The Race for the Áras

by Tom Reddy

  Davis continued:

  I have provided the media with copies of my P60 and all my organisational affiliations. I now call on all other candidates to publish their P60s, equivalent documentation and tax compliance details.

  After making the challenge, she went on to address one other issue in an attempt to distance herself from the charge that she was part of the establishment through her membership of politically appointed boards.

  I am not a political animal in independent’s clothing. I want the people to know that if they elect me they are getting a truly independent President—not only independent of any political party but independent of the political system itself.

  Then she took questions.

  At the weekend she had been dubbed the ‘quango queen’ because of a number of appointments to state boards, made, in the main, when Fianna Fáil was in power. The Independent.ie editorial said:

  For a candidate who claims to be independent of any party, her ability to pick up such choice political appointments is truly remarkable …

  Throughout her campaign, Ms Davis has stressed her lack of political affiliations. She has also emphasised her ‘outsider’ status, not least with the utterly daft proposal to rename Aras an Uachtarain Aras na nDaoine [made during one of the myriad television debates].

  While she may not be a member of any political party, her appointment to a raft of state boards indicates that, far from being an outsider, Ms Davis is a formidable networker and consummate insider.

  The following day’s Sunday Independent published a column by Shane Ross TD that rammed home the same ‘quango queen’ message. The label stuck, damagingly, to her campaign.

  At the official launch some journalists carried a copy of that morning’s Irish Independent, which included an article headlined ‘Davis and husband in storm over PR contract.’ It was an ominous sign, and overshadowed the campaign launch. The article reported that the public relations company Fleishman-Hillard, of which Julian Davis (57)was a director, was awarded a PR contract by a charity on whose board the couple both sat. Social Entrepreneurs Ireland is funded by charitable donations, and its accounts for 2009 showed that it spent more than €40,000 in 2009 on public relations with Fleishman-Hillard and almost €30,000 on marketing and PR costs for the previous year. Julian and Mary Davis both joined the company shortly after it was set up in 2007. They were not paid fees for their role as directors.

  The charity says it identifies, invests in and supports ‘social entrepreneurs’ and the organisations they launch. In the same way that entrepreneurs develop companies that manufacture products or services and so generate a profit, ‘social entrepreneurs’ create and run organisations that provide products and services to generate social and environmental return. Social Entrepreneurs Ireland holds an annual awards ceremony to present the work of Ireland’s leading social entrepreneurs and to encourage others to become part of the growing social entrepreneurship movement.

  The suggestion of a conflict of interest was denied by Julian Davis and the charity’s chief executive, Seán Coughlan. ‘The Board was happy there was no conflict of interest, in the sense that the relationship started before either Julian or Mary got on the board,’ he said. The board had discussed whether there was a conflict of interest on a number of occasions, the most recent being earlier that year.

  Fleishman-Hillard was awarded the contract because it had previously worked with an associated charity, the One Foundation, since 2005. Mary Davis was a director of the One Foundation from 2006 to 2008. ‘It was discussed as part of the discussion on the new corporate governance code for SEI,’ Coughlan explained. ‘No issue was raised regarding the current contract with Fleishman-Hillard.’

  Julian Davis denied there was any conflict of interest, telling the Irish Independent that both he and his wife had excused themselves from board meetings when the public relations contract was discussed.

  It was the first question thrown from the floor. She denied it. ‘There was no cronyism. I’d nothing to do with the awarding of the contract, and if there were any discussion in relation to the awarding of a contract, like a public relations contract, I was not a party to those discussions.’

  There were a dozen questions from journalists. Only one referred to her speech, and that centred on her claim that she was being polled against. Who was carrying out a dirty tricks campaign? ‘It would appear to me from reports in the paper that it’s driven by Fine Gael,’ she replied bluntly.

