Haughey's Forty Years of Controversy

by T. Ryle Dwyer

  In the outgoing Dáil, Fianna Fáil had 81 seats, but it returned with only 77, seven short of an overall majority. The only bigger losers were the Progressive Democrats, who lost eight of their 14 seats.

  The party’s dramatic reversal had the impact of making what had once been unthinkable now look attractive. As Seán Tracy could be re-appointed speaker, the six seats won by the Progressive Democrats just happened to be the number that Charlie needed to form a government. On his past record he had been ready to pay dearly for the necessary support and Mary Harney realised there was an opportunity for her and her colleagues – all of whom were former members of Fianna Fáil – to salvage something from the election disaster.

  ‘However we may dislike certain people or parties,’ she said, ‘we have to play our part in giving this country a government for the foreseeable future.’ She was clearly signalling the possibility of an arrangement, but Pearse Wyse seemed to throw a wet blanket over the idea of any co-operation while Charlie remained as leader. ‘I believed that no man, including Mr Haughey, has the right to stand in the way of stable government,’ he said. ‘In no circumstances could I bring myself to vote for him as Taoiseach.’

  The Progressive Democrats were pledged to vote for the Fine Gael leader, and they decided to keep their commitment when the Dáil met to select a Taoiseach on 28 June. But in the interim Des O’Malley and Pat Cox, who had just been elected to the European parliament, held exploratory talks with Charlie. They insisted that the price of Progressive Democratic support would be a coalition. When Charlie said he could ‘never sell’ that to Fianna Fáil, O’Malley smiled. He said that Charlie should not ‘make a mistake in under estimating his ability to sell anything to his party’.

  As expected Charlie’s nomination was defeated by 86 votes to 78, but so also were the nominations of Alan Dukes and Dick Spring. Under the constitution, Charlie would remain as Taoiseach until a successor was elected, but there was some confusion as to the correct constitutional procedure, as this had never before happened. Charlie proposed that the Dáil adjourn until 3 July to give him a chance to form a government. He said he would not be advising the president to dissolve the Dáil at this stage, as it would not be in ‘the best interests of the country to precipitate another general election’ so soon, if this could be avoided. He and his cabinet colleagues would continue in office and the ‘day to day business of the government will be carried on uninterrupted’, he said.

  Alan Dukes raised no objection. Prior to the first meeting of the last Dáil in 1987, it will be remembered that Fine Gael sources had been claiming that the Taoiseach could have up to forty-eight hours. But Dick Spring insisted that Charlie was constitutionally obliged to go to the president to resign his office formally.

  Charlie said he had advice from the attorney-general that ‘time was not of the essence’ and that he had ‘up to a week’ before having to resign. It was ironic the same person had said the opposite in relation to the possibility of Garret FitzGerald delaying for a couple of days two years earlier.

  Article 28.10 of the constitution stipulates: ‘The Taoiseach shall resign from office upon his ceasing to retain the support of a majority in Dáil Éireann unless on his advice the president dis solves Dáil Éireann and on the reassembly of Dáil Éireann after the dissolution the Taoiseach secures the support of a majority in Dáil Éireann’. The Taoiseach was obviously obliged to resign unless he called for another general election.

  Much of the argument was really academic anyway, because the following paragraph of the constitution stipulates that ‘the Taoiseach and the other members of the government shall continue to carry on their duties until their successors shall have been appointed’. It was just a question of procedure, but in such matters procedure is extremely important.

  Charlie was leaving himself open to the charge of refusing to resign in defiance of the constitution. He and Neil Blaney had been the first ministers in the history of the state to refuse to resign when called upon to do so by the Taoiseach during the arms crisis. Now Charlie would be setting a constitutional precedent.

  During a two-hour recess he was convinced by colleagues that, regardless of the advice from the attorney-general, it was politically imperative that he should resign as soon as possible.

  Immediately after the recess he announced his intention of tendering his resignation to the president. He added that he would not ask for a dissolution but would continue to try to form a government. The Dáil then adjourned for four days, until the following Monday, 3 July 1989.

