Please Bertie, return the Áras to a retirement home
WHATEVER lessons Bertie Ahern learned over his decade in the political wilderness, giving straightforward answers to direct questions isn’t one of them. Asked about his designs on the Áras, and the wily operator entered his all-toofamiliar deflection mode.
‘I hope I’m alive that long. My main job is trying to stay alive that long. It doesn’t come up for a long, long time,’ he muttered, humility seeming to drip from every pore.
Now this column can’t match the former taoiseach, or Iar-Thaoiseach, as he once said he should by rights be called, when it comes to his flair for figures.
Nor do we share his fantasy degree from the prestigious London School of Economics. But by our reckoning, Bertie should be around 73 when the Park next becomes vacant.
It’s the perfect age for the job.
Not only that but Bertie, with his knack of playing his cards so close to his chest, his innate pragmatism, not to mention his tendency not to look into things too deeply, is the perfect candidate to return the head of State to its rightful place, as a retirement gig for leaders who served the country with distinction and from whom nothing more is expected other than they are in possession of a steady pulse.
LIKE many people, I have qualms about the Bert’s integrity, his acquiescence to the insatiable greed that created the property bubble – not to forget his lack of bank accounts while finance minister. But I think I might be able to forgive, and vote Bertie for president. I only ask that he promises to transform the office back to its original soporific state, of ceremonial ribboncutting at home and dutiful and discreet representation on the world stage. Granted it’s a long time now since the presidency ran along such dignified lines.
Mary Robinson broke the mould and it was a momentous inauguration day indeed that saw her, surrounded by a sea of middle-aged men in dress suits, salute Mná na hÉireann.
Pumped with the vitality and idealism of her relative youth, President Robinson saw the potential of her platform to champion good causes, and indeed herself, and she cut short her term to take up a lofty position as UN Commissioner of Human Rights, a move she later regretted. Mary McAleese, at 46, the youngest presithose dent to enter office followed in her dynamic footsteps, as did Michael D.
But there are downsides to having big thinkers and talkers, rather than career politicians as head of State. One is that come election time, the field is filled with colourful candidates, with no qualifications for the role other than their unassailable selfbelief. Mary Davis, Seán Gallagher, Peter Casey and Adi Roche are all high achievers, but none are what could be called a safe pair of hands. As a result, their characters were viciously torn apart in bruising and unedifying election campaigns.
Another negative is that the public’s patience at being told what to think by their betters, even from
who are well-intentioned and right-on, is finite.
SINCE the Robinson presidency, the world has become more bitterly polarized, entrenched along ideological lines, fractured by culture wars and deafened by Twitter echo chambers. The presidency should be an oasis of tranquility, impartiality and inclusion in a climate of ever-coarsening public discourse. Not another source of trenchant opinion. Michael D is a wildly popular President, but he has had the privilege of a long career in the Senate, the Dáil and as minister to promote his progressive causes. Why does he need to turn the presidency into a third chamber for debate? In his vanity, there is no constituency he will not attempt to win to his side. He’s even curried favour with the nation’s school children, promoting a homework ban.
If Bertie wants a final lap of glory, he’s welcome to enter the ring of combat. He could go down in history as an architect of the peace process and the man who reclaimed the presidency for its original purpose, which is to humbly represent all the people, not just those he agrees with.