The 17th century French economist and political bruiser Jean-Baptiste Colbert left one juicy, plump quotation to posterity: “The art of taxation consists in so plucking the goose as to obtain the largest possible amount of feathers with the smallest possible amount of hissing.”
The same could be said of politics in general, except that the loudest hissing comes not from the public but from the backbenches of the governing party.
The natural instinct for a politician is to find the path of least resistance for every decision made. Anyone watching the series on Charlie Haughey on RTÉ will see this phenomenon in action. In 1980, when Haughey told the people that “collectively, we are living beyond our means”, he just could not bring himself to follow up his tough rhetoric with equally durable actions.
Even if you have a rigorously controlled party, it’s often hard to maintain the line. In 2008 the government quickly climbed down on its decision to revoke automatic medical card entitlements for over-70s. The public revolted, but so too did its backbench TDs who got it in the ear from constituents.
When Ireland was in the bailout programme, a senior troika official told me its function was to provide political cover for government and allow it make unpopular decisions. If a terribly austere measure was to be taken, ministers could say: “I’m sorry folks. We don’t like this either and if we had a choice, we wouldn’t be going down this road.”
By deflecting and finger-pointing, the theory went, a government would not have to suffer the full brunt of public disquiet.
It didn’t work out that way. Fine Gael and Labour TDs certainly don’t feel like they dodged too many bullets in the past few years.
Bucking bronco
At the best of times, a TD’s career is like an extended spin on a bucking bronco. If an unpopular or hair-shirt measure is taken, the speed is turned up and the chances of being thrown off increase greatly. Of course, most eventually end up deposited on their backsides, picking themselves up from the dirt. But the trick is to keep the horse as calm as possible so as to stay in the saddle as long as possible.
It’s even harder for Government backbenchers. These are the politicians who are in power but who are personally powerless. They don’t make the decisions, and if they don’t like them, they can’t really rail against them. From a chief whip’s point of view, they should – like children – be seen and not heard. As former Fianna Fáil TD Barry Andrews put it, their role in life is essentially “lobby fodder”. It’s not an ideal scenario, but in a world where realities have to be embraced, it’s better than the alternative.
That alternative has been canvassed a lot recently, partly by Lucinda Creighton’s nascent party, but mostly by the group of Independents beginning to swarm around goal-poacher extraordinaire Shane Ross.
Ross has been talking about forming an alliance rather than a party. The difference? There won’t be a whip – just a core set of policies around budget and confidence in government, to be agreed by the motley crew. It sounds enticing and exciting. But it is a ludicrous proposition. And it is bound to fail.
The whip system in Ireland is much stricter than in Westminster, with a three-line whip imposed by parties for just about every vote (the phrase originates in the note informing an MP attendance for a vote was essential, with the word underlined three times to underscore its importance). The Irish tradition of strict discipline dates back to Parnell’s time, but is also influenced by the fact that governments here had more precarious majorities than their counterparts in the UK.
The principle is a simple one. If you are a member of a party, you subscribe to its core values and views.
I remember seeing a documentary about lions hunting elephants. They wait until a vulnerable one is isolated by the herd and then pounce. In a whipless situation, a TD becomes vulnerable to hard-chaw lobbying from interest groups, without the protection of a herd. They are human, and it is difficult not to cave in.
For sure, there is a strong argument for relaxing the whip rule, particularly on a matter of conscience or for non-core votes.
By definition, an Independent isn’t bound by party rules and will judge each issue on its own merits.
In 1948 James Dillon led a group of six Independents into government and became minister for agriculture. That government fell not only because of Noël Browne’s Mother and Child Scheme but also because three of those independents – Patrick Cogan, Patrick Lehane and William Sheldon – could no longer support, ironically, Dillon’s agricultural policies.
Minority governments
Since then, minority governments have fallen when independents have withdrawn support: Jim Kemmy in 1982 over VAT on children’s shoes; Tony Gregory again in 1982 over the harsh Fianna Fáil budgetary policy, The Way Forward. A prospective member of Ross’s putative group, Independent TD Finian McGrath withdrew his support from the previous government over welfare cuts.
Independent TDs have a long and honourable tradition in Irish politics. They bring diversity and contrarian views but not stability, and certainly not a willingness to stay the course no matter what.
For that reason my own view is that it is fanciful for an independent alliance (with disparate views and without a whip, just a narrow agenda) to become an intrinsic part of a coalition. To me, there would be lot of hissing, no feathers plucked, and at the end of it all, the administration would still be goosed.
Stephen Collins is on leave