We are no strangers to flawed leaders and haunted heroes

MY LOCAL newsagent tells me that since Trump was elected, the sales of newspapers have skyrocketed.

“People can’t get enough of him,” she said. I agreed, adding that people can’t wait to see what kind of daft stuff he’s up to today.

Watching him and listening to him is akin to sucking on sour sweets — they make you grimace and wince, but you can’t help reaching for another one.

After nearly five months of wall-to-wall coverage of the man, I think I’m getting used to Trump. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s growing on me, but I am becoming accustomed to the outlandishness and the loose relationship he, and those around him, have with the truth. It goes to show we can get used to anything. Trump exemplifies what we might call ‘the flawed leader’. Even before he took on the mantle of leadership, his flaws were obvious to everyone with eyes to see.

The list of his shortcomings is pretty comprehensive; his thin skin, his narcissism, his penchant for tweeting first and thinking later, and his ability to form opinions that can be quite at odds with the facts.

Of course, the concept of the flawed leader is nothing new; from the tyrant to the most admired, they all have their feet of clay. Over these past few weeks here, we have had cause to remember some blemished leaders from our relatively recent past.

The passing of Eamonn Casey reminded us of a man who was never far from the public eye in the Ireland of the 1970s and 1980s.

When he was first appointed bishop of Kerry, he was regarded as a breath of fresh air. A hero among the Irish emigrant community in England, it was said that when the Irish bishops heard he was about to be appointed a bishop in London, they found a diocese for him at home. And he didn’t disappoint. A flamboyant and colourful presence, he stood out from the main body of church leaders of the time, who were remarkable for little — aside from their dour conservatism.

He became the darling of the media and loved by the people. (Though many priests that served under his leadership might tell a different story.)

After he fell from grace, a friend of mine, a nun, told me her first encounter with Casey left a lasting impression. She met him in a hostel in London decked out in an apron, with spatula in hand, cooking sausages for the residents — homeless Irish people.

In his day and in his time, he did the church and society some service, his championing of Third World issues and his work with Trócaire stand out.

But his disservice to Annie Murphy and their son drained the value from what he did. A flawed man undone by his flaws.

The passing of Maureen Haughey brought to mind her late husband, Charles J, a man with a pair of Achilles heels — both snugly covered in Gucci leather. All through his politicallitical life there were questions about the source of his money, his high living and his reputation for grazing out under the electric fence. A political Houdini like none other, he came back from the ignominy of the Arms Trial and its ensuing political desert to lead Fianna Fáil for a decade. He too did the state and society some service and will be