Jah loves a trier. There’s a hilarious scene in director Mike Casey’s feature-length documentary, The Life and Crimes of Citizen Ming, in which the film’s subject – professional political provocateur Luke ‘Ming’ Flanagan – tries third time lucky and goes to register as a candidate for the 2002 Irish general election.

The female registrar takes issue with the fact that the then 30-year-old Roscommon man has listed his occupation as ‘politician’ on the nomination papers. “But you’re not a TD or a Senator,” she points out. “‘Politician’ has nothing to do with whether you’re elected or not,” Flanagan reasons. “It’s what I do.”
She remains unconvinced: “I really don’t know if I can accept your occupation as that.”
“But I put myself forward as that,” he says, before reminding her that this will be his third run for public office – and that he polled 5,000 votes in the European elections of 1999. She remains sceptical: “But you didn’t succeed – you weren’t elected. You’re a candidate, but you’re not actually a politician.”
“Two votes can be defined as a success,” Flanagan calmly maintains, “because you got someone to vote for you other than yourself.”
She laughs, in fairness, but the argument continues. Eventually she makes a phone call and has someone fax over a dictionary definition of the word ‘politician’. It comes back as “a person engaged in or concerned with politics, especially as a practitioner”. The apparently incontrovertible evidence that he has right on his side notwithstanding, she rules that, as an unelected person, he’s unworthy of the title and forces him to list his occupation as ‘company director’.
My, how things change. Flash forward eight years and Luke ‘Ming’ Flanagan is shaping up to become one of the political stories of the year 2011. Finally winning a seat in the 2004 local elections, and re-elected on the first count in 2009, he donned the gold chain as Mayor of Roscommon last June, having stunningly “shafted” (his proud description) the supposedly shoo-in Fianna Fáil candidate. With a general election coming up, and the familiar old guard likely to take a pasting, Luke looks like a very good bet to make it to Dáil Éireann, very soon indeed. And what a breath of fresh air that will be! Well, maybe ‘fresh’ is not exactly the right word, given the fact that Luke made his name as a pro-Cannabis campaigner!
Not everybody’s impressed with Ming. During a recent, highly entertaining, spat about political expenses on Today FM’s The Last Word, the Sunday Independent’s generally excellent political writer John Drennan described Flanagan’s mayoral role as being nothing more than a “glorified ribbon cutter.” Flanagan doesn’t necessarily disagree, but he is a passionate advocate of the importance of local government.
This interview takes place on the afternoon of Thursday, January 6th, in his blue-walled Castlerea constituency office. Thanks to the freeze, water pipes have burst upstairs and the ceiling is in danger of collapsing, but we persevere.
Married to social care worker Judith Kelly, the father of two young daughters is in ebullient form. “Ask me anything,” he says, breezily. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

OLAF TYARANSEN: Were you born and raised here in Castlerea?
LUKE FLANAGAN: I was born in Roscommon Hospital on the 22nd January, 1972, and within three or four days I made my first appearance in Castlerea. I stayed here until I, like most young people, decided to spread their wings and go to Galway and further afield – and then I ended up coming back here about twelve years later. So I’ve lived here pretty much all my life.
Are you from a farming family?
No, we’re one generation away from a farming background. My father’s now retired and my mother – who was a housewife – died June of last year. Basically they were very much the traditional family unit.
Did you have many brothers or sisters?
Four brothers and two sisters. My mother would have been pregnant 11 times and lost a lot of kids as well, like, but there wouldn’t have been... (pauses). It would have been an interesting family life but it was fairly typical. He was a carpenter, kept working 95% of the time, but when the ‘80s came, it was definitely a struggle. I tell ya, looking back, I admire the man. He worked himself like a dog for us, fair dues to him. But I didn’t appreciate it – you just can’t at the time. You think, “Ah, he’s giving out to me, he’s saying this to me, he’s saying that to me”. I’ve kids of my own now so I know where he was coming from, big time. He’d be a hero of mine at this stage, my father.
Did you have a religious upbringing?
We wouldn’t have said the Rosary at night anyway. We wouldn’t be that religious, but still my mother would have sung in the choir and we’d have went to mass every Sunday, that sort of craic. In fact, I went to mass off my own bat for Lent for first, second and third year (of secondary school). I’m an agnostic at this stage but I did it, because it gave me a bit of independence.
