Garbhan Downey's election diary: Let PR take care of your anger

Anger, as punk god John Lydon once advised us, is an energy. But you have to be very careful about pointing it at the wrong target.

Sinn Fein have started their campaigning under the flag ‘Don’t Get Angry Get Even’, while the SDLP’s banner is with ‘Anger into Action’. Indeed, given all that’s happened in the past few months, you can see how they are hoping to tap a vein.

Líofa’s ‘Dearg le Fearg’ (‘Red with Anger’) campaign was a roaring success both with regard to raising awareness of a defined issue and in overturning a specific ministerial decision.

The big problem now, however, is that, unlike the Líofa crusade, it is not immediately apparent just exactly who we, the voters, are supposed to be angry with. And this has already led to considerable indiscipline from frontline troops, who are scatter-gunning every other warrior raising their head above a keyboard. Even the friendlies.

In an ideal world, the grown-ups in our two main parties, along with those in every other party apart from the DUP, (who, let us never forget, are solely and utterly responsible for this particular election), would devise and implement a non-aggression pact. And they would do it quickly before we descend into a free for all.

But more importantly they would agree, and rigidly maintain, a common focus on the one key issue that this election must tackle and that, quite simply, is the DUP’s abuse of power.

Two-thirds of our political representatives are now adamant that they don’t want the DUP back in government - nor will they tolerate it. So you would think it should be imperative to hammer out a plan, on a constituency-by-constituency basis, to make that a reality.

Sadly, it’s not quite that simple. In the first place, every party wants to maximise its own vote, which in politics always necessitates hitting the other guy a few licks.

Secondly, parties don’t trust one another to deliver on pacts, often with cause. Just look at the UUP’s decision to implement Brexit in the North, only weeks after campaigning against it. This was a sore slap in the teeth for their opposition partners in the SDLP.

And thirdly, and most importantly, the minute that any unionist politician comes under any pressure from any grouping that includes nationalists - regardless of the issue, from corporate theft to extra-marital affairs - he or she will immediately seek to play the Orange joker. It’s all a Fenian plot, your honour.

No transfers to the DUP

The crisis at Stormont, despite what some sections of the media (and the two governments) would have you believe, is not a nine-day spat but rather a fundamental breakdown.

The DUP have repeatedly acted against the spirit and letter of the Good Friday agreement to further their own self-interests. They milked the system until it broke, and they are finally being called to account.

On March 2, Sinn Fein, the SDLP, Alliance and People Before Profit, should not countenance transfers from their parties to the DUP.

But for the first time in decades, their canvassers should also, at least tacitly, be encouraging you to vote right down the ballot to ensure the exclusion of the DUP.

Party plumping (one, two for the ticket, then no more) won’t be enough. We need to offer up our suffering for the Holy Souls (or the Glorious Revolution) and plough right through the paper to the last non-DUP name.

Remember, the priority at this election is not just to get your candidate elected but also to stop the DUP candidate. Because, the bottom line is that if the DUP get back into power, your man or woman is going nowhere anyway.

An awful lot is riding on how the UUP will behave, however. They have the power to make or break this election. But they need to make it clear from the outset that they are serious about stopping the party they claim to have in their crosshairs.

Mike Nesbitt is the first leader of his party not to be a member of the Orange Order. Whether he will have the integrity, and authority, to refuse transfers to and from the DUP remains to be seen.

The DUP cannot get the 30 seats they need to deadlock any new administration with Petitions of Concern if Nesbitt instructs his supporters to do the right thing.

But he has to set out his stall quickly and openly. The DUP trolls are already out terrifying the children with nightly stories of nationalist First Ministers with horribly-spelt Irish names. Daddy, can you check under the bed for Máirtín Ó Muilleoir?

And it is worrying that Nesbitt is still intent on sticking the boot into Sinn Fein every time the opportunity arises. He should bear in mind that they are his only realistic prospect of getting into power this side of retirement.

This election will ultimately show the mettle of the man who performs so many flip-flops he could have his own show at Seaworld.

