Dear Ray,
I am writing to you about an event early in my working life, when I was a ‘rookie’ minister and you stood up for me at a difficult time. You may not even recall this, but I have never forgotten it and I’m writing to you now to thank you. Everyone needs someone to stand up for them in life, particularly when they are young and green, and you were that person for me.
Way back in 1987, Charlie Haughey led Fianna Fáil into government and you were appointed Minister for Finance, with a very bleak financial picture in front of you. It is interesting that in 2016, with the bitter years of austerity and economic crisis in Europe now seemingly behind us, to remember that in 1987, we were in a parlous state, the so-called ‘Sick Man of Europe’. Unemployment was higher than at the height of our latest difficulties, and we had massive public debt.
As you remember, the Fianna Fáil minority government had only just scraped in, due to the casting vote of independent TD the late Tony Gregory, and we knew full well that we were in for a torrid time financially. Much-dreaded spending cuts would have to be made, and I’m sure you recall your nickname at that time, ‘Mac the Knife’, which I believe you relished.
Now, as you know, the first meeting of cabinet is always held in Áras an Uachtaráin, and I can still clearly recall us gathered around the cabinet table, Charlie Haughey at the head. ‘There is going to be blood on the carpet over the cutbacks we have to put into place,’ he said, ‘so if anybody feels squeamish, let them stand up and go now.’ Needless to say, no one stirred!
I knew in my heart that my department, the Department of Education, as well as the Department of Health, were to be targeted, as we were big spenders. Every single teacher and teacher pensioner is paid from the Department of Education budget, so the spend on staff is and was enormous. Difficult decisions would have to be made and I wasn’t looking forward to them, especially as this was my first big job in government.
As you know, but the readers might not, when a series of cutbacks is proposed, they come from the Department of Finance in the form of proposals, and, to be frank, some of them are ridiculous. We all know they are and the way we tackle this is to argue and counter-argue over the cabinet table. And so, we come to ‘20/87’, which refers to circular number 20, 1987, which I had to send out to every primary school in Ireland. That figure became engraved on my heart and my mind, and has never stirred since, because I knew that it was a mistake.
What 20/87 proposed was to increase the ratio of pupils to teachers by three in every primary school class. I knew that this would cause absolute mayhem, and I argued vociferously at cabinet to this effect, but I was told that no, it could be done; sure, what was an extra few pupils in a class etc.? Ray, as every parent knows, ‘an extra few pupils’ can mean less time and resources for their child, and less focus on the kind of learning that is so important for young children. It would also mean a reduction in the number of teachers, with larger class sizes. I knew that there would be trouble, and trouble there was.
The debate on whether to implement 20/87 started at 7.00 in Dáil Éireann in October of that year. Alan Dukes, leader of Fine Gael, stood up to say that the decision had to be rescinded, and he was followed, one by one, by his fellow Fine Gael and then Labour TDs. This was a blow, Ray, and a shock, because of the famous Tallaght Strategy. What this meant was that Alan Dukes had agreed with Charlie Haughey to support Fianna Fáil spending cuts, so that we could reduce the budget deficit. Dukes’s words at the time were ‘You don’t play politics with the economy’, and it is true that many have credited the economic recovery of the 1990s to the Tallaght Strategy. If opposition party members want to vent their disapproval, they can put forward a motion to defeat a government policy, such as ‘20/87’, in private member’s time; so they can make their feelings known, but it doesn’t destabilise the government.
History will, of course, judge the merits of the Tallaght Strategy, but when it came to 20/87, did I feel that I had been ‘shafted’ to be the first minister to be castigated openly for a government policy? Well, it is all part of the cut and thrust, as they say, of political life, and I was fully prepared to defend my position, hard though it was.
Just as I was to stand to say my bit, at 8.00, I felt a presence behind me. It was Vincent Brady, then Chief Whip, who whispered in my right ear: ‘Give in to Alan Dukes. Agree to their motion [to rescind 20/87]’. Within a minute, you came in, Ray, sat to my left and hissed into my ear, ‘Stick with the decision we made at cabinet. Do not give in.’ Well, there I was, piggy in the middle. I knew that Vincent Brady had been sent by Charlie, who was watching the debate on the TV in his office – the demand had come from on high, possibly because Charlie saw in this potentially defeated motion the beginning of the end for the fledgeling Fianna Fáil government. I was duly trounced in the vote and went home to nurse my sore feelings.
