Just Mary (33 page)

In seeing through all of these practical measures and concrete scenarios, Brian was fuelled by a determination to somehow get us as a country back on the straight and narrow, while attempting to
inject some measure of optimism into the picture and to maintain a sense of the wider historical perspective of all that was happening. And it was all done of course against the background of his
fatal pancreatic cancer. How did he do it, you might ask? He was only able to do it because he was so deeply imbued with the highest qualities of selfless service to his country. There is no doubt
in my mind that Brian put his country before himself.

During all of these difficult times, Brian had scant support around the Cabinet table. To be fair, he had welcome support in his health difficulty from Brian Cowen, but he was given very little
backing from his Cabinet colleagues as regards the path of financial rigour he was trying to take. The truth of the matter is, Brian arrived in the Department of Finance as, in his own words, the
whole construction industry in Ireland was coming to a shuddering halt. He came into the picture too late — and yet in a way, this is what saved him in the eyes of the public and the party,
because he had not been around for the construction boom, for the spending excesses and for the wayward policies.

The problem was that Brian Cowen never explained. Some might say that it would have been difficult for him to do so, since he had been Minister for Finance during some of the critically
important years. But now, in the immediate aftermath of the Patrick Honohan/Troika matter, an explanation or a state-of-the-nation address of some kind was needed more than ever. Yet, despite ever
more persistent entreaties from the parliamentary party, Brian Cowen did not see fit to go on national television and relay it as it was. I must say however that when I spoke at a parliamentary
party meeting at that time, I myself did not encourage him to do so, because I thought he would be uncomfortable in such a situation, and would not cut a reassuring figure for either the Irish
people or for the party. I have mentioned earlier the curious habit he had, when faced with the cameras, of lapsing into ‘civil servant speak’. When he did this, he became like another
person, and no longer the Brian Cowen we knew so well. I don’t know what that was based on. As far as I could see, it wasn’t fear that he would say the wrong thing: Brian was, and
remains, a very clever, able man who could, if he set himself to it, devour a brief in very short time and gain from it the salient points.

The fact was that the always uneasy relationship between Brian Cowen and the media had been going from bad to worse, particularly in the months leading up to the dire circumstances in which we
found ourselves in the winter months of 2010. This was reflected in the increasing prevalence in the papers, on an almost daily basis now, of unflattering, unappealing photographs of the Taoiseach,
in which he had clearly been caught in off-guard moments while in the public eye. Of course, this can happen to any public figure, but, in my own experience, when you are a Minister or otherwise
frequently in the public eye, you need to be conscious at all times as to how you might appear. Are you sitting up straight, are you smiling at people, are you paying attention to the other
speakers, and so on? It seemed, particularly to us Fianna Fáil backbenchers, that some of the newspapers were consciously on the look-out for moments when they could catch Brian Cowen on
camera in unflattering poses, and certainly not at his keen best as we had known him.

At parliamentary party level, the mood was sombre and uneasy as we broke for the Christmas holidays. Of course, given all that had been happening and the increasingly negative ‘spin’
the media were putting on Brian Cowen’s general demeanour and apparent failure to confront things head-on, some may wonder how he had managed to keep the rank-and-file of party faithful on
side for so long anyway. The truth is, however, that Brian had always managed very well at parliamentary party level. I always thought he presided over the weekly party meetings with great honesty
and integrity. Chairperson John Browne would guide these meetings in the main, but the Taoiseach would always be there and would often take the opportunity to get to his feet to deliver what would
be a sort of a ‘state-of-the-nation’ address — but at party level, to us backbenchers. Particularly if there was a topic or a piece of legislation which we felt needed further
clarification or explanation, he would take great pains to address our concerns and often be rewarded by our applause. In this context, Brian Cowen was invariably very frank and open, as well as
very honest and straightforward. If only he had been able to find the means to translate this very successful approach into the wider context of public life and the media spotlight, I have often
thought! He spent a lot of his political capital at those party meetings and it was the reason why so many were able to keep their faith in him for so long.

Even from the early days of Brian Cowen’s reign however, a group of dissenters had formed themselves. Of course, there will always be a group of dissenters in any political party. This is
something I have observed at every stage of my career in politics — in Charlie Haughey’s time, where dissension became an art form of sorts; under Bertie Ahern, albeit in a more hidden,
less obvious incarnation; and now in Brian Cowen’s government, where it was very vocal and open. Here it was headed up in the main by John McGuinness, who felt he had been slighted by Cowen
when he had been relegated to the backbenches from his role as Minister of State in the Department of Enterprise, Trade and Employment. The origins of the friction between the two men could be
traced back to 2008 and a trade mission to China where, within the earshot of some Irish officials in attendance, McGuinness had voiced displeasure at some of the actions of the Taoiseach. This had
reached the ear of the Taoiseach and naturally he didn’t like it and no doubt said so, which sowed the seeds of a very dogged determination on John McGuinness’s part to gather others to
his cause of growing dissent. I have to be utterly frank here. The media encouraged and applauded John McGuinness: he was fodder for them and he was built up to be a person who had the potential
for startling, wonderful ideas, if only he would be allowed to give free rein to them. Another important skein to his dissent, and which no doubt appealed greatly to the media as well, was his
belief that civil servants were pampered, overpaid good-for-nothings, and indeed this was the dominant theme in the book he published at this period.

