The presidential race, once expected to be a tame affair, now finds itself distilled into a contest between two very different women — and two very different visions of what the Áras should represent. After the weekend’s political drama, one thing is clear: the race for the presidency has become a mirror for how we think about truth, leadership, and the kind of Ireland we want to project to the world.
The implosion of the Fianna Fáil campaign — a calamity for the party and its leader — has left many within the organisation privately relieved, if publicly embarrassed. In recent weeks, Fianna Fáilers admitted to me through gritted teeth that they would “do their bit” on the doors for a candidate few believed in. Now, they won’t have to. The reminder of failure will still feature on the ballot paper and hang from telegraph poles until the posters come down, a visual reckoning for a party that once prided itself on discipline and electoral nous.
But the story of the weekend is not only about party collapse — it is about the importance of good journalism. The reporting that exposed inconsistencies, challenged spin, and forced accountability reminds us why the press matters. Without probing questions and a commitment to truth, the public would be left navigating the fog of press releases and wishful thinking. The weekend’s revelations were uncomfortable, but they were necessary. Democracy only works when mistruths are uncovered in time, not tidied away after polling day. In this regard, respect for the role of the press and the media is still necessary. May it not be eroded as it has been in many other countries.
Now, the campaign narrows to two sharply defined figures. One is an accomplished parliamentarian who did not really expect to be here — coaxed out of political retirement to answer her party’s call, re-emerging as the reluctant standard-bearer of stability and restraint. The other is a strident, articulate, bilingual Galwaywoman — fluent not only in Irish but in conviction — who has long wanted the job and whose considered, sometimes unsparing and unpalatable opinions have won her respect and derision in equal measure.
Two candidates, two temperaments. One who just a year ago walked away from politics after a lifestime of loyal service to party and community; the other who has been walking toward this moment for years. Between them lies a set of questions as old as the presidency itself: how badly do you want this gig, and why? How will you represent us? What will you say about us? How refined is your judgment?
This election is not about ceremonial duties. It is about what the office can symbolise. The presidency has limited powers, yes, but it can still signal who we are — and how we think. Do we want a cosy consensus in the Áras, or do we want a voice that challenges us to see ourselves more clearly? Do we seek another caretaker of national civility, or someone who can speak, with clarity and courage, for a changing Ireland in a turbulent and constantly shapeshifting world?
The last four terms have seen presidents who were outward-looking, moral and social commentators rather than mere hosts. To retreat now — into the polite irrelevance of the 1960s and 1970s, when the Áras was more retirement home than national platform — would be to step backwards. The next occupant should not deal in puff platitudes or soft talk. We need articulation, not accommodation.
If this campaign has also marked the demise of the celebrity candidate, that is no bad thing. The idea that a public figure with name recognition but little political grounding could glide into the presidency now looks naïve. Voters have grown weary of image without substance. The humiliation of one campaign may, in time, save others from the same fate.
This is a crucial lesson as the next election after this on the horizon could be a possible bye-election in Galway. But more on that anon.
As parties lick their wounds and get ready for the final straight, this contest becomes a test of both conviction and authenticity. Barbs have been flung at all candidates and most have been batted away. In the coming two weeks, voters will have to decide what kind of president Ireland needs: the reassuring hand of continuity, or the sharper edge of conscience.
Either way, there will be twists and turns. What will remain — on the ballot paper and in the public mind — is a reminder that truth still matters, and that the presidency, for all its constraints, can still tell us something vital about who we are.