  Questioned further, she softened her tone, but the charge remained the same. ‘I would really like Fine Gael to come out and contradict that,’ she said. ‘Gay Mitchell would seem to me to be a very decent person, so I don’t know why political groups or any candidate would use negative polling in the way that it is being used. But I do know for a fact that it is being used.’

  Her advisers were beginning to wonder whether she had even delivered a speech, as every subsequent question was about her board membership as a ‘quango queen’.

  She denied she was an ‘insider’, saying she had served on three state boards for payment and on three with no pay. Asked about the policy of the ICS Bank, of which she was a member, of giving 100 per cent mortgages at the height of the property boom, she said that they had taken collective decisions and that ICS was not involved in this practice to the same degree as other banks. Questioned about the six-figure earnings of the Dublin Airport Authority’s chief executive, she said that again there was a collective decision.

  Ronan O’Reilly of the Daily Mail, who wrote the observational column ‘Pres Watch’, had witnessed Davis forge her way through the supportive crowd into the press launch. He wrote: ‘The members of the crowd themselves were of a sort to suggest that quite a few regular coffee mornings in Dublin’s leafier suburbs were somewhat short of a quorum yesterday.’ But by the conclusion of the press conference he clearly had a grudging admiration for Davis.

  The steely determination that got her this far was evident throughout. When she spoke of ‘tough productive negotiations’ with overseas governments in her Special Olympics role, she sounded like a slightly less intimidating version—slightly, mind—of Margaret Thatcher in all her pomp.

  When she faced questions from the floor about cronyism—as well as the lamentable Bertie Bowl project and irresponsible mortgage lending—the brittle smile soon vanished. It was replaced instead by a disapproving frown, accompanied by an exaggerated blinking of the eyes that seemed to signal some sort of incredulity that anyone could dare to challenge her. But, as it all wrapped up, the PR tutoring kicked in and Mary Davis beamed once more. The lady’s not for turning.

  Later that day the chief executive of Social Entrepreneurs Ireland would tell the media that the public relations contract held by Fleishman-Hillard on a rolling basis would be put out to tender after the Social Entrepreneur Awards were held later in the month.

  An avalanche of statements was issued that day, describing in detail the personal finances of a number of candidates. The most informative was a statement together with documents showing Martin McGuinness’s income—and how he spent it. The Bank of Ireland’s British unit released details of an account in the Strand Road Branch, Derry, jointly held by McGuinness and his wife. The manager stated that McGuinness received a monthly deposit of £1,605. The accounts, for March to September, had blanked-out references to cheques, personal debit details and balances but included details of purchases at Asda, Musgrave’s, Tesco and the clothing stores TK Maxx and Foster’s.

  Personal finances were a continuing theme as reporters followed the money trail for stories. David Norris confirmed the same evening that he had received a disability payment for sixteen years while out of work as a lecturer in Trinity College. The payment began in 1994 and ended in July 2010, when he reached pension age. He received a pension from the college worth about €2,500 a month, the Irish Independent would report. He also received a senator’s salary of €61,073 a year, supplemented by an unvouched Seanad allowance of €23,38
3.

  Norris insisted that he was in perfect health and would not say what his disability was, but it would not stand in the way of his being President. In typically ebullient form he said:

  And if you look at my Seanad record you see that. I hope we’re not going down the medical route of all this, but I will do any medical test you want. I just think this is getting daft. It shows how open I am: my life is an open book.

  Earlier, Michael D. Higgins had conducted a sprightly canvass in Grafton Street, Dublin. He too was asked by reporters about his income. Miriam Lord reported in the Irish Times that Higgins maintained a statesmanlike distance from the questioning about candidates’ pasts. ‘It’s getting ridiculous, as candidates fall over each other to account for every ha’penny they ever earned. It can only be a matter of time before they offer full details of their communion money.’

  Asked about his finances, Higgins gave details of his pension and estimated the value of his house in Galway and what he earned from his literary efforts. ‘The two poetry books have been declared for tax purposes,’ he said. Then he added with a sigh: ‘The income was minimal.’

