The web of greed and corruption in planning and politics is still being unravelled by the Flood tribunal. But Paul Cullen, who has followed it from the beginning, says in his new book that the businessmen and politicians the tribunal was set up to investigate remain largely untouched
Politics, said the French writer Paul Valéry, is the art of preventing people taking part in affairs which properly concern them. So what, then, are we to make of our politicians' attempts to root out the corruption in their midst?
It took decades of journalistic investigation and political campaigning before they were moved to do anything about the problem. After much resistance and sniping, they set up the Flood tribunal. Bertie Ahern told us it would be all over in three months.
But five years on, we still haven't got a report from Dublin Castle. It is more than six months since the tribunal sat in public and more than three years since retired building company executive James Gogarty - who set the ball rolling after revealing he had paid Ray Burke at least £30,000 - finished giving his main evidence.
Justice delayed is supposed to be justice denied, but for the politicians canvassing in this election, it's a godsend. No Flood report, with awkward conclusions to answer questions about. No hearings, in which prominent candidates would undoubtedly feature. No Moriarty report into the affairs of Charles Haughey and Michael Lowry, no Ansbacher report into holders of offshore accounts - in fact, none of the plethora of reports, commissions, inquiries and investigations that were ordered into the seamier side of Irish life.
Corruption has been "cleansed" from the current election campaign. It suits the politicians - Fianna Fáil, for obvious reasons, wishes the issue would just go away. It wants to see Ray Burke and Liam Lawlor and Padraig Flynn consigned to distant political history. The last thing it wants is for Bertie Ahern to be asked those awkward questions about his dealings with Burke, developer Tom Gilmartin and the like.
As for Fine Gael, you could fill a small graveyard with the number of skeletons in its cupboard. Only this month, one of its election candidates, Colm Mc Eochaidh, claimed a party colleague was involved in planning corruption just two years ago.
Of course, politicians might argue that the general public has lost interest in proceedings in Dublin Castle. The economy is chugging along and people just want to get along with their lives, they tell us.
It is true the enormous interest that greeted the start of the tribunals has dissipated. Spin doctors and lying witnesses have muddied the waters, so that by now most of us are confused about the truth. The snail's pace of proceedings and the enormous expense involved has engendered cynicism.
But, in reality, it isn't all that complicated. As I say at the start of my book, With a Little Help from my Friends, it's all about greed: "It's the story of men who abused their positions of privilege and responsibility in the scramble for wealth. Who betrayed the founding principles of their parties and of the State. Who perverted the systems of local administration and planning for their own benefit, and for the benefit of their friends. And who conspired with others to keep the rest of us in a state of blissful ignorance."
Told from start to finish between the pages of a book, the story of the spread of corruption in Irish society is an astonishing one. There really was the "nest of vipers" referred to by the Garda investigating planning corruption in 1989. But it's also an uplifting tale, thanks to the doughty campaigners and residents' groups, whistleblowers and - yes - clean politicians who pop up along the way.
Because they aren't all "the same". For every councillor who allowed his vote to be influenced by a brown envelope, there is another councillor who spurned all crooked advances. For every politician who bunged money in an offshore account, there is another politician who has fought unstintingly for ethical standards in public life.
Finally, it is often an hilarious story. Remember James Gogarty's question after he'd paid money to Burke, and the reply he says he got from builder Michael Bailey - "Will we get a receipt?" - "Will we, f**k!". There are countless stories about George Redmond's meanness, but it was octogenarian builder Batt O'Shea who best summed up the city official. "I gave him £200 one time to buy golf balls. If his ball went into the rough, he'd spend the day looking for it. It was like 'twas gold to him," O'Shea recalled with a twinkle in his eyes.
But it was developer Tom Gilmartin who delivered the best one-liners, and the earthiest. "Tribunals are about as useful as tits on a bull," he raged at one stage. As for Liam Lawlor - "I wouldn't have that man consulting on a shithouse". After Padraig Flynn said on the Late Late Show that Gilmartin was "not well", the developer turned his anger on the politician. "When I saw that clown on TV I was incensed, the only thing he was missing was the bucket and the red nose," he told a reporter shortly after.
People might say I should have waited to write this story until the Flood tribunal has finished its work, but I disagree. First, the tribunal has finished its investigations into the matters for which it was set up. We won't learn anything new about Gogarty's payments to Burke or former assistant Dublin City and County manager George Redmond. Burke's entanglement with Century Radio - his receipt of £35,000 from a Century Radio founder and his many interventions on behalf of the station - has been forensically examined.
More importantly, the tribunal has many more years to run. Should the matters it is investigating be written about while they are still fresh and have relevance to contemporary political life, or should they be left to some distant day in the future? The politicians would love the latter option but, again, I disagree.
The nuts and bolts of this story are simple. If the events described in my book were a play, the stage would be filled with a large cast of characters, delivering some of the best lines in Irish political history. The plot would get confusing sometimes, but at heart of the action would lie a small, very simple prop.
For in the beginning was . . . the bag. Brown paper, or white plastic. Stuffed with cash. Or sometimes a cheque or bank draft.
Ray Burke's packet was the size of a brick. Lobbyist Frank Dunlop thought too much of his leather briefcase to hand it over with his big donation. George Redmond stashed his cash in a cheap holdall when returning from the Isle of Man.
But every bag must have its bagman (always male) - people such as Frank Dunlop, whose job it was to mind the money for other, richer individuals.
Next character in the dramatis personae of this tale of money and land is the developer. He starts as a rough-hewn builder up from the country, or back from the sites in England. Builds a few houses for someone else, then puts up a few of his own. Next thing, he's buying up land around the periphery of the cities, leasing it back to the farmers, biding his time for the right opportunity.