Perhaps this might sound like office politics to some readers, or that I am trying to settle scores, but that is not the point at all, Ray. I know that politics is full of twists and turns, deals and counter-deals. I was part of that world for almost forty years; the point is, that when I was under pressure, you backed me up. Everyone should have someone who does that for them at least once in their working life.
So, we come to the next day, and there was a Fianna Fáil parliamentary party meeting on the fifth floor of Leinster House. A motion was put down at the meeting condemning the dreadful 20/87, and, one by one, deputies stood up to condemn my actions in trying to push through this unconscionable motion – as if any sensible Minister for Education would want to increase the number of pupils in a class! Now, I knew instinctively, Ray, that I was being thrown to the wolves. If it suited Charlie, he would have let the criticism build up to a crescendo, and later he would have said to me, regretfully, ‘We’ll have to get somebody else into education, Mary, somebody who will stand up better to the rough and tumble.’ Charlie would put the continuation of the government above the existence of any minister. I also knew that the average Fianna Fáil deputy knew nothing about the Tallaght Strategy.
The storm raged on and then you, Ray, got to your feet. ‘Hold on now, folks, deputies and senators. I have something to say to all of you. First of all, Mary did not invent 20/87 herself. She was implementing a cabinet decision that had been agreed by every single minster around the table. The idea that she brought it in from a wilful act of her own is completely erroneous.’ And then you went on to say, ‘We are in the valley of death with regard to the economic future of the country. The Taoiseach here has made an arrangement with Alan Dukes that they can put forward private members for as long as they like and we will continue to uphold cabinet decisions. Isn’t that so, Taoiseach?’
There you were, with your dark skin and hair, a nemesis to him. He nodded obediently. ‘That is so, Minister. That is so.’ There was a general murmur of agreement and we moved on to another topic. I was to live for another day.
Ray, I have never forgotten the way you saved me on that occasion. It wasn’t because of any deep-seated love for me, Mary O’Rourke, but I think it was because you saw that your plan to bring fiscal probity back to Ireland was under threat if we went the primrose road of agreeing to Alan Dukes’s Tallaght Strategy. Incidentally, Alan Dukes didn’t want you to agree either – he wanted fiscal probity, of course, but also to allow his own members to express their parliamentary ire.
You told the truth, as a token of good faith, but you also knew that there was no one to stand up for me. I have never forgotten that, Ray.
How strange it seems to look back on those torrid times, even more so now that we have a similar situation in Dáil Éireann in the summer of 2016, with Enda Kenny and Fine Gael in a minority government, supported by some independents. What is it they say, Ray – plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose? The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing. The wheel goes around, politics goes on and nothing seems to change.
In my own case, I learned a lot in those dark days of 1987. There I was, a rookie minister in the Dáil chamber, hearing those two competing voices in my ear, and I said to myself, which way will I go? My instinct told me to stick to the cabinet decision and I was right; but sometimes, when you are in a corner, there seems to be no way out. I needed to show my mettle and, thanks to you, I was able to do that. I learned that I needed to stand up for myself, even if I had to do it alone, but I also learned that everyone needs a champion, a person to take their side, as the saying goes, ‘A strong person stands up for themselves; a stronger person stands up for others.’
As we both know, we could have gone on for a full Dáil term, were it not for Charlie calling a general election in 1989, encouraged by a few ‘saucy’ characters, as I like to call them, in cabinet, who whispered in his ear that we would sweep the country. He had a fit of pique, having been defeated yet again in a private members’ health motion about giving more money to the Aids crisis, and he was also emboldened by the success of a visit to Japan in spring of that year, when Ireland was proclaimed to be a wonderful country altogether. He was determined to return to power with a majority government.
Charlie went around the cabinet table and asked ministers, one by one, if they felt we would win. Along with me, you were in the group that did not want to go to the country, as I recall, but that no longer matters. In that election, we lost four seats. It was a gamble that didn’t pay off.
Ray, 20/87 is indelibly printed on my mind, as is your support for me at that parliamentary party meeting. The lessons from that, for me personally and for the country, are as relevant today as ever they were in 1987.
With best wishes,
Mary
[ Letters of My Life by Mary O’Rourke, published by Gill BooksOpens in new window ]