How?
I was my own boss for a couple of hours, so there you go... An interesting thing about my family – my wife’s family and my family – there’d be 10 kids in my wife’s family and obviously the mother and father so between the two families there’s 20 of us - and 19 of us worked in London at some stage. Nineteen! The only one who didn’t was my younger brother, the block layer.
Were you a good student at school?
No. I did well in science subjects in the Leaving Cert but I don’t think I was ready for college. I was interested in science. I wanted to do biology and there was intense chemistry, intense maths etc. Really, I could have tried a lot harder... but sure I was only 17.
Did you study in Galway?
I studied in Galway RTC, though ‘studied’ would be a lie. I didn’t study. I did the first year of a National Certificate in Science, and then I went to London to work for the summer. And I came back to Sligo to go to college again to do mechanical engineering. Actually, there was a great lecturer there called Mattie Brennan, and I was on the milling machine after three or four months and he comes up to me and he says, “Luke, do you know something? I think you were more suited to reading fancy books and smoking funny cigarettes!” And the strange thing at the time was I’d never smoked a joint in my life.
When did you smoke your first joint?
I was offered a joint when I was in Galway and I ran away from it – not quite literally, but as good as. I actually went to London for the summer and never smoked a joint there. I was about two months in college in Sligo when I smoked it. I fell in with the wrong crowd – the art class (laughs).
So you were 18?
Eighteen. Until then the only thing I knew about drugs was, there was a play done in our school: a crowd came down from Dublin and a fella lay on the stage going, “jigger I need a fix, jigger I need a fix,” shaking and whatever. It got us all interested in drugs alright (laughs). We’d never heard of them up until then. Quite literally I don’t think we’d actually heard of them – which is wrong to say because we did drink our two litres of Linden Village regularly alright, but what would be perceived as drugs in some people’s minds, I wouldn’t have went near. I listened to all the messages!
What effect did your first joint have on you?
Oh, I enjoyed it, obviously, cause I’m still smoking. But ‘twas brilliant, it made me feel relaxed, it made me feel confident, it made me feel chatty. It doesn’t make everyone feel like that, but it makes me feel like that, even still.
Did you experiment with any other illegal drugs then?
I didn’t, no. It was years later before I ever took any other type of drug. I went to Germany on and off for about two-and-a-half years, and even then I didn’t try ecstasy or anything like that. I’d always be a couple of glasses of Buckfast man, and a smoke, and it would achieve the same effect without feeling like shooting yourself three days later. But when I finally ended up moving back to Galway, I did. I’ve tried cocaine and I’ve tried ecstasy and I’ve tried acid and I don’t really like them, they just don’t suit me. In fact, my main experience on any of those drugs was “please, make it be over” really, you know? It was like I was uneasy about it. I like to be in control and there are two drugs that I feel I can control – cannabis and alcohol. They’re my recreational drugs of choice.
Did you ever try smack?
No, no, never heroin. Never. There was a joke – we said if Roscommon ever won the All Ireland we might try it, but that was a joke. No, not really, and from what I’ve heard about it, you know, why would I? I know how, as far as I’m concerned, to achieve my ideal buzz: I have a smoke, I go out for a five or maybe a ten mile run, and then I’m on the ball.
You’ve run several marathons. Have you always jogged?
It was a couple of months after the first election in 1997, I knew this Rastafarian guy in Galway and he was into running and I said, “sure, we’ll go for a run.” Six weeks later I ran a marathon and I was delighted to finish 492nd out of about 5,000 people so I said, “You know I’ll keep doing this, I enjoy it.” And on and off, I suppose I’ve ran on average about nine months of the year ever since.
What kind of distances?
I do between 25 or 30 miles a week. I would advise anyone to do it, because it is fantastic for your brain, for your mental health. If I’m doing a radio interview and I do a run before it, God help them, really, but if I don’t do the run beforehand, do you know this thing of – everyone has it in an argument –“Why didn’t I say that? Why didn’t I say this?” I tell you, if you go for a run beforehand, your body is working well. The reality is endorphins are my favourite drug, you know. I had an experience with depression at one stage and I went to a doctor in Galway – this is before I ran for election actually – I was kind of wondering, “What the hell am I doing with my life?” and I was feeling down, to the point that, to be quite honest, even killing myself wouldn’t have been worth it, sure it wouldn’t have changed anything, you know? I was feeling very low. So I went to the doctor and he didn’t know anything about my diet, he didn’t know anything about what exercise I did, or anything about what was going on in my life, but I tell ya, he was going to offer me Prozac at the drop of a pin – and that terrified me. Actually, it was only about a week or two after that I started running and I haven’t looked back.