But, as Donald Trump would say, the time for watersports is over. Nesbitt can either hold the door open for the DUP to get back into government or he can close it in their face. There is no third option.

Setting aside grievances

Inevitably, downsizing from six seats to five means that, in certain constituencies, Sinn Fein and the SDLP will have no option but to put each other’s lights out. There’ll be a battle royale between Gerry Mullan and Cathal Ó hOisín for the second nationalist seat in East Derry, while former Environment Minister Alex Attwood, who got home by the skin of his teeth last May, will be fighting for his political life against the Shinner machine in West Belfast.

In Foyle, though, it should be a lot more civilised. In theory at least. Both parties will run two candidates (SF: probably two from Raymond McCartney, Martina Anderson and Elisha McCallion, to be announced over the next few days; the SDLP: Colum Eastwood and Mark Henry Durkan). And both are likely to return two MLAs.

And while nothing is being discussed openly, these parties are likely to transfer their threes and fours to the other to ensure they meet their quotas ahead of the DUP’s sole candidate Gary Middleton.

There is also a full quota (20 percent plus) of Independent/Left votes which sitting People Before Profit MLA Eamonn McCann should be in a position to garner.

And his chances weren’t harmed any this week when Dr Anne McCloskey, whose candidacy almost derailed McCann’s campaign last time out, said she wasn’t necessarily minded ‘to repeat the exercise’.

McCloskey, who stood on an anti-Executive platform, knows she is unlikely to improve her vote, given that everyone in the North with the exception of the DUP is now standing on an anti-Executive platform.

Moreover, she seems too principled to run with the sole purpose of damaging McCann, as she realises this could guarantee the DUP a seat.

Likewise, all the Trot-bashers sharpening their hashtags out there need to start thinking a little more strategically and identify just precisely who is their real target in Foyle.

Sinn Fein and the SDLP cannot afford to be petty here. Including McCann as a preference on their PR lists, even if he is an awkward contrarian, is essential for the common good.

Love him or not, this forgotten city can still do with a watchdog of McCann’s calibre. The alternative is another vote to put Arlene back in as First Minister.

Slán agus buíochas to ‘T.H.M.’

Martin McGuinness’s departure from the main stage, whether it’s today or in the very near future, will also bring to an end a little-known Radio Foyle coding system, devised to conceal the Deputy First Minister’s presence in the Derry station from the rest of the BBC.

The story begins more almost 20 years ago when I worked at Northland Road, and there was an ongoing issue with producers from Radio Ulster (and further afield) stealing Foyle’s guests for their much more important programmes. As soon as your back was turned, they would access the in-house computer system and raid your schedule.

You would leave Northland Road at midnight having secured a two-way interview with the Dalai Lama for 8.10am on The Morning Programme, only to discover a few hours later that some dirty dog in Belfast had seen your cues and stolen both them, and His Holiness, for exactly the time you had planned – though you could maybe still have him afterwards, if he had room in his schedule.

This regularly led to sharp exchanges between the two newsrooms, none more heated than when Belfast would poach the likes of John Hume or Martin McGuinness, leaving big gaping holes in our prime spot.

In fairness to both party leaders, though, as soon as they worked out they were being abused by out-of-town elements, they refused to play. And they would insist on doing their Foyle interviews first, on the very sound basis that all politics is local and they were proud Derry men through and through.

But this didn’t always work either as, shockingly, some of the larger stations would tell our guests downright fibs to the effect that Foyle had said it was okay for them to jump the queue. And once again, we’d be left wrestling Radio Orkney for the hind teat.

Other colleagues would even attempt to pull rank, though in fairness they never did it more than once. Manys a big city slicker was sent packing with the rejoinder, ‘If John Humphries can wait in effing line, so can you.’ Though there may have been some language in there as well.

Our presenter Paul McFadden was no dozer. And eventually, he hit upon the solution of keeping the really big interviews offline, to ensure our better-fed cousins remained in the dark as to our plans.

