After four decades of working on its political dynasty, the family from Kerry appears poised for fresh victories

This article is more than 7 months old

This article is more than 7 months old

Ireland has a tradition of mocking people from Kerry as clueless hillbillies, a baseless caricature repeated in a thousand jokes.

The Healy-Rae family has fuelled the ridicule – intentionally or not – by creating a political dynasty in the county with PR stunts, outlandish proposals and controversial statements.

They lead tractor convoys and torch-lit processions, dance jigs on car bonnets and argue for the right of rural people to drink and drive. Many Dubliners scoff at mention of the family.

But the Healy-Raes, who hold three county council seats and two seats in parliament, tend to have the last laugh. They are savvy populists who have not lost an election since entering politics four decades ago – a remarkable record given the fact they run as independents.

They appear poised for fresh victories in the general election on 8 February – and could end up in government. The more Dublin snickers, it seems, the better for the Healy-Raes, who alchemise metropolitan disdain into votes at home.

“If people in certain sections of society want to laugh at or insult me they’re insulting the people that support me as well,” said Michael Healy-Rae, 53, who is running for re-election as a member of parliament. “And they’re insulting a way of life that we have not just in Kerry but in other parts of rural Ireland.”

He depicted Dublin as a distant, aloof capital. “I’m very sorry that rural Ireland has been attacked and attacked by the past government and the one before it.”

Can Sinn Féin’s young voters finally pull Ireland to the left? | Roisin Agnew Read more

Railing at established parties and urban elites has served populists well in Latin America, the US, continental Europe and Brexit Britain.

The Healy-Raes add some twists to the playbook, turning Kerry, a mountainous landscape in south-western Ireland known as the kingdom, into a unique political laboratory.

The family has elevated patronage and personal connection – venerable traditions in Irish politics – to high art. “The first commandment in Healy-Rae land is: thou shalt not turn off thy mobile phone,” Donal Hickey, a local journalist, wrote in a biography of the family.

The dynasty started with Jackie Healy-Rae, a farmer and county councillor who quit the Fianna Fáil party, won a Dáil seat in 1997 and distilled the Kerry-man archetype – flat cap, melodic accent, folksy phraseology – into a potent formula.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Joan Hunt, 74, shows a picture of her with Michael Healy-Rae, whom she supports. Photograph: Johnny Savage/The Guardian

His sons Michael and Danny, the family’s other MPs, emulate their late father’s approach to helping constituents 24/7 with matters big and small – medical cards, heating allowances, cataracts, planning permissions, phone bills, internet connection. A permanent campaign.

“Whoever does you a turn, vote for them,” said Joan Hunt, 74, a pensioner. Michael Barry, 51, another constituent, said Michael Healy-Rae facilitated a hip operation for his father. “He always kept in touch.”

Jerry Behan, 62, who owns a pub in Listowel where Michael Healy-Rae holds a weekly clinic, said the campaign against drink-driving laws was part of a wider effort to tackle loneliness, depopulation and economic atrophy. “There used to be 52 pubs here, now there are 18. The government doesn’t understand rural Ireland. Michael does. He’s fighting for us.”

Michael and Danny Healy-Rae have a kinetic schedule of constituency clinics, canvasses, speeches, media interviews, ribbon-cuttings, lobbying – and funerals, lots of funerals.

Irish politicians often show up at wakes, removals and burials but the Healy-Raes attend so many they are said to have the gift of bilocation. “I don’t think Michael has ever missed a funeral,” said Behan.

The Irish Times reported in 2016 that the Healy-Raes bring their own pens – green and red – so their names stand out when they sign condolence books.

Michael, speaking at the Horseshoe while eating lunch at warp speed, said he attended out of respect, not politics. “I never in my life went to the funeral of someone I didn’t know or that I wasn’t associated with. When my friends pass away it’s a respectful thing to go to their funerals. I’ve lots of friends.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest One of the Healy-Raes’ campaigns in a local newspaper. Photograph: Johnny Savage/The Guardian

A leaked 2015 strategy paper from the Fine Gael party said the independent MP, a wealthy farmer and businessman, hid behind “the veneer of a friendly/simple country yokel” and was electorally “unbeatable”. A year later he won more votes than any other MP.

For next week’s election, Michael and Danny have issued colour-coded maps detailing how each town, hamlet and street should vote in the multiple seat constituency to ensure the brothers prevail - and potentially hold leverage over the next coalition government.

Videos tailored for social media show adroit use of humour, mash-ups and memes. The campaign has gone smoothly despite two of Michael’s sons – one of them a councillor – being recently convicted of assaulting a British tourist during a row at a chip van.

Denis Meehan, 53, a canvasser, said Michael would win on a tide of gratitude. “Every house that we go to, he’s had something done. He’s a fierce man for rural Ireland.” Sneering from Dublin only fortified support, he said.

Nevertheless, not everyone is a fan. “He’s a mighty talker,” said Tim Buckley, 70, a farmer. “But you get sick of that thing.”