At this rate, we'll be put under house arrest when the queen arrives. writes MIRIAM LORD
EIGHT YEARS ago, 100,000 demonstrators marched through the centre of Dublin to protest against the threat of war on Iraq.
The crowd reflected a wide cross-section of Irish society; all sorts of people turned out in droves and marched for peace.
It was a special day.
“Not in our name,” they chanted, voices joining a global protest that Saturday back in 2003. As it turned out, their names didn’t matter a whit. Iraq was duly invaded.
How many of those who protested against the war nearly a decade ago were in the long queue outside Eason’s last Saturday, hoping the same Tony Blair would autograph a copy of his Downing Street memoirs for them?
It is estimated around 900 people turned up for the book signing, but far fewer mustered for a protest against the presence of “war criminal” Blair in the capital to promote his new book.
It was a strange affair: a writer banning journalists from witnessing him signing his opus for members of the public – even if they agreed to be corralled at a distance and not ask questions.
In the end, only one agency photographer was allowed inside to capture the highly-restricted event for posterity, while one cameraman filmed proceedings for TV news organisations. Even Blessed Tommy of Gorman, RTÉ’s man in Belfast, was kept outside.
It was far better fun when Bill Clinton rolled into town to sell his autobiography and flirted with the women and schmoozed the men.
All this heavy-handed production of the Blair Book Project lacked was grubby mackintoshes for the buyers and brown paper covers to disguise the contentious tome. And while former prime minister Blair, a pro to his fingertips, kept his head high, smile intact and chin at a confident tilt, there was no getting away from the fact he was all but bundled in and out of the building.
This was all to do with the tight security. A “ring of steel”, no less. In fact, there were almost as many gardaí on duty around the O’Connell Street/ Middle Abbey Street junction as there were “maors” around the pitch in Croke Park yesterday.
The hurling final stewards were more successful: no delirious Tipperary supporters breached the perimeter, but a handful of protesters succeeded in rushing the barriers across from Eason’s.
The scuffles and skirmishes were fairly minor, but it will have been a nice break and change of scenery for many of the “activists” who have been on protest duty recently around Anglo Irish Bank and Kildare Street.
But back to Tony, and the many reports that he was “pelted” with eggs and shoes upon arrival. In truth, it was more a light drizzle of leather and a soft smattering of flip-flops.
Back at the queue, customers seemed unfazed by the protest, appearing bemused by the abuse they got via loudhailer from demonstrators across the street.
If they were hoping Tony Blair would write personal dedications, they were to be disappointed. He would sign his name – no more.
This will have come as disappointment to Paul O’Flaherty, originally from Clonmel and proudly wore his Tipperary jersey to the signing.
“He was one of the English prime ministers that actually gave a damn about Ireland.”
What would he ask Tony to write on his book? “Up Tipp!”
In the end, he didn’t make it into Eason’s, but the author left 100 signed copies behind before he left. Not that Paul cares now, after his team became All-Ireland champions yesterday.
Also in the queue was former Ictu general secretary, Peter Cassells. “I suppose most people are here because of Tony Blair’s role in the Northern Ireland peace process, but I’m here to thank him for taking out Saddam,” he remarked.
The demonstrators gathered under the umbrella of the anti-war movement.
They included members of The Workers Solidarity Movement, The Workers Party (Dublin Branch), The Socialist Workers Party, The 32 Country Sovereignty Movement, republican group Eirigí and the Ireland Palestine Solidarity Campaign.
That’s a lot of workers and a lot of solidarity.
They dwindled in number as the rain came down, but, to their credit, they kept up the noise.
A number of men from a republican group roared abuse at the man from the BBC as he tried to file a report. The BBC crew relocated.
The former PM spent almost two hours inside the shop. “When is he coming out?” asked people outside, repeating a question that is regularly asked about British politicians at the moment.
Finally, two BMWs were driven at speed onto the footpath. Tony Blair emerged, smiling militantly as his minders enveloped him.
The motorcade sped off in a blare of sirens. The roads and shops reopened. The Luas ran again. The protesters packed up.
What a palaver. At this rate, we’ll be put under house arrest when the queen arrives.