One's faith in human nature tends to take a blow around election time. How else can it be when people so eagerly sell themselves to politicians for the promise of a trinket - a new road here, or a decentralisation there, writes Joe Humphreys.
Worse, perhaps, is the lazy manner in which people throw away their vote, squandering it on a joke candidate or the next-best thing - the politician who has the most posters.
It's enough to make you wonder whether people know what they're doing when they go to the polls - because, let's face it, how many of us actually apply rational criteria to our vote? The strongest, and perhaps most natural, impulse when you take that ballot paper in your hand is to gravitate towards the candidate you know personally. If Candidate Bloggs is a friend, a friend of the family, or a friend of a friend of the family, there is nothing more common - in an Irish context, at least - than to give Bloggs your Number One.
If you met Bloggs just once, say, in the local pub in the company of an acquaintance, then ditto. Why? Because when you're looking for a backer for a planning application, or someone to agitate against rat-runners in your area, it helps to have a pal on the council - even one whom you might have to vigorously remind is your pal.
Is it right that people vote for family and friends? Surely, if one wants candidates to be selected on merit rather than connections, people should overlook what personal bonds they have, and perhaps even exclude themselves from voting in contests where they know, are friends with, or happen to be related to, one of the candidates.
What, though, if you don't have a friend or family-member in the field? Naturally, you gravitate towards the candidate whose name and face are most familiar instead. Such voting, combined with support based on nepotism or cronyism, gives rise to what could be described as the You're a Star effect.
Like the RTÉ popularity contest, Irish elections tend to be won by the candidate who mounts the most effective campaign, irrespective of talent - i.e. the candidate who gets the most neighbours, grannies, and friends to vote for him, while generating as much hype through endorsements and publicity stunts as possible.
The drawback is, of course, that we tend to choose an act that scores nul points in Europe. (Voters in the European elections beware.) An alternative criterion for voting, and one we are not shy to adopt, is simple, old-fashioned self-interest. "What will you do for me?" is probably the most oft-repeated question politicians hear on the doorsteps, and the effects are seen most clearly in local authorities.
Councillors woo constituents by promising to close roads here, or prevent social housing being built there, regardless of the impact on the community as a whole. This kind of pandering to the lowest common denominator is justified on the basis that voters in the neighbouring ward, or constituency, are equally vociferous against, say, accommodating Traveller families. If they vote for hard-liners, the logic runs, so must we.
Decentralisation is the perfect ruse for this sort of clientelist politics. Even though the scheme entails the stripping of a national asset in the civil service, and the distribution of same throughout the country on the basis of political favouritism, it can be justified on the basis of politicians "delivering" locally. Anyone who complains about the inequity or arbitrariness of the scheme is accused of sour-grapes. "You're just jealous that no one is decentralising to your town," critics are told.
But it is not just governments which appeal to our worst nature at election time. European Parliament candidates from various parties are campaigning this year with the promise of getting a greater slice of Euro-funding channelled into their areas, even if it means a smaller slice for other - arguably more deserving - regions.
What is the effect of politicians being elected on such mandates? Well, for a start, the same politicians stop having principles. As mere functionaries, serving sectional interests, their role is to avoid leadership, or indeed taking any ideological stance other than support for the same rapacious system which elected them.
Worse, any politician who breaks ranks, and adopts what is known sneeringly in Oireachtas circles as "the high moral ground", is threatened with vilification. Take, for example, the TD who had shares in oil companies whilst claiming to be an environmentalist. Or the Opposition party leader who had a daughter in a private school while speaking out against the two-tier system of education.
In Irish politics, such ideologues are fair game for public criticism. But Government Ministers who appoint cronies to State boards or bypass official spending controls to fund pet projects remain above reproach. Why? Because they have been elected to behave in this fashion.
Keeping supporters sweet is the guiding principle of democracy Irish-style, as endorsed by the electorate. Many candidates in the upcoming elections have learnt this lesson well, assiduously avoiding comment - let alone articulating a moral or ideological philosophy - during the campaign.
Make no mistake: we get the politicians - and the political system - we deserve. This Friday, we have another opportunity to change things.