Haughey's Forty Years of Controversy (5 page)

Figuratively speaking Charlie was flying high at this time and it was the start of a particularly crucial period because his father-in-law, Seán Lemass, had indicated his intention to retire as Taoiseach within the next twelve months. Charlie, who had never made any secret of his aspirations for the office, was clearly in an advantageous position. As Minister for Agriculture, he was in one of the most influential posts in the government and his comparative youth was a decided advantage because, on his next birthday, he would be the same age as John F. Kennedy was when he became the youngest president ever to be elected in the United States. Kennedy had made a profound impression on the Irish people, and Charlie never seemed averse to being compared with the late president. And those comparisons extended beyond the political arena.

Much of Charlie's success as a politician was due to his ability to sell himself. Having talked so favourably about the prospects for Irish agriculture in early 1966, he came in for strong criticism when things began to go wrong, especially when the bottom virtually fell out of the cattle market that summer.

Eighty per cent of Irish cattle and beef were exported, with the result there was little that he, or the Department of Agriculture, could do about controlling those markets. When the EEC virtually closed its doors to beef imports from outside the community in April 1966, Irish farmers had to turn to the British market to sell their surplus cattle, but they ran into serious difficulties here, too. A seaman's strike in Britain initially blocked imports and, after it was settled, a glut developed as the backlog was dumped on the market. This was further complicated by a credit squeeze which impaired the ability of British importers to keep Irish cattle for the two months necessary to claim a British government subsidy. Hence the demand for Irish cattle dropped.

As prices tumbled Charlie was criticised. It was not his fault, but he had left himself wide open to censure by his failure to prepare farmers for the slump, which became virtually inevitable following the closing of EEC markets in April. Apprising farmers at that stage would, of course, have meant giving them bad news before the presidential election and that was not Charlie's way of doing things.

At the annual general meeting of the National Farmers' Association (NFA) in August, Rickard Deasy, the organisation's president, criticised the minister's handling of events. Always highly sensitive to criticism at the best of times, Charlie was particularly sensitive now that his father-in-law was due to step down within the next six months. He over-reacted to the criticism by cancelling a planned meeting with NFA leaders. And his problems were compounded by his own arrogance as he got into a controversy with Radio Telefís Éireann (RTÉ) over the whole affair.

On 29 September he told the Dáil that farmers should hold on to their cattle to await better prices. The NFA, on the other hand, advised them to sell as soon as possible because prices would continue to drop. That night RTÉ reported Charlie's statement followed by the NFA's contradictory advice on its nightly television news. Charlie immediately telephoned the news department to protest.

‘I felt compelled in the public interest to protest that the NFA statement should be carried immediately after mine,' he explained. ‘I gave specific advice to farmers in reply to questions from deputies in the Dáil as the responsible minister, and I felt that to have my advice followed by a contradiction from an organisation could only lead to confusion and damage the industry.' As a result of his protest, the item was dropped from further bulletins that evening. Consequently questions were asked in the Dáil, where Charlie came across rather arrogantly.

‘I think it was a very unwise thing to say the least of it, for Radio Telefís Éireann to follow that solemn advice of mine given as Minister for Agriculture with a contradiction by one organisation,' he said. ‘I pointed this out to the news room of Telefís Éireann and I think I was absolutely right in doing so.'

The RTÉ affair was not only as an attempt ‘to hinder the democratic right of freedom of speech', an NFA spokesman argued, but also ‘one further example of the arrogance of Mr Haughey'. The latter suddenly found himself embroiled in a controversy over the freedom of broadcasting.

RTÉ journalists had been uneasy for some months over the station's role in the recent presidential election campaign. As de Valera was in his mid-eighties and almost totally blind, he had been unable to match his younger opponent on the campaign trail. It was therefore decided that he would not campaign at all. As his director of elections, Charlie sought to minimise the Fine Gael candidate's physical advantages by persuading RTÉ not to cover the campaign in the supposed interests of fairness.