There were others who spoke frequently at parliamentary party meetings in a way which was not sympathetic to the Taoiseach. Tom Kitt was one of these, although always in a gentler fashion than
John McGuinness, and you would often feel that he really didn’t have his heart in the argument when he stood up to make his point. Tom had been Chief Whip under Bertie Ahern, and Chief Whips
in a governing party are always fairly powerful people. When Brian Cowen had taken over, he had seen fit to dispense with him as Chief Whip, offering him a role as Minister of State instead. Tom,
however, wouldn’t accept the role, and it seems clear that he too felt he had been slighted. Another dissenter was Mattie McGrath, who ultimately would make the decision in 2011 to run as an
Independent (when, against the grain, he won a seat). The truth is that Mattie is one of those people who will forever be a dissenter against the status quo, whatever it is. But it seems that he
has proved himself to his electorate and in the game of politics, that’s what matters. And there were other dissenters who came and went, such as Michael Kennedy in Dublin North — a
fine, rugged, 6-foot-4-inch individual, a real grassroots man, who was clever and able.

By Christmas 2010, a feeling of revolt and discontent was beginning to take hold on a wider level within the party, however, and not just among the few diehards who had for whatever reason
always had their gripes. Yet another difficult budget had compounded the many tensions at backbench level. Although there was a recognition of the necessity of such measures of austerity, there was
also an awareness that we were growing increasingly unpopular as the various remedial measures were being put in place. Among a greater and wider membership within the party at large, there was now
a conviction that we could not face into the upcoming General Election with Brian Cowen as leader. A series of by-elections were immediately pending, which we as a government felt we couldn’t
move to fill, because we were not sure we would win them — sitting governments never do. Relationships were beginning to sour badly also between the Greens and ourselves around this time.

The whispering against Brian Cowen became more vehement and more open. On two separate occasions John McGuinness proposed and was seconded by Noel O’Flynn — a Cork deputy, who by now
had become very anti-Cowen — that the Taoiseach should resign as leader of our party. Brian Cowen always withstood them. He was very ably backed up by Mary Coughlan as his Tánaiste.
Mary Coughlan had, to my mind, been a wonderful Minister for Agriculture for the farming community. The Fianna Fáil Party in general, and indeed those she dealt with in a wider, European
context, had fully embraced her approach and liked her immensely. However, under Brian Cowen’s government, her sojourn in the Department of Enterprise, Trade and Employment had been less
successful: it seemed that her carefree, jousting manner did not find the same echo in the Kildare Street offices. The Taoiseach soon transferred her to the Department of Education, where she
seemed happier.

For some time in parallel to all of this, the party faithful had been urging Brian Lenihan to take over the role as leader of the party. Yet one of Brian’s main priorities was to do his
utmost to maintain a good working relationship between himself and Brian Cowen. After all, this is the requirement of our Constitution — that the Taoiseach works in close conjunction with his
Minister for Finance — and in this case, both men wanted to deliver on that to the best of their abilities. There was no doubt that if, at any stage during this period, Brian Lenihan had come
forward and said he was going to challenge as Taoiseach, he would have won the day. But, as Shakespeare said, ‘uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’, and Brian Lenihan was always
deeply conscious of this. More important, because of his own upbringing and the way his father had been, he always felt that loyalty to a leader was hugely important and this indeed is a key tenet
of Fianna Fáil political life. And of course, underpinning everything was the terrible reality of his illness.

In spite of all this, the Fianna Fáil National Executive decided to go ahead with some early conventions, believing that we were very near an election — which we were, as it
transpired. It had been the intention to fill Longford–Westmeath before Christmas but we held off until 3 January 2011. Brian Lenihan came down to chair our convention and, for me, it was
particularly poignant to have him there as Chairperson, when I of course was a candidate. He did a great job all round and spoke brilliantly when the actual nomination of candidates, including
myself, was made.

After the business of that day was concluded, Brian, Mícheál Ó’Faoláin and I sat down to have something to eat and to talk together. I felt Brian was in good
form physically. He didn’t show any signs of tiredness even though it had been a long afternoon, but he seemed weary in spirit about the ongoing battle within Fianna Fáil. As I have
said, Brian was highly conscious of his sense of loyalty and duty to the Taoiseach. But he was equally aware that, if we went to the General Election with Brian Cowen as our leader, the Fianna
Fáil Party was going to be beaten to a pulp. As an active member of the parliamentary party, I was privy to all of the backroom gossip and knew that Brian was being pushed to throw down the
gauntlet and to become leader. Many times on the telephone, he and I had discussed the imponderable — could Fianna Fáil under him or indeed under any other leader, salvage any seats
from the tsunami which we instinctively felt was to come upon us? Brian knew in his heart of hearts that he hadn’t long to live, and yet this pressure was being piled upon him.

That whole period of Christmas 2010 was a cobweb of worries and anxieties, and I could not help thinking back to the heartache the previous Christmas had brought, with the awful news of
Brian’s diagnosis. I knew that others in our close circle would be feeling the same, especially Patricia, Tom and Clare. It will be very hard for any of us in our family to ever think of
Christmas as a good time again.

Chapter
22

W
e went into government in the summer of 2007 under the leadership of Bertie Ahern, with high hopes for our third consecutive term and the future.
By February 2011, four months short of our second four years, it was all over for us. In the General Election of that month, we were overwhelmed by a tsunami of defeat and would emerge deflated,
humiliated and badly beaten. The magnitude of our losses was historic in our own party terms, and worse than this still perhaps, the Fianna Fáil ‘brand’ was soon being widely
denounced as ‘toxic’ — all at once we had become the untouchables, it seemed. So, what happened to the bright morning on which we had embarked? What went so badly wrong?