Terry Prone: Time for politicians to bin those bréaga phrases from vocabulary

Those are the proper things to say. Sorry for not buying in, but honestly, do you think Ivana pulled down a pike from her thatch before facing Verona? The level of threat not only wasn’t red, orange, or yellow — but was so low it didn’t merit a colour at all.

The other funny thing was that Sinn Féin, who might be expected — given their branding — to understand Irish, being so slow on the uptake when the Taoiseach slid into that language.

Many people who have never willingly uttered a focal as Gaeilge since they escaped school, nevertheless remember “ag insint bréaga” in much the same way that they remember “leithreas”, as in: “An bhfuil cead agam dul go dtí an leithreas?”

But the Sinn Féin folk took a while to work up to their double-take. Fun to watch on playback. Fun, that is, for your columnist who probably needs to take remedial classes in gravitas.

Whenever politicians — of any party — suggest that the plain people of Ireland are running a fever because of something said in Leinster House, it’s rarely true.

Politicians believe the eyes of the world are on them every minute of every day and, God love them, it’s a belief supported by internet trolling. The point is that while elected individuals can be lamentably tormented, their experience does not multiply into constant national attention to the whole process.

Any attention to the goings-on in the Dáil is sporadic, unrelated to the gravity of the topic under discussion, and frequently driven by entertainment value or dearth thereof — as president Trump, his lads, and Samantha Mumba worked out a long, long time ago.

Up to the point where Samantha intervened, for example, Eurovision had merited maybe a two out of 10 in terms of being talked about, with most scrutiny going to whether or not the unfortunate dog in the song had come home alive. (It hadn’t. Dead, yes, a long time afterwards.)

Samantha swept all that aside and redirected the public and media gaze. But then, Samantha has form. She always had something of a genius for grabbing public attention.

Perhaps 20 years ago, off the top of her head, she described Twink as “Barbie’s grandmother”, a categorisation nearly as likely to last in public memory as Twink’s advice to her then-husband. Samantha’s phrase made everybody think of what Barbie looks like and what Twink looks like.

This is one of the great skills of good communicators: They make you visualise something in your head, which in turn makes it more likely you will remember it. In this context, we won’t quote Twink’s advice but, in fairness, it did have the same outcome.

That’s the thing politicians, particularly if they’ve been in power since God was a girl, tend to forget.

The value of any communication lies in its outcome. The relevant questions, when you seek to judge the valence of a statement or appearance, are simple: Did it attract actual attention (as opposed to concentration on the part of political correspondents who have no choice but to make notes)? 

Secondly, did it get picked up and reused? Thirdly, did it change attitudes and behaviours? At least 90% of political communications can’t successfully answer those questions, and politicians don’t notice the lack of outcome — firstly because they are too busy. Politicians work incredibly hard. The other reason they don’t notice the outcome of what they said is that — if they are in Government — they are surrounded by advisers willing to aver that whatever got said to Clare or Miriam was “really strong”.

This means the sum total of damn all. It’s the verbal equivalent of comfort food. Little real nourishment, it just makes you fat and raises your inflammation level.

The communication of our TDs and senators would be greatly improved if they reconsidered, and in some cases removed, the following five usages from their vocabulary:

‘I have said before’

So? Repeating yourself doesn’t make it more true. Indeed, if you have to repeat yourself, that’s pretty good evidence it didn’t land the first time around. 

In your own non-political life, if you’ve ever had a friend or relative who announces what they’re saying with reference to them having said it before, don’t you find them high on the boredom scale?

Of course, “I have said before” isn’t the worst version of this trope. The worst version is: “I have said many times.” Even if you were our teacher — and thank God you’re not — quoting your repetitive self would not add to your credibility or memorability.

‘Bhí tú ag insint bréaga’

What follows is not in specific reference to the Micheál Martin incident. This did, at least, entertain us by outing the rules of what you can say on the floor of the chamber.

I don’t get why this bréaga thing figures in those rules.

Let’s assume the following, again not in the Taoiseach’s case. If a TD makes a statement an opponent sees as false, why is it unacceptable to tell them, on the way to disproving them, that they’re “ag insint bréaga”?

And if the inference is drawn that uttering lies, by extrapolation, makes of them a liar, how is that unfair? They can prove the truth of what they said or (if it’s genuinely not true) prove they said it in ignorance/innocence. It’s only when they do one or the other that the initial characterisation becomes offensive, no?

‘As Taoiseach...’, ‘As Tánaiste...’

Well, stuff that. No, seriously, stuff it. 

The ones who supported you know the job you got and are happy with it. The ones who didn’t support you also know the job you got, and they are not any more impressed with you when you rub their nose in your title. The uninvolved just think you’re an insecure eejit.

‘Evidence-based’

Stuff a politician likes.

‘I get that’

This is where some member of the public makes a complaint about the system not working, or an advocacy group does so, and a Government spokesperson intends empathy.

Funny thing is that, in real life, the rest of us don’t try that one.

If a pal says they’re ashamed of how much they’re drinking or fed up because they had no power for three weeks after that storm with a more peculiar name than Musk inflicted on his kid, what decent friend would say: “I get that” and then move on to prove they don’t?

It’s up there with “I know how you feel” as a way to escalate mild irritation into an incandescent fury worthy of Patrick O’Donovan.