THE WORD ‘PLÁMÁS’ has no direct English translation. The closest equivalent might be the word ‘glad-hand’, but that doesn’t quite tap into the depths of insincerity inherent in a good old plámás.

Watching Micheál Martin sitting in the same seat where Volodymyr Zelenskyy was humiliated just two weeks prior, chuckling along as Donald Trump named Conor McGregor as his favourite Irish person, it’s hard to know which thought is worse. That the Taoiseach is capable of such insincerity, or that he really was enjoying himself.

Given Trump’s adversarial approach towards the EU since taking office in January, Martin may have feared the worst ahead of his first meeting with Trump. A public dressing down, a surprise appearance from the Burke family, nothing felt off-limits. Once JD Vance began the day by showing off his shamrock socks, however, fears of an ambush quickly began to dissipate.

Martin went out of his way to nonsensically praise Donald Trump’s “unrelenting pursuit of peace” despite the president’s repeated violent threats addressed to “the people of Gaza” and his (now-reversed) decision to halt military aid and intelligence sharing with Ukraine. Micheál Martin is lucky that there is no direct translation for the word plámás, because no other word could possibly as charitable for that kind of supplication.

The day’s spectacle quickly devolved into an inconsequential series of questions and Martin emerged unscathed, at least in the immediate term. Once he gets home, one suspects Martin will have more serious questions to answer.

Since the Oval Office meeting, much of the focus has fallen on Micheál Martin’s obsequious reaction to Trump’s assertion that Ireland “has a housing crisis because they’re doing so well… They can’t produce houses fast enough”. 

“That’s a good answer, Mr President,” chirped the Taoiseach, leaving us all to study his facial expressions to see if we could detect even the faintest hint of shame, the mere suggestion that he might be thinking of the people he is supposed to be protecting, over 15,000 of whom accessed homeless services last month and tens of thousands of whom live in permanent poverty. If there’s a reason why the world regards the Irish as cute rather than brave, it’s moments like that one.

Some might argue that Micheál Martin was in an impossible position, that he chose his battles wisely by not confronting the president on frivolous matters. Specifically, Martin zeroed in on Ireland’s investment in US companies through the purchasing of Boeing aircraft by the likes of Ryanair and AerCap. 

Beyond that interjection, it seemed that Martin was a man on a mission and that mission was to stay on Donald Trump’s good side even if it meant running the risk of raising the hackles of his own people struggling at home.

There will be others who laud Martin’s performance as a deft and diplomatic handling of a maniac. But to what end? Martin’s softly-softly approach personally spared him the ire of a notorious bully, but it was unfortunately not enough to even apply 24 hours worth of brakes to the Trump juggernaut. The idea that Martin achieved anything at all here will be worth revisiting should Trump make good on his threat to pressure foreign direct investment (he specifically name-checked pharmaceutical companies) to abandon Ireland.

By Thursday, Trump had already resumed posting on Truth Social about how the EU is “one of the most hostile and abusive taxing and tariffing authorities in the world” and is threatening a 200% tariff on alcohol that would disproportionately affect Ireland. If this is mission accomplished then what good was the mission? To go to the White House, laugh and joke with a man who’s gutting his own government, taking political prisoners, threatening the annexation of Canada, and walk away face-first into the same tariffs we were always going to be hit with anyway? What are we doing, exactly?

One might wonder why it is so easy for Martin to be so conciliatory with this odious, adversarial, fascistic figure when he can scarcely entertain the idea of engaging with his own opposition without resorting to the cheapest of jibes. The ‘filled to the brim with girlish glee’ version of Martin we saw kicking his heels in Washington DC is a far cry from the tough-talking figure we see in Dáil Éireann, furiously accusing his fellow parliamentarians of “subverting the Irish constitution” over the Dáil speaking rights row. The Micheál Martin we see speaking to Mary Lou McDonald is a bickerer, not a plámáser. What gives?

Surely, if the Taoiseach can sit there silently while Donald Trump calls Chuck Schumer a “Palestinian” as if it’s a slur and talks about “winning a financial battle with the European Union”, he can find it in himself to summon an iota of that humility to facilitate running the country?

Of course, with so much attention being diverted across the Atlantic it almost escaped notice that one of Ireland’s own TDs has become a reality TV star this week, with Barry Heneghan appearing on the Irish language dating show Grá ar an Trá. This guy, man. At least it can’t be any more disastrous than the last time he was on telly, telling generations of Irish people that they were too worried about the Moriarty Tribunal and defending his new best mate Michael Lowry while still clinging on to the assertion that he is somehow a left-wing voice even as he props up the government.

Heneghan is one of the Rural Independent Technical Group TDs cynically seeking a slice of opposition speaking time even though he’s not a member of the opposition, a gambit that might go some way to explaining his presence on a reality TV show. The guy just likes the sound of his own voice, likes being in front of the camera, and has no qualms about doing whatever he can to get there.

Speaking about how his time on the show might affect his reputation, Heneghan said: ”If anything, I think it shows that I am willing to engage with people in different ways. Politics in my opinion isn’t about sitting in an ivory tower. It’s about connecting with people”.

Irish politics is about one thing more than all others: plámássing. This was a week which saw that particular cultural practice sink to a new low.