Awwal 15, 1432 H/Feb 18, 2011, SPA -- A working class estate on the outskirts of Dublin is not a place you would normally expect to hear detailed discussion of unsecured bank bonds and interbank interest rates, according to Reuters. But such is the impact of Ireland's financial meltdown that the ins and outs of the bond markets have become common currency among people from all walks of life. For bus driver William Dunne, 62, it is the 5.8 percent interest rate Europe is charging Ireland for its bailout that sticks in the throat while Louise, a local community worker, simply has no time for "that fella" Jose Manuel Barroso, the European Commission chief. "Nearly 6 percent? I mean what the hell were they thinking?" says Dunne, shaking his head in despair. Interspersed with the obvious anger and fear that comes from an unprecedented round of spending cuts are conversations that reveal the very sharp learning curve the country has taken since it was forced to ask for a bailout from the EU and IMF. Ireland's Feb. 25 election will be the first in Europe to be dominated by the debt crisis. The fall from grace for the erstwhile "Celtic Tiger" has electrified and angered voters alike. Politicians are regularly dismissed as feckless and worse. Joe Higgins, a popular socialist candidate for Dublin West, explains that every constituent has been personally affected, and as a result they are now very well informed. "They've got questions. They've got points to make. Lots of points. Lots of questions. It'll be a long one tonight," he says, out canvassing on a bitterly cold evening. Conversations on the doorstep range from the high interest rate imposed by Europe to the role played by bondholders via water rates, job cuts, reduced pay and corrupt politicians. For Neil McDonald, a gas fitter working three days a week, the bankers behind the long-since-burst property bubble and reckless lending are to blame. Followed closely by politicians. "The bankers have to be held accountable," he says, with his two small daughters nodding in the background. "What them bastards did to us, they should be locked up." To Higgins, he added, "I know you're a good guy Joe but I'm afraid all you politicians are tarred with the same brush. You sold us out." Ten minutes later, and he still hasn't finished. NO LONGER TABOO After two years of already heavy cuts designed to rein in a ballooning budget deficit, a weary Irish public are now having to choose the next government to carry out the even harsher treatment agreed as part of the 85-billion-euro bailout. Across Ireland, people are talking more openly about politics, a sharp contrast with elections past, when one's voting intentions were a private matter and generally meant a choice between two centrist parties; Fianna Fail and Fine Gael. One group that has tried to tap into the new dynamic is UpStart, an arts collective that has plastered Dublin with posters to celebrate creativity during the campaign. Outgoing Prime Minister Brian Cowen is depicted as a criminal, businessmen as thugs and the electorate as either skeletons or homeless left to question their worth. "Due to foreseen circumstances, we regret to inform you that Ireland is cancelled," one poster proclaims. "Everyone is talking about the election," Jeanne Kelly, a 33-year-old UpStart organiser told Reuters. "Ireland is on a steep learning curve. I pity the people canvassing. People have a list of questions placed ready at the door. "We were never those kind of people." Voters previously came from "a Fine Gael or Fianna Fail family" and the subject of voting was taboo, she said. "But now it's fair game, at work and in the pub, we discuss it all night long." The phrase "burn the bondholders" has become a populist theme on the campaign trail and in the media. One taxi driver from central Dublin spent a 20-minute journey explaining why Europe was opposed to discounting the unsecured senior bank debt due to the likely impact any discount would have on Portugal, Spain and other European banks. Callers to the national radio complain that not enough canvassers and candidates have shown up at their door. Others spoke of candidates bringing their children with them, in a bid to keep the conversation civil, and short. But not everyone wants to talk. Some are still so livid they simply struggle to get the words out. Having been told in no uncertain terms to get off someone's doorstep, Harry, a campaigner for Higgins, fails to hide his shock. "In all my years of campaigning I've never been spoken to like that before," he said, walking at speed away from the house and shouting over the din of a very loud barking dog. "I mean I understand that people are angry but we're the Socialists. Imagine how he'd speak to the mainstream guys."
