From the panoramic view of the 15th floor of the Exo building on North Wall Quay, one of the tallest office buildings in the city, you can see two Dublins.
As presidential candidate Jim Gavin spoke at his presidential election campaign launch on Sunday, the window behind him showed the yawning dome of the Aviva Stadium and the comfortable South Dublin neighbourhoods that orbit it. He pointed over to his left, to the north inner city, to the “communities which are experiencing great challenges. Two different realities, but both part of modern Ireland and both deserve recognition and respect, and that’s why I’m running for president.”
Gavin, who enjoys the Freedom of the City that sprawled out behind him, is a novice but improving campaigner. As he made his way to the stage to thunderous applause, Taoiseach Micheál Martin geed up the humble candidate. “Give them all a wave there, Jim.”
Fianna Fáil drew on the talent within its parliamentary ranks, asking former broadcaster and now Senator Alison Comyn to emcee the event. Conspicuous in his presence was former contender Billy Kelleher, with Gavin later making a point of the fact that the MEP was there “shoulder to shoulder” with him.
RM Block
The media were promised sight of a “different side” of Gavin. The launch was presented with a polished campaign video book-ended with cinematic footage of a strapping candidate running along a rugged beach.
Gavin’s grandparents’ farm in Cree, Co Clare, featured prominently, with the pointed reminder from the candidate himself that “like many Dubliners, I am only one generation away from rural Ireland”.
Here he was serving tea to his family from a pot sporting a Banner County cosy, there he was in Flynn’s pub in Cree drinking pints of stout and listening to trad music.
This is Fianna Fáil’s elegant image management of the candidate who might become known as Schrödinger’s Dub. In the political equivalent of a half-and-half GAA jersey, Fianna Fáil is simultaneously trying to play up Gavin’s well-earned reputation as the lionised former Dublin manager, while also trying to puff up the culchie credentials of his Clare roots.
There was more than one yellow and blue jersey mingling among a crowd dotted with former Dublin All Stars and former All-Ireland champions on Sunday.
Gavin told the crowd how, as a teenager, “I was lucky beyond anything” to meet Jennifer.
And then there were three – the presidential candidates set off on the campaign trail
“Without her, I couldn’t have achieved anything,” he said. In the front row, his now wife, Jennifer, looked emotional with pride, and his children were beaming. Earlier, his daughter Yasmin and son Jude had peered curiously at the TV cameras that filmed the family’s arrival, finding themselves suddenly vaulted into the national spotlight.
The launch also heard from Sinéad Donnelly, owner of Nancy Bluebell’s coffee box, which sits on the grounds of Our Lady of Lourdes Church on Seán McDermott Street in Dublin’s northeast inner city.
“Sorry,” a bashful Ms Donnelly told the crowd of Ministers, supporters and former footballers. “Impostor syndrome, I have here.”
The coffee box was one of the projects Gavin supported through his role on the northeast inner city taskforce. “We love him ... We absolutely love him,” said Donnelly. And in a touching and refreshingly non-political contribution, long-time family friend Alison Knightly gave a speech, saying, “Jim’s friendship is a gift to those who are lucky enough to know him”.
Gavin was at ease with the media in a press conference afterwards. He pushed back on Catherine Connolly’s perceived monopoly on the issue of neutrality in the campaign so far, saying: “I wore the blue helmet. I had my boots on the ground with the United Nations.”
And he was conciliatory about his Irish: “I haven’t been practising and I’ve lost some confidence in it.” He spoke candidly about Monday night’s television debate, the first of the campaign. “Am I nervous? Absolutely I am, because I haven’t done it before ... but I can’t wait for it.”