RTÉ was asked to ignore the Fine Gael campaign, because the president would not be campaigning himself as he was supposed to be above politics. RTÉ's news department accepted the argument, which was unfair to Fine Gael's T. F. O'Higgins. Unlike the president, he campaigned actively but got practically no news coverage, whereas Charlie dispatched ministers around the country, where they highlighted de Valera's bid for re-election by making newsworthy announcements. Charlie was credited with pulling a political master stroke, but the pent up frustrations of RTÉ journalists exploded during the controversy with the NFA.

Matters were compounded when Charlie withdrew from a scheduled television appearance on a current affairs programme. He was supposed to debate the cattle situation with Deasy. Despite strong objections from Charlie, RTÉ went ahead with the programme, using one of its own reporters, Ted Nealon, to put forward the minister's case.

With Charlie refusing to talk, NFA leaders decided to exert public pressure with marches and a massive protest rally. On 7 October 1966 Deasy and other members of the NFA set out from Bantry to walk the 210 miles to Dublin, where it was planned to hold a protest rally outside Leinster House. In the following days other marchers set out from different centres and gathered support on the way. By the time the various marchers reached Merrion Square on 19 October, there were several thousand protesters. After a rally Deasy and eight other leaders went over to Department of Agriculture to talk to Charlie, but he refused to meet them.

The refusal seemed churlish after they had walked such a long way. Charlie had blundered tactically, because the NFA leaders set about dramatising his refusal in a novel way. Deasy announced that they would wait outside the Department of Agriculture for ‘a bloody month' if necessary until Charlie met them. The nine of them literally camped outside the front door of the Department for the next three weeks.

Charlie was becoming desperate. He travelled to the continent and tried frantically to find a market for Irish cattle. He was actually depicted on the cover of
Dublin Opinion
magazine as a cowboy driving cattle to the ends of the earth. But the only concession he came back with was a German promise to purchase 2,000 cattle. He promptly announced this to the Dáil, much to the embarrassment of the Germans, who had not had time to clear the matter with their European partners.

In the midst of the controversy with the farmers, Lemass formally announced his decision to retire and the quest for a successor began in earnest. Charlie and George Colley were initially seen as the main contenders.

‘There is great appreciation of the sheer ability of Mr Haughey in the Dáil, in the party, and in the government,' according to the political correspondent of the
Irish Times. ‘
The only snag, it is generally agreed, is that his public image is not favourable.'

And that image was not being enhanced by either the RTÉ controversy or his problems with the farmers camped on the steps of his office. When he went to Athlone for a Fianna Fáil meeting on 21 October, his car was attacked by a mob of protesting farmers. Four days later the same thing happened outside a hotel in Dublin.

‘Rat, rat, come out of your sewer, sewer rat', many of the 200 farmers chanted as they tried to prevent his car entering the hotel grounds. Later they attempted to block the road as he was leaving. Some stood in front of the car and pounded on it.

‘Go on, go on,' an elegantly dressed woman shouted from the sidelines. ‘I hate him.'

Such scenes really put paid to Charlie's chances for the leadership. Lemass, who initially stayed in the background, led some correspondents to believe he was supporting Colley, but this may have been just a ploy to help Charlie by discouraging others from entering the fray.

With backing from senior party figures like Frank Aiken and Seán MacEntee, Colley was seen as the candidate of party traditionalists, who were more concerned with the revival of the Gaelic language than with economic matters. On the other hand, Charlie's support came largely from those interested in a more pragmatic, business-minded approach.

Charlie was the epitome of the men in the mohair suits who were changing the face of Fianna Fáil. He and fellow ministers, like Donagh O'Malley and Brian Lenihan, were urban realists with little time for the pastoral idealism inspiring de Valera's dream of comely maidens dancing at the cross roads. Instead, Charlie and friends were to be found in the company of self-made men, speculators, builders and architects, the very people it seemed to some who were destroying the pastoral dream with their concrete jungles.