What kind of music are you into?
I’m into all sorts of music, and that’s not not trying to answer the question. If I like it I don’t care about the genre. I used to organise alternative discos in the Don Arms Hotel many years ago and basically used to play Mendelssohn during the slow sets, Cannibal Corpse (laughs) during the fast sets and Spacemen 3 and The Dead Kennedys. If I was playing it now, I’d be playing ‘Horse Outside’ or whatever. So I love music, I really do. I’d be big into it. My favourite band, at a stretch, would be Joy Division, absolutely brilliant, you know. A bit dark but good.
Why did you decide to run in the general election in 1997?
Because I used to sit down and watch Questions and Answers, and get very frustrated at the fact that the people who were on it didn’t seem to be capable of giving a decent answer, a straight answer or anything like that. It wasn’t because I thought I was particularly talented. It was because I thought no matter what little talent I had, surely I could do a better job than the ones that were there. It was on the basis of the competition that I entered the field: ‘twas a bit like watching the Olympics and seeing someone win it in 19 seconds and going to yourself, “I’m going to take up the 100 metres” (laughs).
If you wanted to be taken seriously, why did you run under the rather odd moniker ‘Ming The Merciless’?
Basically, because my surname wasn’t O’Doherty or Leyden. It was a media hook. I knew that I’d get lots of attention that I wouldn’t get otherwise, if I ran under the name Flanagan. So I ran as ‘Ming The Merciless’. And it worked.
Why did you choose cannabis legalisation as your main issue?
I didn’t, actually. I chose what was impacting on my life at the time – one of which was the fact that the Garda Síochána had the previous year come into my house. I think there was about six or seven of them. I wasn’t actually smoking cannabis at the time. They turned my house upside down, left my girlfriend at the time and her friend crying when they left the house, and threw a comment, a throwaway comment when they were leaving the house pretty much to say, “I’ll give you a dime if there’s anyone you can call to complain about this, because there isn’t”. And I said to myself, “D’you know what, if that’s the way they treat people...” Now, they don’t always treat people like that, you can’t generalise — but that said to me, that’s one thing I’ll run on.
Another one was the fact that there was then, as there is now again, a massive amount of people on the dole, and having to deal with people at that hatch, many of whom treated you like dirt. Many don’t: my sister now works in the dole office in Athlone and she knows what it’s like, she’s nice to these people, people who are down on their luck. But I was looking for some sort of a board there, who you could make a complaint to if you were treated like rubbish – because most of the people in there wanted to work and wanted to do something. There was another issue, which was to guarantee that all landlords were registered as landlords. At the time, the man I was running against was (Fianna Fail’s) Frank Fahey.
Fahey was your landlord, wasn’t he?
Yeah. He rented an apartment to me. Basically, there have been issues about his compliance with the Ethics in Public Office Act – yet he was running on zero tolerance. But I ran on a variety of things. Obviously the cannabis thing got the lion’s share of the attention.
I watched The Life and Crimes of Citizen Ming online this morning.
Actually I watched it, the whole thing, two weeks ago for the first time in years, and the amount of energy I have in it scares me. I hope I have as much now.
You come across as a bit of a bolshie bollocks in it.
Yeah. I have learned an awful lot of things along the way, and maybe not to be quite as abrasive might be one of them. But there is a time for abrasion too.
I loved that scene where you tried to force your way into the RTÉ Radio studios in Galway when they excluded you from a debate about the European elections.
