"There are too many hallions at Stormont." That's what I was told by the woman who
cut my hair last week, who believes that this is the main issue in the election.
Hallion, for those who don't know, is the Ulster-Scots equivalent of latchico — a
chancer. It is a poor reward for a political class which has pulled off the
seemingly unimaginable coup of peace and stable government.
Less than two weeks away from the Stormont and local council elections, the
politicians are battling against a sea of apathy on the doorsteps. With peace in
place, everyone opposing the dissidents and equality of opportunity between
Catholics and Protestants, there is none of the traditional totemic issues driving
voters to the polls. Turnout is worrying most parties, particularly the unionists.
What is left is generalised discontent with the political process and a feeling that
it's a gravy train for those who operate it. My hairdresser friend railed against
the number of MLAs — 108 — suggesting that many of them couldn't get such a
well-paid job anywhere else. She felt they spent too much time squabbling and
jockeying for positions while small-business owners like her were struggling to keep
going, town centres were dying and youth unemployment was rising.
In many ways, these are the sort of complaints you would hear in any society during
a recession, and the parties aren't entirely comfortable with them. In the
introduction of Sinn Féin's manifesto, Gerry Adams, who isn't standing, tries to
raise the debate to the broader-brush issues. He foregrounds Sinn Féin's all-Ireland
credentials, epitomised by his own position as a TD. He speaks of achieving an end
to partition through a "continuous process of change". Yet when I asked a campaign
worker about the main issues coming up on the doorsteps, he said that they were
mainly local, with potholes featuring quite heavily.
To give them their due, the two big parties, Sinn Féin and the DUP, have produced
detailed economic policies which frequently overlap. Both have pledged not to
introduce water charges. Both want to lower corporation tax — the only difference
being that, as good Irish men and women, Sinn Féin would harmonise it with the 12.5%
charged in the republic while the DUP, showing a ruthless streak, would drop it to
10% and undercut the south. Both will freeze student fees.
Sinn Féin makes this look left wing while the DUP markets itself as centreright and
a party for everybody, but the difference isn't that stark when you strip the orange
or green wrapping away from many of their bread-andbutter policies. In an online
True Colours survey, the Belfast Telegraph used a computer program to match people
to the party they should be voting for based on the main economic and social policy
areas. The results so far show that about a third of self-proclaimed unionists
should be voting for a nominally nationalist party and vice versa.
Old habits die hard, so that sort of switch won't happen yet, but it encourages
policy-sharing as well as powersharing across the old divide.
It is evident that Martin McGuinness and Peter Robinson have got on well in
government and that their shared political mission is to eat into the votes of their
smaller rivals in the UUP and SDLP. Although everybody is in government together (it
was a mandatory coalition), the smaller unionist and nationalist parties complain
bitterly of an inner wheel of Sinn Féin and the DUP which runs everything.
It showed through in the leader's debate on UTV on Thursday evening, when McGuinness
spoke of his good relationship with Robinson, which would not be shaken regardless
of what the dissidents did. He talked frequently of "Peter and I", language which
probably goes down better in nationalist areas than among unionists, who are still
suspicious of his IRA past. But that too is changing, particularly for the younger
generation.
Many unionists are heartened by public displays of solidarity between the two big
parties, for instance at the funeral of Constable Ronan Kerr, where Robinson
attended mass for the first time with McGuinness and Enda Kenny. The public display
of unity, with a joint GAA and PSNI guard of honour, and even the subsequent
revelation that Constable Kerr and his family were Sinn Féin voters, were all
reassuring to unionists. They were taken as a sign that reform and power-sharing
really had brought nationalist buy-in to the institutions of the state.
The leaders' debate was a civilised affair by Northern Ireland standards, with none
of the traditional sectarian fireworks. Indeed, the only raised voices came when Tom
Elliott of the UUP taunted Robinson about praising a Sinn Féin minister, Caitriona
Ruane. There was a very clear indication that the all-inclusive executive at
Stormont contained an in-group, with an outgroup consisting of the SDLP and UUP.
They both opposed the budget and have been described by McGuinness as an internal
opposition.
On the inside, with Sinn Féin and the DUP, is the middle-of-the-road Alliance party.
David Ford, its leader, was the only politician whom all the other parties trusted
to take on the justice portfolio, which covers policing, prisons and the courts.
Alliance had long been discounted by the big two parties but the DUP received a
shock to the system last year when Robinson lost his Belfast East seat at
Westminster to Naomi Long, Ford's deputy.
The hallion factor in Protestant working-class estates played a part, translating
into a feeling that traditional politics and voting for flags weren't good enough in
a time of recession. It seemed to accelerate the DUP's drift to the centre of
politics as it stopped looking over its shoulder at the rightwing challenge from the
Traditional Unionist Voice (TUV).
Long commented on it at her manifesto launch. By voting Alliance, she said, "you not
only change who gets elected but you also change the people who aren't elected and
you move them onto your policy platform".
This may be the start of deep change in the political landscape. There is a real
chance of Eamonn McCann taking a seat for People Before Profit in Foyle. Jim
Allister, who heads TUV, could enter the assembly to oppose mandatory coalition.
Both are articulate — nobody could call them hallions — and they could help reshape
politics on leftright lines.
In the meantime, though, the problem for the big parties is motivating voters to
turn out and keep the DUP and Sinn Féin ahead. The DUP's secret weapon, which
appears on local canvass leaflets but not its manifesto or its broadcasts so far, is
the claim that it is "the only unionist party that can win" by topping the poll and
beating Sinn Féin. Voting for any other unionist party, it says, risks allowing Sinn
Féin to edge ahead and claim the first minister's post in the new assembly. In fact,
the posts of first and deputy first minister are collaborative; they have to agree
on everything they do. However, as the election draws near, the DUP is hoping to
extract one last drop of electoral juice from the old sectarian rivalries. Barring a
collapse of the Westminster government, there will then be no elections for three
years, so the big parties will have plenty of time to get to really know each other.