  The Progressive Democrats made it clear that they were not interested in propping up a minority Fianna Fáil government, no matter what inducements were offered to them. They were only interested in a coalition, but Fianna Fáil had a longstanding policy of not going into coalition with anybody.

  The Fianna Fáil national executive voted unanimously against coalition and Charlie went on RTÉ’s This Week programme on 2 July to say that he was totally opposed to the idea.

  This, of course, raised the spectre of another election, but this would now be strictly a matter for the president, because he now had the authority to refuse to dissolve the Dáil as the Taoiseach had ceased to retain majority support. Charlie contended, however, that the ‘accepted wisdom’ had always been that the president would never exercise this power.

  When the Dáil reconvened next day, Charlie asked for a further adjournment until the afternoon of 6 July. Dukes agreed but not before making a hard-hitting speech in which he criticised Charlie’s attempt ‘to prejudge the response that the president might make to advise on a dissolution of the Dáil’. It was ironic that Charlie, of all people, should adopt such an attitude.

  His approach now was in sharp contrast ‘with his actions in January 1982,’ when he tried to get the president to reject Garret FitzGerald’s request for a dissolution of the Dáil, O’Malley observed.

  When the cabinet met next day, it was evenly split on the issue of coalition with senior members like Albert Reynolds, Pádraig Flynn, John Wilson and Michael O’Kennedy firmly opposed. Brian Lenihan, on the other hand, felt they had no choice. He argued that, under the circumstances, they would be able to sell the idea of coalition to the party.

  Flynn stunned his colleagues with a vicious attack on Charlie, whose lust for power had put them in the invidious position, he said. Later that afternoon he went on RTÉ’s Today at Five to say that a coalition was out of the question. ‘All the members of the cabinet are unanimous for no coalition,’ he said. ‘The national executive, the parliamentary party and the grassroots have indicated this is a core value which we must preserve.’

  When Charlie met the Progressive Democrats shortly afterwards, he formally agreed to form a coalition, subject to an agreement on a joint programme for government. On being asked about remarks concerning opposition within the party, he was dismissive.

  ‘I haven’t told them yet,’ Charlie replied.

  Next day, Thursday, 6 July, the Dáil reconvened and Charlie asked for a further adjournment until 12 July. Dukes again agreed, but warned that this was the last time. ‘One thing is perfectly clear,’ he said. ‘The issue before us must be resolved before this House meets next Wednesday .’

  Some deputies were becoming uneasy about the delay. Roger Garland of the Green party noted that the Dáil was dithering ‘while the world goes down the tube’. He complained about the destruction of the world’s rain forests and the ozone layer. As a result of the greenhouse effect, the polar ice caps were melting and he forecast the inundation of a large part of Bangladesh, as well as low-lying areas of Dublin, Cork and Limerick.

  ‘He’s only looking for the floating vote,’ one Fianna Fáil back-bencher interjected.

  If Garland thought the Dáil could have had the slightest impact on any of those matters within a week, he was the only one.

  Details on policy matters relating to the programme for government were negotiated by Albert Reynolds and Bertie Ahern for Fianna Fáil, and Bo
bby Molloy and Pat Cox for the Progressive Democrats. Things on which they were unable to agree and matters relating to the actual makeup of the government were then left to the two leaders.

  Fianna Fáil was insistent that Progressive Democrats were proportionally entitled to only one seat in the cabinet, but O’Malley insisted on two. He realised that Charlie was under strong pressure from within the cabinet and he actually expressed sympathy for the Taoiseach at one point.

  The parliamentary party allowed Charlie freedom to negotiate a coalition, but not before Máire Geoghegan-Quinn made some bitter comments. ‘Don’t ask me to accept that what is being done is in the national interest,’ she said. It was simply being done to satisfy the leader’s desire for power.

  Most of the backbenchers, however, were so anxious to avoid a further election that they favoured coalition. ‘They’re more enlightened than some of my cabinet,’ Charlie remarked caustically. ‘They are only a crowd of gobshites.’

