THERE HE IS - WHOOSH
There he is - whoosh!
BY ADRIAN MULLAN
THERE was an unseemly scramble to get pictures of the Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern, when he visited Omagh for two hours this day last week. Television camera crews from RTE, the BBC, UTV, and a host of journalists from other companies vied, first for the best film shot, then the best still, and then the best comment or question.
The local civic leaders were there as usual, and crisply pressed suits, highly polished shoes, and gold plated chains of office could be seen glistening in the cold afternoon, as the Taoiseach made his way, almost at a canter, between the site of the blast, and the Garden of Remembrance.
Passing the Community House he met students from local schools and received a copy of the book, 'Images of Omagh'. He also had time to shake hands with the former EU Special Fund and Council Chief, John McKinney, the Chairman of the Community House.
The tour, including a stop-off at Drumragh Bridge to answer questions, lasted a total of about eleven and a half minutes. A shout of something akin to 'Go on home you bastard' could be heard emanating from landcruiser drawing a trailer over the bridge. But the consensus was that the driver had mistaken one of the security men for the Taoiseach.
After much elbowing and forcing forward in the scrum, a journalist with a Dublinish accent managed to thrust his microphone in front of the Taoiseach's face to ask, "Why has it taken you five years to come to Omagh?"
The Taoiseach softly reminded him that he'd been in Omagh several times since the blast. The reporter wasn't in the least bit embarrassed that he hadn't bothered to do his homework.
The game on these occasions is not accuracy, nor news, nor even public interest: It's getting to the touch-post; getting to the visiting VIP, asking a question; being seen to ask a question; better still, being filmed asking a question. The hope presumably is that some of the celebrity of the VIP will miraculously pass between interviewee and interviewer.
Those longer in the tooth could tell them that no such transfusion of status, power or celebrity, ever takes place. The ghost of aspirations past whispers, 'Cast away ambition for by it fell the angels.'
Such occasions do separate the wheat from the chaff, few if any, of the jostling journos, ever win their journalistic 'John Pilger' spurs. There are no exclusives on days like this, unless someone decides to turn it into a Kennedy moment, and even then, the real work starts after the affair.
Everyone knows that real journalism is done in the offices of small regional newspapers in glamourless rooms by dedicated reporters, analysing speeches, pouring over old documents, making hundreds of phone calls per week...and perennially avoiding the limelight!
BY ADRIAN MULLAN
THERE was an unseemly scramble to get pictures of the Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern, when he visited Omagh for two hours this day last week. Television camera crews from RTE, the BBC, UTV, and a host of journalists from other companies vied, first for the best film shot, then the best still, and then the best comment or question.
The local civic leaders were there as usual, and crisply pressed suits, highly polished shoes, and gold plated chains of office could be seen glistening in the cold afternoon, as the Taoiseach made his way, almost at a canter, between the site of the blast, and the Garden of Remembrance.
Passing the Community House he met students from local schools and received a copy of the book, 'Images of Omagh'. He also had time to shake hands with the former EU Special Fund and Council Chief, John McKinney, the Chairman of the Community House.
The tour, including a stop-off at Drumragh Bridge to answer questions, lasted a total of about eleven and a half minutes. A shout of something akin to 'Go on home you bastard' could be heard emanating from landcruiser drawing a trailer over the bridge. But the consensus was that the driver had mistaken one of the security men for the Taoiseach.
After much elbowing and forcing forward in the scrum, a journalist with a Dublinish accent managed to thrust his microphone in front of the Taoiseach's face to ask, "Why has it taken you five years to come to Omagh?"
The Taoiseach softly reminded him that he'd been in Omagh several times since the blast. The reporter wasn't in the least bit embarrassed that he hadn't bothered to do his homework.
The game on these occasions is not accuracy, nor news, nor even public interest: It's getting to the touch-post; getting to the visiting VIP, asking a question; being seen to ask a question; better still, being filmed asking a question. The hope presumably is that some of the celebrity of the VIP will miraculously pass between interviewee and interviewer.
Those longer in the tooth could tell them that no such transfusion of status, power or celebrity, ever takes place. The ghost of aspirations past whispers, 'Cast away ambition for by it fell the angels.'
Such occasions do separate the wheat from the chaff, few if any, of the jostling journos, ever win their journalistic 'John Pilger' spurs. There are no exclusives on days like this, unless someone decides to turn it into a Kennedy moment, and even then, the real work starts after the affair.
Everyone knows that real journalism is done in the offices of small regional newspapers in glamourless rooms by dedicated reporters, analysing speeches, pouring over old documents, making hundreds of phone calls per week...and perennially avoiding the limelight!
Further Information
Publisher: ULSTER HERALD
Ref: UH/1636
Published Date: 26-Feb-04
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