeing themselves in fright at the prospect of losing their jobs-for-life guarantee. Typical new parent. Hopelessly unprepared.
It is kind of nice to see new life coming through though. Here, give us a proper look. We might even ask to hold it for a minute. Maybe even until the next general election.
© Irish Examiner Ltd. All rights reserved