Devolution countdown : Seamus returns to the fast lane
From NEWS LETTER November 30th, 1999
GEOFF HILL
They came in charge of wheelie bins, and left in shiny limousines. But before
the new ministers of Northern Ireland's first government in a quarter of
a century could be elected, there was the small matter of whether Seamus
Mallon existed or not. Mr Mallon, as you may remember, had resigned as Deputy
First Minister on July 15 in a moment of justifiable depression that anyone
who understood Ulster politics was missing the point. However, now that
the Assembly was up and running on the Prozac of devolution, the Alliance
party wanted Seamus back. The DUP, working on the basis that anything Alliance
wanted must be wrong, opposed them. And some of the rest weren't sure if
Seamus had actually resigned, or simply offered to. Now, you or I might
think that the solution is simple: ask Seamus if he resigned, and if he
says yes, then have a vote to re-elect him. But that would be too quick
and easy, for it seems that politicians, like dodgy plumbers, like to be
paid by the hour. As a result, most of the afternoon was spent in learned,
and some less learned, argument about whether or not Mr Mallon's resignation
could be revoked. In the middle of all this sat Seamus himself, looking
like a man holding a standby ticket for an overbooked flight full of air
rage victims. Finally, he got fed up queuing, and stood up. ''This motion
is not about me, either as a politician or a person,'' he said, confirming
what critics of Margaret Thatcher have long suspected, that the two life
forms are mutually contradictory, like military intelligence or Scottish
football. ''It is about the Agreement ... and the imperative is the implementation
of that Agreement.'' Stirring words. They certainly stirred Peter Robinson,
who leapt to his feet (which were clad in a pair of tasteful black Oxfords,
since you ask) and denounced Seamus as the Minister for Loopholes and Back
Doors. Well, that was too much for Gerry Adams, who accused the DUP of being
a bunch of recidivists with no vision for the future. ''I appeal to you,
Dr Paisley, in the twilight of your life and your career, to think of the
children of the nation,'' he said. Ian Paisley, who has had it straight
from God that he will live long enough to make Methuselah look like Adrian
Mole, chuckled mightily. But not for long, because soon, like all of us,
he had dozed off as Cedric Wilson launched into a detailed history of the
Troubles during which he once, quaintly, accused Mitchel McLaughlin of being
a draft dodger because of his lack of active involvement in the IRA. Shame
on you, Mitchel. Now, where were we? Ah yes, about as wide of the mark as
Bjarni Herjolfsson was in 996 when he set off from Iceland to visit his
dad in Greenland, missed it completely and discovered America. Oh dear.
By this stage I seemed to have lost the point myself. I had obviously spent
too long at the Assembly. In any case, by this stage it was almost time
for tea, with not a child in the house washed or a Minister in the House
elected. Finally, as the rumbling of stomachs threatened mercifully to drown
out yet another Point of Order, the vote to revoke Mr Mallon's resignation
was taken and carried. The members rose, and Seamus tore up his bus pass
and went off for a nice hot cuppa and a chocolate digestive, safe, at last,
in the knowledge that he would be going home in a ministerial limo. |