Yeah, that was very frustrating because, for me to get a thousand pound to run in that election was the equivalent of me looking for a hundred thousand now. Basically I have a wage now, and my wife is working. But back then, raising the money was difficult so, like, my attitude was, “Ok, fair enough, let yee prove me wrong, let yee make an ass of me on the radio, but at least give me the chance to prove myself.” But they weren’t even going to give me that bloody chance! I rang RTÉ on several occasions and got talking, well basically left a message on someone’s answering machine very high up in RTÉ. I don’t know who it was at the time, and I got a message back, as was said in the documentary, saying, “Oh, we’ll interview you at a later date.” I mean the bloody election was on two days later. That’s scary! And then on the other hand, you listen to the Joe Duffy show and people’s frustration with politics, people asking “why don’t we get more people to run?” etc. and then someone does run and they basically try and stop you from getting access. Now it would be cheeky of me to complain that I didn’t have good access to the media, but that was a very, very important platform to be debating on and they excluded me.
You seem to have suffered a lot of police harassment.
I dunno would I use the word ‘harass’. They were following a man who was openly telling people that he was breaking the law! They were doing their job. As I always said to them, “If there was a new law in the morning saying that you had to wear a brown paper bag on your head on Thursdays I’d say lads it’d be your job to come around and make sure that I have it on my head,” simple as that. And I met some very bad people, and I don’t think they’re good for the Garda Síochána ­– but I met some good people as well. It’s a mix. I was, I estimate, searched between 16 and 20 times in an 18 months period. I was strip searched on six occasions. I was always, always on alert, you know. Some people who try to put down cannabis and say that one of the negative aspects of it is that it would make you paranoid... well, it gave me a severe advantage. I knew I was being followed. I actually was.
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.
Yeah, exactly, but like the funny thing is, something good comes out of everything. All my mates were always shocked with how I deal with the guards. I’d be saying, “Look lads, don’t give them any grief, it’s their job and if they didn’t make this stupid law. I’m running for election to change that law, that’s my role, that’s their role, so don’t have a go at them because it’s not fair”. But you know what the turning point was with the guards? It’s amazing what the turning point was – National Legalise Cannabis Day. It’ll be ten years ago next November.
This is when you mailed pre-rolled spliffs out to every politician and journalist in the country?
When I sent basically over 500 spliffs all around the country, and I was up in Dublin obviously to deliver the plant. I tried to deliver a cannabis plant to Eoin Ryan, the Drugs Czar at the time – a self-admitted cannabis user, incidentally – and I got pulled in. I was brought into Pearse Street Station and some very important guy seen me coming in the door, he goes, “Ming, you’ve fucked with the system too much now”, he says, “you won’t get away with this one!” And I don’t think I’ve ever been treated better by any arm of the State than I was that day in there. They were gentlemen. If they weren’t, I’d say it. I don’t play bloody games, you know. They were good to me, actually. I hope I don’t hang any of them by saying this but I’m not mentioning any names – they had to photograph me and all that but when they were taking the photograph one of the guards goes, “Ming, you wouldn’t mind one of the lads taking a photo with me and you?” (laughs). There was eleven photographs taken with me and members of the guards in there. Lookit, they realise it, they get no harm off a man who smokes a spliff and they get hell off people who basically get pissed out of their brains and maybe do a few other things with it. But the core point of what I’m saying here is: they’ve never come near me since.
It must have been stressful up to that point, being followed and searched all the time.
It was very, very stressful. I had a nightmare one night where one of the Drug Squad guys in Galway, I could give you the name but I won’t, searched me in the dream and he asked to search my mouth, to open my mouth, and I bit off his fingers and there was blood everywhere and I basically woke up in a cold sweat. I was getting dreams of them following me etc etc – ‘twas very, very scary. I think they were stress dreams or whatever but I got a few of them and it was kind of difficult. But the guards haven’t gone near me since. Now maybe I’m tempting fate saying that! I’m not saying, “Oh, come near me!” but, I mean, at this stage if they come near me, how else can you construe it other than it being for spite? I have a letter from the DPP, because I wrote to the DPP actually on Legalise Cannabis Day and I fully admitted to possession, I fully admitted to cultivation, I fully admitted to supply: I supplied the TDs, I supplied journalists, I supplied the senators. And I got a letter back from the DPP saying there would be no prosecution. And as far as I’m concerned that piece of paper goes with me anywhere – in any future court case on cannabis, it goes in there. Is it a case of: you now decide someone gets prosecuted based on whether they will attempt to discuss the legitimacy of the law they’re being charged on? Because I had a plan for when I went into court.