By working hard and also playing hard, Charlie had already become the subject of an elaborate mythology of rumours. His
bon-vivant
lifestyle with its aristocratic trappings commanded attention, but not always the approval of those he seemed to be imitating. Many of them despised him as
nouveau riche.
Others, possibly jealous at his successful rise, questioned how in a relatively short time he made money to live in such opulence, especially when most of his career was in public life at a time when politicians were not particularly well paid. He was secretive about his business dealings, and the unanswered questions led to speculation, which was easily exploited by enemies spreading defamatory rumours.

Although the
Irish Times
described Charlie as ‘far and away the strongest candidate,' the political correspondent of
The Cork Examiner
believed that Colley was virtually certain to win a contest, because Haughey was so unpopular at the time.

Some rural deputies like Tom McEllistrim of Kerry and Eugene Gilbride of Sligo called on Jack Lynch, Minister of Finance, to run, but he expressed no interest.

Haughey was rebutted when he approached Neil Blaney for support. ‘No, Charlie,' Blaney told him, ‘you haven't got the background.' Blaney decided to run himself, and Kevin Boland announced on 3 November 1966 that he would be nominating him. This changed everything. Donagh O'Malley, Haughey's campaign manager, promptly threw his support to Blaney. At that point, the Taoiseach decided to put pressure on Lynch to stand.

Lemass told Lynch ‘that several backbenchers wanted me to run and that the party generally favoured me as his successor,' Lynch recalled. ‘He pointed out that I owed the party a duty to serve, even as leader. He gave me to understand that the other contenders, to whom he had already spoken, were prepared to withdraw in my favour. I told him I would consider my position and would discuss it with my wife.'

When Lynch agreed to stand, Lemass called in the other candidates and informed them that he would be backing Lynch. He basically wished them to withdraw. Colley told him that he would first have to consult his wife, Mary.

‘What kind of people have I got when one man has to get his wife's permission to run and the other has to get his wife's permission to withdraw?' Lemass asked in exasperation.

Haughey's chances had already been undermined by the defection of Donagh O'Malley, so when the Taoiseach talked to him, he immediately agreed to withdraw and even offered to nominate Lynch.

‘I'm glad someone can give me a straight answer around here,' Lemass remarked.

The Taoiseach then called in Blaney and asked about his plans.

‘What are George and Charlie doing?' Blaney asked.

‘Charlie is no problem,' Lemass replied.

‘What about George?'

‘George is going out to Mary to allow him to withdraw.' With that Blaney agreed to stand down.

‘We were foolishly blinded by the necessity for unity in the party,' Blaney said afterwards. ‘Lynch literally didn't have a Fianna Fáil background at all.' Both Blaney and Boland were the sons of founder members of Fianna Fáil and both of their fathers had served in the Dáil. In their sneering arrogance, they essentially questioned Lynch's party pedigree from the outset. ‘Look,' Boland said to Blaney, ‘let him on so long as he does what we tell him.'

Haughey and Blaney publicly announced that they would be supporting Lynch. But George Colley – who was one of those with an impeccable party pedigree as the son of a former Fianna Fáil deputy – announced that he would not be withdrawing. There would be a contest, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Lynch won easily and was promptly elected Taoiseach.

His selection was widely welcomed, even in opposition circles, where there was obvious relief that Charlie had not succeeded. James Dillon, the Fine Gael leader, rejoiced openly. Now Charlie would never become Taoiseach, he gloated.

‘Remember,' Dillon told the Dáil, ‘when he failed to land his fish last Wednesday night, he will never land it. He is finished. He stinks, politically, of course.'

Having backed Lynch in the end, Charlie was rewarded with a prestigious promotion to what was generally seen as the second most powerful post in the government. He was appointed Minister for Finance.

Charlie was an innovative Minister for Finance. Each of his budget addresses incorporated popular giveaways, which reduced the opposition to impotent frustration. Richie Ryan of Fine Gael described the various concessions as a ‘payment of conscience money'.