  By the eve of the Dáil meeting the only outstanding issue was the question of whether the Progressive Democrats would be offered one or two seats in cabinet. Albert Reynolds told RTÉ that the party had authorised Charlie to give only one seat, but Charlie gave in to O’Malley’s demands and agreed to appoint him and Molloy to the cabinet and Mary Harney as a minister of state. In addition, the Progressive Democrats were promised three seats in the Senate out of the eleven to be appointed by the Taoiseach.

  ‘Never in the history of Irish politics has so much been given by so many to so few,’ grumbled one Fianna Fáiler.

  ‘Nobody but myself could have done it,’ Charlie proudly declared.

  LOSING THE PRESIDENCY

  With a presidential election due in November 1990, there was speculation that Charlie might run for the seven-year term. He was expected by many to step down as Taoiseach at the end of Ireland’s presidency of the European Community in July 1990, and it seemed natural enough that he would move on to Aras an Uachtaráin for a seven year term at this stage of his political career, especially when there were questions about his health.

  In December 1989 Charlie discouraged these rumours by effectively touting the candidacy of Brian Lenihan at an annual Fianna Fáil dinner. ‘He will still be one of us whatever high office he is called to during the next decade,’ the Taoiseach said to tremendous applause.

  Lenihan had been quietly campaigning for the office for months, and had done absolutely nothing to discourage speculation about his own ambitions for the office. ‘I would be honoured, as any Irishman would be honoured, to run for the presidency,’ he declared.

  Despite his open benediction, however, Charlie had real misgivings, because Lenihan’s election would undermine his majority in the Dáil. The government would have to win the ensuing by-election in Lenihan’s Dublin West constituency and, of course, Charlie had some unhappy memories of the by-election there eight years earlier. In the circumstances some of the government became uneasy, and Charlie did nothing to allay their disquiet. In fact, he quietly encouraged an alternative to Lenihan, going so far as to send out feelers to Fine Gael about the possibility of running an agreed candidate like the distinguished civil servant, T. K. Whittaker.

  Lenihan betrayed his own suspicions in April when he told the press that Charlie was ‘a tremendously loyal person to his friends, generous in spirit and a very kind and considerate person in all his personal relationships and dealings.’ He was trying to put pressure on the Taoiseach, as there were indications that John Wilson, the Minister for the Marine, was also interested in running for the presidency. If he won, Fianna Fáil would have little difficulty winning a by-election in his Cavan-Monaghan constituency.

  ‘The more suspicious of my supporters felt that Mr Haughey was behind the Wilson gambit,’ Lenihan wrote. But Leinhan’s campaign had already gained an unstoppable momentum, and he brushed aside the Wilson challenge to win the Fianna Fáil nomination by 54 votes to 19.

  From the outset Lenihan was an odds-on favourite to win the presidential election. Over the years he had enjoyed a high profile, especially in recent months after his successful liver transplant. He was well liked by politicians on all sides of the Dáil and also by the press. He was the kind of man who facilitated journalists and, unlike Charlie, he never took offence at their criticism.

  Prior to the start of the campaign proper, therefore, Lenihan enjoyed a considerable lead in the polls. He had more than double the support of his nearest rival, Mary Robinson. During the campaign she began to eat into his lead as expected, but her left wing views on matter like divorce and contraception, were seen as a distinct liability among conservative voters. The various public opinion surveys were indicating that if Brian did not win on the first count, he would win easily on transfers from the Fine Gael candidate, Austin Currie, who did not get into the campaign until too late. He and his party was floundering in their efforts to boost his candidacy by trying to depict Lenihan as unsuitable for the office on the grounds that he was too close to Charlie and could not therefore be trusted to act independently. ‘It is difficult to see how the habits of loyalty to Mr Haughey for half a lifetime will be abandoned by Mr Lenihan if elected president,’ Currie said at the launching of his campaign.

  On RTÉ’s Questions and Answers on 22 October 1990 Garret FitzGerald noted that Lenihan had facilitated Charlie in trying to interfere with the discretionary power of the president by trying to get Hillery to refuse a dissolution of the Dáil after the coalition government was defeated on John Bruton’s budget eight years earlier. Lenihan dismissed this, because no president had ever used the option.