  Finances weren’t the worry of his campaign team. Shaking hands with passers-by, meeting the flower-sellers on the street and the buskers, the campaign team then bumped into Stuart Gordon and his wife from the United States. They had watched ‘The Late Late Show’ and had spotted the Higgins entourage in the Grafton Street canvass. Surrounded by reporters, Gordon revealed that he was an orthopaedic surgeon. Minders blanched: after questions about the candidate’s age, here was an expert on his damaged knee, ready to give his instant diagnosis in front of the media. The question on everyone’s lips was ‘Is the candidate fit?’

  Higgins repeated the story he had told on ‘The Late Late Show’: he was on a visit with an aid agency to Bogotá, Colombia, where he slipped on tiles and damaged his knee. ‘Did you have the kneecap tied with wire?’ he was asked. Yes, confirmed the candidate. ‘It can be taken out later, yes, I’m galloping along now.’

  ‘He’s vital and brave,’ the surgeon told the media, and this was because of the wonders of modern orthopaedic surgery techniques and ‘because he has a lot of heart.’

  ‘What’s the prognosis?’ asked the eager reporters. Was the candidate able for the fray or already nobbled? ‘He has a bit of a limp, but he seems to have a good gait, and he has a nice cadence to his gait,’ the surgeon replied.

  The happy exhalation of pent-up breath by the Higgins campaign team could almost be heard on radios throughout the country, covering the unplanned but, as it turned out, fortunate encounter and endorsement.

  No, it wasn’t a set-up, members of the Higgins team would insist later: it was just fortuitous, another positive sign for the campaign.

  Chapter 12

  THE OFF

  ‘No speeches, no talking down the clock, no pork pies,’ the chairperson, Vincent Browne, warned the seven presidential candidates lined up in front of him for his live television programme on Tuesday 4 October. Mary Davis had formally launched her campaign only hours earlier.

  They stood behind white lecterns, their positions drawn randomly in front of the inquisitor: McGuinness to the far left, standing beside Davis, Higgins, Gallagher, Dana, Mitchell and Norris, on the far right of the screen.

  ‘I want a free-flowing debate,’ said Browne before introducing each of the seven candidates.

  ‘Martin McGuinness, best friend of Nelson Mandela, and, according to himself, he’s been in the Oval Office more times than Monica Lewinsky.’

  In the TV3 canteen, where journalists and photographers were watching on two large screens, there were hoots of laughter. ‘This is going to be interesting,’ one commented.

  ‘Mary Davis, who, according to herself, has performed on more boards than Michael Flatley … Michael D may not be the first poet in the Áras, but he’s certainly the first to write a poem about his favourite donkey.’

  Browne was enjoying himself, unsettling the candidates and setting the tone for an irreverent examination of the seven. He kept up the quick-fire commentary, which drew a few nervous smiles from the candidates but nothing like the belly laughs drawn from the media entourage in the canteen next door.

  ‘Dana is a celebrity bainisteoir, and she wants to prove that Ireland has talent … And David Norris was late coming to US this evening because he was writing more letters. I left out Gay Mitchell! Gay Mitchell is Gay Mitchell. I had something funny to say, but I don’t want to make you smile.’

  The TV3 studios are at the end of the Ballymount Industrial Estate, near the Red Cow, past numerous warehouses and recycling centres. Reporters who wanted to cover the debate had been assembling from seven o’clock on a cold and windy evening. A large tent, open on two sides, was the reception area for the media. Candidates would have to walk past them on their way from the car park into the building. The anonymous red-brick studio building could be mistaken for any industrial estate office and warehouse building, except for the fifteen-foot satellite dishes in their security pens. A lonely, single microphone on a stand stood in front of the tent, behind crash barriers to restrain the media and lit by four banks of floodlights. A small stage had been erected in front of it for photographers and cameramen.