What was it?
The plan to organise a press release, but just to turn up on the steps of the court with a written amendment to the Misuse of Drugs law – the Drugs Act – and a big nail and a big hammer and no more than your man Luther did it, walk up to them, walk up to the court door and (stands up and bangs the door of his office) hammer the fucking thing on it and turn around and give your press conference. That was my intention, but they didn’t give me that opportunity.
They’d probably have done you for vandalising the door.
They probably would, but that was the plan. In fact, my father was perceptive enough after it, he goes, he says, “You’re not going to try and goad them into getting them to bring you to court, are you?” I was like, “Oh no, no, no I’m not” (laughs)
You’ve been imprisoned a couple of times...
Yeah – twice. The first time was in 1998 for the non-payment of a littering fine – which referred to my election posters. Then I was locked up again the following year for misuse of drugs.
Did you do your time in Castlerea?
They were short sentences. Both times I started off in Loughan House, in Cavan, but they transferred me to Castlerea after three days.
How did you find the experience?
It was an education-and-a-half. Anyone looking to be involved in politics or policy-making should spend at least a week in an Irish prison. They’ll quickly understand the recidivism rates and the reasons why things are the way they are.
Your father seems to have been supportive throughout.
Very. If he could give me a few quid, he did. He even gave me the lend of £300 at the time and he didn’t have it like, you know: he was very supportive, but he was very worried for me at the same time. The day, when I finally got elected in 2004, that was more important for my parents than it was for me because it meant that people couldn’t go around trashing their beloved son anymore. I can take it but...
How did it effect them?
I’m a big Roscommon fan and I go to the matches with my father, and in the early years of Ming, as you might put it, I’d go to the match and the aul lad would hear a few throwaway comments. Like, I went up to the bar to get the aul lad a pint, and while I was gone some fellow goes “Oh howaya, Lukeen Flanagan isn’t it, how are ya doing?”, and he goes, “Oh, I’m grand”. There was another fella with him and he obviously hadn’t heard him being introduced as Luke Flanagan, and your man goes, “D’you see that fucking drug dealer addict up there? Fuckin’ up buying pints, the fucker, he shouldn’t be let out, he should be locked up.” And the aul lad said nothing until (laughs) I arrived back with the two pints and your man goes, “Eh, howaya”, and he goes, “That’s my son”, and your man just turned around and walked away (laughs). Give me a hole, let me bury myself, you know! If it was someone like you or me or whatever, we’d be able to argue it, “Well, drink’s a drug”, but it wouldn’t have been a comfortable area for my father. But I tell ya, he stood by me, scared and all – and maybe annoyed and all – as he was. And my mother was terrified for me as well, but she wouldn’t be your Mammy otherwise.
After your first run for election in 1997, did you feel it was your destiny to become a politician?
My ambition was that I was going to stick at it until I got elected or until the day I died, and that was going to be it. I really, really enjoyed the experience. I really enjoyed the empowerment thing of, “You know what, if you’ve a problem with something and you want to go out and argue about it and debate, it can actually be done”. It kicked the hell out of any excuse anyone ever had given me about why you shouldn’t run in an election. But I’d say the 2002 election, from the point of view of being on the ball with press releases and having every angle covered, was probably my best election.
You got 5,000 votes?
No, that was the European election. I got 779 in the Longford-Roscommon constituency in 2002, I would say largely because a doctor in town here ran. I wouldn’t have got elected or anywhere near elected but I’d say I would have got around 1,500 or 1,800 votes if he hadn’t ran but he was touted as, “He’s going to be a junior minister for health, he’s going to solve our health problems.” He was a GP – meaning he had thousands and thousands of clients coming in and out to him every day etc etc, but, even though I ran a good election, it wasn’t going to happen. But I was never going to give up. Once I ran, I was going to keep going.
So it was the Roscommon council elections that you eventually won, the local elections of 2004?
2004 was the first council election I ran in and it was the first time I ever did the traditional door-to-door canvass.
Which obviously worked.
Yeah, I realised that if people are going to vote for you they want to be able to feel that they can contact you and if they’ve met you they’ve already had physical – quite literally – contact with you and you’re more amenable to them. I didn’t do the traditional canvass, when I knocked on a door I stopped talking to them when they wanted to stop talking. I didn’t say, “Here’s the leaflet, give me the shtroke, I’m off!”, and rush to the next house. I spoke to them, there were houses I spent two and a half hours in, you know and it worked. What would you expect my biggest voter segment is?