  ‘Why the phone calls to try to force him to exercise it?’ Garret asked, alluding to what happened in 1982.

  ‘That’s fictional, Garret,’ Lenihan replied.

  ‘It is not fictional, excuse me, I was in Aras an Uachtaráin when those phone calls came through and I know how many there were.’

  A member of the audience asked Brian directly if he had made any phone calls to the Aras that night.

  ‘No, I didn’t at all,’ he insisted. ‘That never happened. I want to assure you that never happened.’

  Lenihan had forgotten that he had told a student in May that he had called President Hillery that night and had actually spoken to him. ‘I got through to him,’ he said. In hindsight, he explained that the whole thing was a mistake because the president was not the type of man who would break new ground. ‘But, of course,’ Brian added, ‘Charlie was gung-ho.’

  In an article in the Irish Times on 27 September the student, Jim Duffy, wrote that Charlie, Lenihan and Sylvester Barrett had made phone calls to the president on the night of the budget fiasco. Dick Walsh, the political editor of the newspaper, was anxious to run a follow up story, but Duffy was reluctant. He allowed Walsh to hear the taped interview and agreed to the Irish Times running a low-key story on 24 October to the effect that it had corroborative evidence.

  The whole thing was by now gathering a momentum of its own. Gay Byrne challenged the Irish Times to publish the evidence, if it had any. And Lenihan reaffirmed his denial on RTÉ radio’s News at One, as well as Today at Five, on which his campaign manager, Bertie Ahern, mentioned Jim Duffy and suggested that his tape had been stolen.

  With the political temperature rising Duffy decided to release the pertinent segment of the controversial tape after Bertie Ahern had named him on RTÉ. The Irish Times then called an extraordinary press conference. Rather than running the story as an exclusive on its own pages, it gave the story to the world, setting off a political firestorm.

  Lenihan was caught completely by surprise. He rushed over to appear on RTÉ’s evening news programme to explain his side of the story without even hearing the tape. He only heard it for the first time on the programme. Rather than candidly admit that he had no recollection of the interview, he tried to bluff his way out by looking straight into the camera.

  ‘My mature recollection at this stage is that I did not ring President Hillery. I want to
put my reputation on the line in that respect,’ he said.

  The interviewer, Seán Duignan, realised that Lenihan could not have it both ways. Either he wasn’t telling the truth now, or else he did not tell the truth to the student.

  ‘I must have been mistaken in what I said to Duffy on that occasion,’ Lenihan replied. ‘It was a casual discussion with a research student and I was obviously mistaken in what I said.’

  But it could not have been just a casual slip; it wasn’t just one mistake. Duignan quoted from the transcript of the conversation.

  ‘But you made a phone call?’ Duffy asked.

  ‘Oh, I did,’ Lenihan replied.

  ‘Sylvester Barrett made one?’

  ‘That is right.’

  ‘And Mr Haughey?’

  ‘That is right.’

  ‘Well,’ Lenihan interrupted Duignan, ‘in fact, that is wrong, and I want to emphasise it here. From my mature recollection and discussion with other people, at no stage did I ring President Hillery on that occasion or any other time.’

  ‘They are all going to come after you demanding that you pull out of the race,’ Duignan suggested. ‘Do you not think that in all the circumstances you should?’

  ‘I will not pull out of the race. I am not going to do so on the basis of a remark made to a university student, to whom I was doing a very great service in providing background for the material he was making on the presidency.’

  It was a pathetic performance, made all the worse by Lenihan’s ridiculous efforts to project sincerity by looking straight into the camera and using the phrase ‘mature recollection’ four different times. Either he was lying now, or else he had spun a cock and bull story to the student. If the latter was true, it was certainly ludicrous to describe the interview as ‘a very great service’.

  What he said to Duffy ‘was a casual oversight’, he explained minutes later during an interview on radio news. ‘I am telling you the honest truth. And I like to be honest. I have been honest all my life in politics.’