  As the candidates arrived, the CEO of TV3, David McRedmond, accompanied by the head of news, Andrew Hanlon, met and chatted to them, escorting them to the microphone to have a few words before the debate.

  Mary Davis was the first to arrive. Gay Mitchell arrived next with his wife. An Irish Times photographer, Matt Kavanagh, asked Mitchell to give her a kiss. He duly obliged, and they posed hand in hand for photographs before being escorted inside to make-up and a warming cup of tea.

  ‘My hope is this will be positive,’ said Seán Gallagher. ‘It’s not about entertainment, it’s about getting your message out.’

  Martin McGuinness arrived with the largest entourage, in a jeep and a bmw. He spoke to reporters, again rehearsing his now familiar talking-points, which he had clearly prepared well. He talked about foreign investment, his visit to the New York Stock Exchange, and ‘positive and constructive work’ he had done to achieve the Belfast and St Andrews Agreements.

  With twenty minutes to go to air time at 9 p.m., all the candidates were made up and ready to go into the studio—except Davis Norris. McRedmond and Hanlon were increasingly nervous that the programme might be in jeopardy if Norris failed to show, and staff members were making hurried phone calls for an update.

  Norris, who had been in Cork on a canvass, arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, just enough time to get into make-up and go straight to studio. ‘Lovely to see you. Thank you very much. See you later,’ he called, waving with a big smile as he was hurried past the reporters and photographers.

  Norris’s adviser Paul Allen revealed after the campaign that they had stayed sitting in their car on the darkened estate until the last minute as they prepared for the debate. They wanted to avoid Norris losing focus, distracted either by reporters or by chat in the green room.

  More than twenty journalists, from newspapers, radio and television, were brought into the TV3 canteen for the hotly anticipated debate. There was no room for them in the studio, and no audience; there would be a photo call with all seven candidates and the mediator in the lobby at the end of the debate. As the journalists munched on their sausages, chips and sandwiches, speculation mounted about whether Browne would show his usual dismissive impatience by skewering panellists who dodged or failed to answer questions, providing as much entertainment as information.

  Browne warned the candidates that he would be as fair as possible in allocating time but advised them that they would have to fight their corner for coverage. The debate was significant, because it was the first of numerous debates and because the mercurial Browne was host.

  Coverage included panning shots of the candidates’ heads and shoulders. The remote control cameras didn’t have to dip down to capture Higgins, as he stood on a black b
ox behind the lectern so that all heads could be at the same approximate level. Pictures of the diminutive candidate were printed in some of the following day’s papers with the box helpfully ringed.

  Tony Heffernan, Higgins’s media adviser, would normally check the arrangements for any studio interviews or photo calls in advance during his twenty-nine years’ service as a political press officer. He had been enjoying his retirement and was reluctant to engage in the hurly-burly of a 24-hour-a-day campaign but relented in the face of constant pressure from Eamon Gilmore and the director of elections, Joe Costello.

  To tempt him into taking on the role he was asked to go and see Higgins on a visit to emigrant centres in London in the second week of February. Heffernan was convinced that he had to take up the role as they met other travellers in Dublin airport. ‘I’d never seen anything like it: people were coming over to him all the time, wishing him well. I was really struck by the reception he was given and later continued to receive.’

  Like the photographers, however, Heffernan wasn’t allowed into the studio, and as TV3 had provided the box, Higgins just stepped up onto it. There were no requests from the Labour Party team for a box for future television appearances after the media poked fun at his TV3 box. ‘Look, everyone knows Michael D is small—so?’ asked a team member, wondering what the fuss was all about.

  The acerbic and witty television reviewer Pat Stacey in the Evening Herald summed up viewers’ expectations of the ninety-minute programme.

  There was a reason why this was called Vincent Browne’s Big Presidential Debate and not Vincent Browne’s Small to Medium Presidential Debate. For the average viewer this was THE BIG ONE. The one where the usual niceties could go unobserved.