Well... stoners.
Yeah, young people maybe? Actually, my biggest voter base, my biggest vote came out of the 50+ female category. That’s a fact.
You’re the housewives’ choice!
I don’t know why, but that’s definite. I know that, because there’s a place called Treen, which would have an older age profile. It has only 300 electors in the box, and 211 turned out. I got over 50 percent of the vote in that area and that would have been a very old age profile. There’s more younger people there since – but Jesus it taught me something. All the voters are important but it taught me something – don’t presume that this is off limits or that’s off limits. Part of me thinks I was dealing with a group of people who, when they were in their teens, their late teens and their early 20s, weren’t allowed to put on a pair of shorts to go for a run, they weren’t allowed to have a pretty hairstyle, they weren’t allowed to bloody well do anything and maybe they had a little bit of an affinity with me.
How did the other councillors feel about your election to Roscommon County Council?
I think they were expecting it actually, because the word was out that, well one of the guys who was running against me was going, “That fucking Ming, every door I go to: Ming, Ming, Ming, Ming, Ming!” which was kind of suggesting that they knew... They treated me like any other councillor, which was good. The main thing I found out is: people within political parties hate each other. I had this guy – and this is Luke Flanagan here, or Ming, who basically constantly beat the ‘I hate Fianna Fáil’ drum – within two months of being on the council, I had one Fianna Fáil councillor say to me about another Fianna Fáil councillor—I won’t be any more specific than that – he referred to him as a ‘cunt’. A cunt! To me! If you want to put a negative thing on me, it’s ‘bigmouth’, you know? And since then I’m awful sorry I didn’t draw a map or a chart where I had all the names of all the councillors from Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil down and drawn a line between each of them and written the bad word they said about each other. I discovered it doesn’t really matter what they think about me because the majority of them voted for me as mayor last June, and there were 26 councillors in that chamber – and I’d say at most four of them have any time for me. Five, maybe. But 14 of them voted for me as mayor. It’s not about liking me, it’s about putting them over the barrel at the right time.
You’re Mayor of Roscommon for a year.
I’m Mayor for the year, yeah.
Are you going to run in the forthcoming general election?
Oh definitely, 100 percent. The only question at the moment is: will I be running on my own as an independent or will I be running with a group of independents from around the country running on a ten point or maybe a 15 point plan? I am in discussions with people at the moment, but one thing is for definite: I will be running in Roscommon-South Leitrim.
Will cannabis legalisation be a part of this?
Of course. Really, at this stage I’m like a broken record going on about it. But in the election the main, core issues that I’d be putting myself forward with would be: re-negotiate that deal with the EU; have a look at the deal we did with Shell; completely reform local government so that you actually have local government; and do something with tourism in counties that have no tourism even though they have massive potential. And also, the big one is basically how to recreate the local economy, which has died. In relation to cannabis, everyone knows my argument on it inside out and there’s nothing worse than a politician that keeps saying the same thing over and over again. But if anyone asks me a question about it I’ll be gung-ho at telling them exactly what I think. And I’ll be very quick to tell them that I estimate it’s worth about €1.1 billion that would go in very rapidly to our economy if they legalise it.
How will you fund the campaign?
I’m preparing for it now and it’s going to be a massive financial undertaking because this time I’m throwing everything at it. Everything. It’s going to cost me about €25,000 but that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The health service is a big issue over a variety of different things but the core points would be: how the hell do we get people working without having to lift wet blocks? Which is all the governments in this country ever had confidence in any man ever doing in this country: lifting. My brother is a block layer, no disrespect to him, but we don’t all have to be block layers, and all have to be plasterers, and all have to be plumbers. When your back is to the wall you have two choices: you lay down and die or you come out fighting. And I think we can come out fighting and I think we can win. There’s massive potential here, really. You wouldn’t need to be a genius to get the country running half well at all, you know?
What politicians do you admire?
