They never know just when to go, do they?
THEY say that all political careers end in failure. By my reckoning, that’s because too few parliamentarians know when it is time to get off the stage.
The old maxim is actually based on remarks made by the late Enoch Powell MP, a man best remembered for expressing controversial and often repugnant sentiments. Whatever about his outlook on life, he got that much right.
Yet at least there is some tradition in British public life of politicians quitting while they are ahead or resigning when that is the obvious thing to do. Needless to say, it is a completely different story on this side of the Irish Sea.
My attention was drawn to comments made by Rory Stewart, the Tory prisons minister, the other day. He spoke as an extra £10million in funding was announced to tackle a rise in violence and drug use in ten of Britain’s worse jails.
Among the measures being introduced are airport-style scanners and sniffer dogs. But the most notable aspect of it all was the specific, unambiguous commitment that Mr Stewart gave. ‘I will quit if I haven’t succeeded in 12 months in reducing the level of drugs and violence in those prisons,’ he said.
Can you recall an Irish politician ever making a pledge like that? No, me neither. Our elected leaders are very good at making airy-fairy promises about meeting targets and delivering reform, but they never give any hostages to fortune.
Regardless of who has the keys to Government Buildings at any given time, there is an almost pathological resistance among our political classes to anyone ever resigning. Think of how Bertie Ahern hung on in there even when it was clear that his credibility was in shreds. Brian Cowen wasn’t much better.
Even on the rare occasion when someone does actually go, it is invariably after they have been clinging on by their fingernails for weeks and are on the verge of being sacked. But even then it is still very much the exception. All you have to do is look at the countless health ministers who brazened it out while the service continued to collapse around their ears.
Nor should it be forgotten that Enda Kenny was another one who outstayed his welcome. Despite it being clear by the time of the 2016 general election that his time was up, he still blundered on as taoiseach for well over a year afterwards. By the end, he was beginning to look like a dinner party guest who hadn’t realised his hosts had done the washing-up and changed into their pyjamas.
Now we have another spectacle to look forward to. It is increasingly obvious to everyone but Brendan Howlin that his days as Labour leader are numbered.
With just seven TDs and between three and four per cent of support in recent opinion polls, the party is in danger of being obliterated in the next election. It has allowed itself to be completely outmanoeuvred by both Sinn Féin and the far left. Of the party’s 49 councillors, only 19 are willing to say openly that they want Mr Howlin to remain in charge. Eleven, including loyal Labour lifers like Dermot Lacey, are calling for a change at the top.
Granted, I fully understand why Mr Howlin wouldn’t relish making it easy for the obnoxious Alan Kelly to succeed him. But observers might be forgiven for seeing that prospect – as unpleasant as it might be – as a better option than Labour being voted out of existence.
Still, there is no sign of common sense prevailing any time soon. ‘Howlin is going to fight this, have no doubt about that,’ said a senior party source quoted in one of yesterday’s newspapers.
Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. But, of course, the personal survival instinct is the common thread running through Irish public life.
On every side of the political divide, the bottom line is that the consequences for country, party or parliamentary colleagues are largely irrelevant. The most important thing is to hang on in there for as long as humanly possible, no matter what the cost to everyone else.