Miriam Lord:In death, as in life, Judgment Day arrived on the double for Charlie Haughey. That would be him all right. Always demanding at least twice as much as everyone else.
In life, he bade farewell to a turbulent political career and settled into comfortable retirement. He held open days for charities at his lovely home. The dark memories faded. There was talk of the presidency. The future looked good for the former taoiseach.
Then the past came calling and ripped gilded posterity from his grasp. The nation reassessed. Second time around, judgment was less kind.
In death, the pattern is repeated. Twice this year, the career of Charles Haughey has been assessed, with very different outcomes.
The first assessment was delivered on a Friday in June, from the side of a hill in a chilly north Dublin graveyard. The second was distributed on a Tuesday in December, from a suite of cosy offices in Dublin Castle. (Yesterday, to be precise.) The first, spoken by Taoiseach Bertie Ahern at Charlie's graveside, was heavy with admiration and emotion. There was a note of defiance in his voice as he recalled with pride, and a catch in his throat, the man he called "Boss".
Nobody expected Bertie's words at the funeral of his old friend and mentor to be anything other than generous and kind. But the manner of his eulogy, conveyed in a pitch verging on the aggressive, raised eyebrows. The only thing the Taoiseach didn't do was organise a national whip-around to get a statue of Charlie erected in the GPO next to the dying Cúchulain.
The second, written by Mr Justice Michael Moriarty, is not constrained by the bonds of lifelong friendship or political loyalty. While Bertie Ahern drew on a Fianna Fáil lifetime to compile his report, Mr Justice Moriarty had a mere nine years in a tribunal chamber to concentrate on his. He has looked at the "Haughey Years" - times when Bertie was busy forging his career and picking up tips from a populist master - with a dispassionate eye. When not examined through the green-tinged lens of the Soldiers of Destiny, the Charles Haughey that Michael Moriarty sees is far less heroic than the figure Bertie Ahern wants us to remember.
That is not to say these two very powerful men - Taoiseach and High Court judge - disagree on everything. They don't. They are in hearty agreement on one point: Charles J was a very hard and diligent worker. (It's when it comes to the nature of some of that work, and the beneficiaries, that these distinguished gentlemen part company.) Of the two assessments, the report Michael Moriarty produced after nine years is a more unforgiving exploration of "The Squire's" interesting life, or "extraordinary journey", as the awestruck Bertie put it last June. In mitigation, the Taoiseach only had 15 minutes to deliver his conclusions on CJ. The judge had the luxury of 700 pages.
"He was a legend, and a man." - Ahern.
"Devalued the quality of a modern democracy." - Moriarty.
It's very difficult to reconcile the two Charlies.
There's Bertie's "Boss" - the hero. "Charlie had a steadfast love for this country," trembled the Taoiseach at the graveside. "This love was a central element of his political life. He was patriotic to the core. He had a great respect for every aspect of the life of this country - our noble heritage, our rich culture, our ancient tongue - and a special interest in historical and literary matters."
(Bertie forgot to mention how CJH also had a great devotion to amassing large amounts of money, spending it lavishly, then forgetting he ever got it.)
There's Michael's witness - the liar. The judge doesn't feel any need to wax lyrical about him. Just straight facts will do.
He categorises Haughey's reign as "a dismal period in the interface between politics and business in recent history".
The facts back him up. In his report, Mr Justice Moriarty charts the years of "clandestine donations." He reckons, conservatively, that Haughey amassed over £9 million above his normal entitlements between 1979 and 1996.
And how much would that be worth in today's money, judge? Again, no hyperbole or tales of old Ireland from Michael. That, he concludes, would be in the region of €45 million. The money was sloshing into the taoiseach's coffers as fast as he could spend it. Sadly, as the report notes, Charles Haughey wasn't fussy about where that money came from.
"If the definition of a patriot is someone who devotes all their energy to the betterment of their countrymen, Charles Haughey was a patriot to his fingertips." - Bertie.
"Unbelievable - Bizarre - Unprecedented." - Mr Justice Moriarty. (He nearly got the full house in the course of his report, but he just couldn't manage to slip a "grotesque" in there too.)
June, 2006, and it's Bertie again. "Today, I recall his singular combination of love for great literature and great politics." Yesterday, Michael recalled his singular pursuit of cash, his improper interference with the Revenue service at a time when the country was on its uppers and his regrettable attempts to "saddle others" with responsibility for some of his financial affairs.
"Have no doubt that the ultimate judgment of history will be positive. He was one of the most consequential of Irishmen. And when the shadows have faded, the light of his achievements will remain." That's Bertie, ever the optimist.
And the achievements will, deservedly, remain. But after the Moriarty report, the shadows are there forever too. They include the "elements of fear and domination engendered by him in individuals in both the public and private sector." And the tribunal's finding that he failed to co-operate at all stages.
Still. We're all human. The Taoiseach could have been talking about any man, not just Charlie, when noting "he could err, but he was always valiant". CJ's errors are well documented, but where is the valour in pocketing substantial subscriptions left over from a fund to pay for a best friend's liver transplant? Michael Moriarty can't find it.
In fairness, sentiment and loyalty allow Bertie to say what he likes at his friend's graveside.
But, after the publication of yesterday's report, one suspects not many will agree with the Taoiseach's assertion that "he was one of us". Raking in 171-times his actual wages? Bullying a major bank? Telling the little people to tighten their belts? Brazenly denying the obvious in a witness box? Profiting from a friend's misfortune? One of us? Back to Michael, before the apologists start. "It would be quite unwarranted to conclude that 'everyone was at it'." Unless, perhaps, you were connected enough to be "one of us".