I attended my first party of diplomats on the past 4th of July at US Ambassador Rooney’s estate in Phoenix Park. I was in my glory, amidst cultural comforts of hot dogs, American flags, football, and the hundreds of important people who had gathered to celebrate the birthplace of my home country. After three hours of volunteering at a temporary tattoo booth, where I placed stars and stripes all over the arms, hands, and faces of youngsters, I was ready to meet the ambassador. Confident, I set off on a mission to shake his hand. I found a foreign officer with a headset and when he heard my goal, brought me to a lineup of elderly women dressed in big sunhats and men in expensive-looking suits. I shook his hand and told him I was from New Jersey, he smiled, said, “Very good,” and moved down the queue of handshakes. A little defeated by the lack of grandeur, I shuffled off to the side of the square, and watched the crowd for a while.
Suddenly, a shot of excitement seemed to go through the mass
of people in one particular corner, near the tent with the open bar. Cameras,
shouts, and a quick storming of people pervaded the area, and I asked someone
next to me what was happening. “It’s the Taoiseach!” they exclaimed. I felt
silly, not having registered that the head of the Irish government might make
an appearance at the lavish affair. I was still a little deflated from my
simple handshake with Ambassador Rooney, so I hurried over to the nucleus of
the commotion and became next in line to greet the Taoiseach.
I stuck out my hand, smiled, and gave a hearty introduction
of my name, nationality, and reason for coming to Ireland. A tall man with a
sharp nose and even sharper suit firmly shook my hand and pulled me in for a
polite (though somewhat intrusive) embrace as several photographs were taken.
He, like the Ambassador, asked what state I was from, and upon learning the
answer, asked, “How’s my man down in Jersey?” I was confused for a moment until
he clarified, “The Boss.” I was
awestruck that the Irish Taoiseach was a Bruce Springsteen fan, something I
associate with American pride, red bandanas in blue jeans, and my own
upbringing. He said he was looking forward to Bruce’s concert, and again, I was
shocked by how normal he seemed. It seems so human and blue-collar to go to a
Bruce Springsteen concert, and not at all a glamorous evening out for the
political elite. After our minute-long bonding session over New Jersey’s hero,
he moved onto the next handshake, the next introduction, the next conversation.
I was dazed, to say the least. For an American, meeting a
political figure is a big deal, let alone meeting the President. I have a few
friends who met President Obama and my father met Senator McCain the first time
he ran for presidency, but I myself have only met lowly legislative assistants
on a lobbying trip when I was 16. Meeting the head of the Irish government is
something I’ll always remember because it’s so unlikely that I’ll ever have the
same experience in America. The beauty of Irish politics is how localized and
intimate it is, because common people can get involved easily and without
travelling very far. This, to me, is a major difference between the Irish and
American political systems. In the US, there are parties, news channels, and
witty t-shirts that get voters involved. Here, in Ireland, there are actual people
and personal connections that put a living, breathing character into political
figures. Aside from interviews and a revealing New York Times article I once
read, I will probably never learn about Obama’s taste in music, and definitely
not from a primary source. After two weeks of living in Dublin, I had an actual
conversation about a music artist with Enda Kenny. In America, we like to think
that our government is “of the people, by the people, for the people,” but I would
say that Ireland clearly has us beat when it comes to using people to build
relationships between political figures and the public.
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