For 'Elite' read 'Emigrant'

I wonder why the government hasn’t learned from the Nice and Lisbon referendums? Nobody wants to see even more money wasted by having to give the right answer next time. The electorate doesn’t like being told what to do; and we have good reason not to trust government in general. The supposed saving of €20m is nothing compared to the amount that will be spent on the new privately appointed committee experts, as proposed by Richard Bruton TD recently.

The chronically insulting aspect of the Seanad Abolition Referendum is the Yes/No option. A reduced and reformed second house of actual experts, as opposed to failed TDs is an alternative. But the Taoiseach won’t engage or debate an alternative proposal.

There’s a lot of talk of ‘elitism’ about the Seanad, yet the unions have nomination and voting rights, almost twice that of the universities. The Socialist Party launched their Yes campaign recently, citing figures for graduates eligible to vote in particular Postal Zones. As you’d expect, Dublin 4, a densely populated area including Irishtown and Ringsend and many rural migrants, has markedly more university panel votes than Dublin 10. Dublin 4 is also twice the size. Similarly, the numbers in Rochestown, Cork, outweigh those of Ballyvolane.

What’s disingenuous about this extrapolation is the suggestion that everyone who has a vote is ‘elite’. Any graduate of UCD, UCC, TCD, NUIM, NUI Galway can be one of the six candidates and vote. Or simply, anyone who worked hard to get into college, took a part-time job or two, paid their way, somehow studied and passed exams. Does that make every social worker, nurse, secondary teacher an elite? The architects who’ve studied for at least five years and have lost their jobs? Not every graduate is the offspring of an affluent dynasty.

It’s easy to slap the label on all graduates, easy to demark society by people’s earnings, by those who try but can’t find work and those who claim benefits. But the main problem with the Seanad is the political appointees; all candidates should be drawn from a broader category base. Why are there eleven senators on the Agricultural Panel and eleven on the Labour Panel, with only five on the Culture and Education panel? Why isn’t there a computer science panel, a medical and legal panel?

The Seanad simply requires reduction and reform. As does the Dáil and, if anything, the Dáil needs more so called ‘elite’, professionally qualified practitioners, industrialists, thinkers and do-ers and less school teachers on long term leave.

I took a straw poll of fifty people on my email list, equally divided between men and women, most are sole traders, some are doing something different to their ‘celtic tiger’ job, some are retraining or planning to emigrate.

Within a day I had twenty replies: Yes to Abolition: 4; Unsure: 1;   No: 15

The fifteen who will vote No were very clear why; the alternative is non-transparent, unsafe, wide open to corruption and ultimately jobs for the boys.

I was a first-time graduate at thirty-three, with two small children and a part-time job. I didn’t bother with Seanad elections, there was too much paperwork and I didn’t know any of the candidates, there were other things to worry about. It wasn’t until the last election, when my children were old enough to do my research that I voted. I asked my sons to go through the list and choose someone. On the basis he was well qualified as a cancer surgeon, ie. he might know a thing or two about medicine and he was donating his Seanad salary to cancer research, we picked Professor John Crown, who has since drafted a reasonably sensible Reform Bill. Both of my sons have now finished college, the youngest has a Seanad vote, the eldest does not. Does that make one penniless son elite and the other one, with a Cork girlfriend who has a vote from UCC, bitterly cynical?

The reality is that our ‘elite’ university graduates won’t be here to vote, they will all have emigrated.

Sent to the Bold Room

As I walked up Molesworth Street, I could see the placards and averted my eyes crossing Kildare Street. Somebody beeped their horn and the crowd laughed and cheered. They called themselves Pro-Life. The images of babies in the womb were raw and upsetting to someone who has lost a baby through a fatal abnormality. To someone, who is in fact pro-life.

Up Against a Brick Wall

At the committee Hearings into the Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill, I sat making notes quietly on my iPad until the stern usher approached and asked me to put it away, I explained it was just a notebook and I had no pen, he went away, checked with his boss, came back with bald usher and said as I’d no pen, I could do it just this once.  Couldn’t help notice Michael Lowry pop in to listen, David Norris sat in front of me and caused a furore over his use of the word ‘buffoonery’. Chairman, Jerry Buttimer took no nonsense, especially putting manners on John Crown when he used the opportunity for stand-up comedy.

On day three I sat alone in the gallery, forgetting to bring paper this time, I started to make notes on the iPad, a baby-faced usher approached from the far side of the room; I explained it wasn't connected to wi-fi, baby-face turned into very cross face. Then a chief usher was called, this sinister looking man sat down beside me and asked how I was. I smiled, 'I'm well thank you’.  I clearly don't get out enough, apparently his question was a polite way of saying ‘stop what you're at immediately or I’ll take it from you’.

One of the sisterhood came over from the press gallery and asked me for coffee and said they’d try and get me in there, seeing as I was a free-lance writer. Great, I thought, at least I'd have some company.  In the canteen, Mary Banotti very kindly told me she heard my radio interview on her way to Galway and had to pull in to the side of the road to listen quietly. That was very touching. So, there I am up in the press gallery, delighted with myself, surrounded by friendly people; journalists who tell me they’ve been tweeting about me. I only wish I’d made news for something more joyful. Next thing, the all-seeing baby-faced usher is on to me like a light, 'you can't come in here without a press pass,' he says. Even the redoubtable Ms Banotti can’t persuade him. And I’m escorted away.

‘Can I just get a press pass?’ I ask, reasonably.

We bump into one of the Indo’s leading journo’s and he asks her to deal with it. She takes me under her wing. I explain my interest in the hearings, ‘will you do a piece for us?’ her eyes twinkle.  She passes her phone to me outside in the sunshine and I talk to her editor, ‘I’ll have something this evening’, I promise, anything to get back to the fun side of the House.

Now that I know where the canteen is I make my way unescorted, there are no prices on anything, I don't know a single person but they all look familiar, someone asks who I am, 'I heard you were here,' she said, and introduces me to her colleague, they invite me to their table, we go to pay, the food is weighed! I ask do we get a calorie count on the receipt, that is not, apparently, funny. I sit with Senator Ivana Bacik, Kathleen Lynch, Cork TD and Ciara Conway, Waterford TD. It feels truly surreal to speak openly about something that has for so long been so private.

Turns out a press pass is just going to take too long, so I return to the gallery looking at the back of Frank Callanan’s head, along with that of Judge Catherine McGuinness, Dr Maria Cahill, a woman who is far too young to have such extreme right wing views and a doctor with the most alarming duct tape eyebrows (I see them on the monitor).

There are some legal students sitting near me, smart suits, shabby shoes and little notebooks. Stern usher tells them to put away their phones.  Of course, we are only using our phones for tweeting, like John Crown, who tweets all day during the Hearings.

I surreptitiously tweet that my iPad is banned. Bald usher is down on me now like a ton of bricks.

Indo Journo, Lise Hand, pops in with some news. She says I can watch the remainder of the Hearings in the Press Room and write my piece. I follow her down labyrinthine corridors to Fionnan Sheahan's office and I'm given a desk, I face the wall.

I am in the Bold Room.