So, in the event of a scoop, the late-night producer was to send the morning producer a private message containing cues and set-up notes – none of which could be accessed online. And, of course, nothing would be mentioned in our nightly update-call to Ormeau Avenue.

We’d been doing this for a while when I came in to work on an early shift one day, switched on my terminal and, in place of a cue or introduction for our lead story, was written just three letters, ‘T.H.M.’ There was no sign of a private message.

‘What’s that about?’ I asked McFadden.

‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘Martin McGuinness is coming in after eight. They organised it late last night. I told them not to worry about the cues, I’d do them.’

‘So what’s this “T.H.M.” about? I don’t get it.’

McFadden tutted. ‘I’m surprised at you. It stands for “The Horse’s Mouth”.’

I laughed. That had been the newsroom’s preferred soubriquet for Martin dating back to the 1980s. And while I never knew who coined it, I could make an educated guess that I was looking at him.

Sure enough at 7.45am Martin landed in to Foyle with Dominic Doherty, his longtime press officer, and not a word of the visit was recorded in the system until immediately after the interview was finished, at which stage McFadden uploaded the story, no doubt sparking a global BBC frenzy.

The T.H.M. system was used for years thereafter and, to my knowledge, was never cracked. And if anyone ever protested at us hogging guests to ourselves, we would say we had been as surprised as anyone that Martin had turned up, and there was nothing about it in the system. Someone else must have arranged it.

I don’t know if the republican leader ever knew just how deeply he had helped us subvert the BBC processes, but something tells me he wouldn’t have lost any sleep over it.

It was a point of honour for Martin to put his home team first.

When we were brave

I only once ever saw Martin McGuinness stuck for words.

In 1993, when Sinn Fein were pushing to win a tight by-election in Creggan, they brought Gerry Adams to town for a meet-and-greet with local journalists at the Guildhall. It was shortly after the hyperactive TV reporter Roger Cook had broadcast a hatchet job on McGuinness’s alleged IRA involvement, so only three of us had been invited.

The legendary Domhnall MacDermott was there for the Journal, Kevin Lynch (now of The Independent) was representing the Sentinel, while I was the recently-installed Derry Correspondent with the Irish News. But the reality is, Lynch and myself were just window dressing; MacDermott with his massive local readership was the guy that Gerry and Martin wanted to make an impression on.

Domhnall, God rest him, warmed to the occasion. And figuring that the two Shinners would have to remain civil to him, he started to ask increasingly difficult questions about talks, truces and other touchy subjects.

‘Some people are saying that Sinn Fein will support a ceasefire, would you agree?’ he asked Adams.

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ replied the Belfast man. ‘Who are these people?’

(I’ve a notion Adams may have been puffing on his pipe as he spoke, which would have been legal in the Guildhall at the time. Though it’s also possible this could be my memory embellishing things.)

Domhnall wasn’t for backing down. ‘Do you not accept, Mister Adams, that some people believe Sinn Fein will support a ceasefire?’

Adams took a beat and looked at our man quizzically. ‘I don’t know these people,’ he said, with a definite glint in his eye. ‘Why don’t you name one?’

The rest of us knew rightly what Adams was doing and were enjoying the show. So Domhnall rose for the third time. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m putting it to you that I, personally, think the IRA could be heading towards a ceasefire. So, are they or aren’t they?’

‘Well,’ said Adams coyly, ‘I couldn’t possibly speak on behalf of the IRA, you’d need to ask them.’

Quick as a flash, MacDermott turned to Martin McGuinness and looked him directly in the eye.

‘Okay, Martin,’ he said. ‘You tell us, so. When are the IRA going on ceasefire…?’

There was complete silence for about three seconds as we all registered what Domhnall had done, then we all burst out laughing.

McGuinness attempted to shoot Domhnall his darkest thousand-yard stare, but he couldn’t hold it together and, finally, he cracked a grin.

In fairness, the Chief Negotiator took his oil like a good republican. ‘Thank you, Domhnall Cook,’ he said. And we left it at that.

But of course not a word of the above ever made the local press at the time. Whatever you say, say nothing!