I admire Shane Ross, I think he talks a lot of sense. I think Fergal Quinn talks quite a lot of sense. I think David Norris talks a lot of sense. Michael D. Higgins is an excellent politician. There was a lot of negative spin against him on the whole turf cutting thing. He never intended for the ordinary turf cutter to have to stop cutting turf. I have good time for him and I specifically have good time for him because when the guards were following me around in Galway, when I was persona non grata and whatever – maybe people didn’t take me too seriously – but on two or three occasions he was driving by in his little Ford Ka and he rolled down the window, “Howaya Ming?” and he chatted away to me and as friendly as pie. A good guy. I admire him because it would have been easier for him not to stop and talk to the risky character on the street that might damage his vote base like, you know? I admire Denis Naughton a little bit, from Roscommon and that’s because of his knowledge on the whole turf cutting issue. Fair dues to him, he knows it inside out, he could achieve just as much talking about it by knowing a quarter of the amount and he knows it inside out. I’m sort of the view that if you’re good, I don’t care what party you’re in, you’re good – full stop.
Should the Seanad be abolished?
I think so. One of the major benefits out of it is you get people like Fergal Quinn and Shane Ross – but maybe they might run for general election and we’d get them in the Dáil.
Should the Fianna Fáil politicians who are currently resigning receive their massive pensions?
I will be making a statement in the next couple of days that, my bottom line for anyone, to go into government with them, is this: the Junior Minister at the Department of the Environment, Michael Finneran, and all of these people who are resigning, will get what they claim is enough to live on as an old age pensioner, and they will not get it until they are an old age pensioner – and that is, in and around €200 a week. It would be unfair, maybe, if they had done a good job but they have done a disastrous job.
You voluntarily took a fairly hefty pay-cut as Mayor of Roscommon, didn’t you?
I took a 50 percent cut in my mayoral allowance, a 50 percent cut in the mayoral expenses, a 100 percent cut in the foreign travel expenses and a 100 percent cut in the conference allowance. And when I was in sitting down talking to my Fine Gael ‘colleagues’ – at a stretch – in the budget discussions, I put to them that we put that in as the new official mayoral pay and they said they couldn’t support it so I took it voluntarily. But at that meeting, it would have been good to be a fly on the wall. This was Fine Gael now – and there was nice people in there – but the stuff that was coming out of some of the people’s mouths was astonishing. Comments like, “Are you independently wealthy that we don’t know of?” and “Do you not need the money? Could you not give it to some charity? Could you not do this? Could you not do that?” They just couldn’t actually accept that I looked at the Council budget...
Is this not all just Ming spin?
People can say I’m doing this for spin. I don’t give a shit. It’s available to any politician to do this and let people call it spin afterwards if they want – but at least they’d have done it. I looked at our Council budget and I saw there was going to be cuts to every single department and I said to myself, “Well here I am, I am just like the rest of them if I don’t do this”. But I did it and some people you deal with in politics, if they won the Lotto they’d complain about the colour of the ticket. I was attacked: “Why didn’t you take it on day one?” “Are you going, is it going to be retrospective?” “No. It isn’t. I’m taking it now. Is that not good enough?” I’m not complaining. I’m still doing well, I come away with, I think it works out as €580 a week after tax. I’m doing brilliant! You know I ran in my first election on £48 a week on the Dole, I know how to live very well on that, I am after my – God love me – my ‘sacrifice’ doing better than the average person. I’m not a martyr, but I would like a few of them to follow. But there’s not a chance in hell they’ll follow.
Will you take a similar pay cut if you’re elected as a TD?
I’ll be doing the same thing if I get into Dáil Éireann. I’ll be taking a massive pay cut – basically 40 to 50 percent – because I know I’ll still be better off than the average Joe Soap. And that isn’t trying to find an angle, that’s because it’s bleeding obvious. If you’re head of a company, the first thing you do is you pay the wages, you pay the electricity, you pay the rates, you pay everything, and what’s left you pay yourself. The way it was at our Council budget meeting was, “I’ll have this lot and we’ll see what’s left for the rest of yee.” Now that cannot continue. And hopefully it’s put down a bit of a marker anyway. Lookit, it’s not going to change the world but hopefully it proves one’s bona fides a little more, you know?
Do you have a motto in life?
My motto in life is: I won’t agree with you on everything because the only person who agrees with you on everything is a bloody liar. It’s as simple as that.