By the end of our tale, these men are fabulously wealthy. They sit on vast landbanks of priceless building land. They live on stud farms and breed thoroughbred horses and sheep. Helicopters and chauffeur-driven limousines are their preferred modes of transport. Flunkies attend to their business affairs and their public image.
But agricultural land without zoning, road access or drainage is worth little. Thus, the next character in our tale is the planner, who makes decisions about how cities should grow, what areas should be built upon and what projects should get planning permission. The right zoning or planning permission can increase the value of land 10-fold and more.
The final member of this cast is the politician. Local councillors determine the overall development plan. They can reverse decisions made by the planners. They have exceptional powers to grant planning permissions and rezonings in extraordinary situations. All that is needed is the necessary majority.
Power, money and greed all made their influence felt on the different actors in this cast. Most just got on with their jobs in a system that was already groaning under the strain. Planners tried to create an ordered environment with limited resources, and politicians represented their constituents as best they could. But somewhere along the way, someone took a wrong turn. Before long, more followed. The money started flowing. Not bribes, mind you, but "political contributions". No connection between payments and individual votes or pieces of advice. No strings attached. No favours sought or given. No questions asked. And, certainly, no receipts.
Any assessment of the tribunal has to take into account a secret history that is not reflected in the daily goings-on at Dublin Castle. For years the tribunal has contended with forces seen and unseen, a concoction of would-be witnesses and their legal, financial and media advisers who have fought tooth-and-nail to prevent or delay the evidence coming out.
Money proved no object for many of the wealthy individuals who have come under scrutiny. Rafts of expensive lawyers and other advisers were drafted in to serve their interests. High Court actions were launched with little concern for the enormous costs involved, even in circumstances when losing seemed certain.
The response of many parties to requests for information could be described as leisurely at best. Deadlines came and went, correspondence flew back and forth. Information was drip-fed to the tribunal. The documents sought always seemed to arrive at the last minute, just before a witness was due to enter the box. There were endless earnest protestations of how anxious people were to co-operate, but usually the bare minimum was done to avoid being dragged, like Liam Lawlor, down to the High Court for failing to comply. Records and receipts were frequently non-existent, and memories were blank. On other occasions, vast amounts of documentation were handed in. Finding a needle in a haystack was judged preferable to having no needle at all.
Following the "money trail" was crucial to the success of the tribunal, yet the co- operation of some accountants and financial institutions was less than wholehearted. And if the documents weren't shredded or lost there was always the risk of an unfortunate accident, such as the numerous reports of floods and fires.
This was often a dirty war and some individuals have not shied away from using more irregular stratagems. Fear, intimidation, obstruction, time-wasting and spin-doctoring were the weapons of choice of some of those anxious to keep out of the limelight.
Deflecting the blame and spreading the muck were standard tactics used by so-called "media managers". On three separate occasions when leading Fianna Fáil figures were under fire, stories were pre-emptively leaked to the newspapers to divert attention to Fine Gael.
Then there are the weasel words or lies used by politicians to buy time in a crisis - Ray Burke's claim to the Dáil, for example, that he had no overseas bank account, or that £30,000 was the largest single contribution he had received. In fact Burke had bank accounts in Jersey, London and Manchester, and he had received two contributions of £30,000, one of £35,000, one of £50,000 and one of £60,000.
And then, when all else failed, there was the comfort of a poor memory. George Redmond could say where his last £20 went, but he couldn't remember the names of those who paid him tens of thousands of pounds.
Developer Tom Brennan, who bankrolled Burke and kept Redmond in pocket money (amounting to £250,000, according to Redmond), kept all his dealings with lawyers in his head, but he couldn't remember a single relevant detail of his land transactions or his dealings with Ray Burke. "I can't recall" was the most common answer at the tribunal.
All of this partly explains why the tribunal is taking so long. Of course it hasn't helped that so many of the payments investigated were under the counter, such as those made by builders Michael and Tom Bailey.
Another consideration is the complexity of modern finance, and the elaborate schemes used by wealthy people to salt away their riches. So far, the "money trail" has led the tribunal to the Channel Islands, the Isle of Man, Liechtenstein, the British Virgin Islands, Switzerland and the Czech Republic. The time, effort and expense involved in getting information from these tax havens has been enormous, and in many cases the tribunal has run into a brick wall of non-co-operation. Many of the players, such as businessman Jim Kennedy and financier John Caldwell, now live abroad, safely beyond the reach of the tribunal.
Then there is the question of what happens at the end of it all. The tribunal does not have the power to bring criminal charges; no tribunal chairman can send someone to jail. Tribunal evidence is not admissible in a criminal trial. Flood can refer matters to the Director of Public Prosecutions or the High Court, and charges may result. But such investigations take place ab initio - from square one - if they happen at all. It may be years before anyone goes to jail on criminal charges as a result of findings by Flood or any other tribunal .
If the tribunal is to leave a lasting legacy, it must result in lasting changes in the way we deal with corruption. Time after time, witnesses have repeated the mantra that "no favours were asked for or given". Every shilling a politician collects is claimed as being "for electoral purposes" - even when the money is paid using front companies or assumed names through an offshore bank. Corruption doesn't operate on the basis of "will we get a receipt?". It is virtually impossible to make direct links between particular payments and specific acts or decisions by politicians.
In such a situation, there is a clear duty on politicians and public officials to avoid conflicts of interest, and for legislation to place the onus on them to do so. The corruption laws on the statute book need to be used or, if they are not equal to the task, updated to take account of modern circumstances.
The Ethics in Public Office Act, 1995, introduced requirements on politicians to disclose gifts, consultancies and other interests which could affect their conduct as public representatives. But as anyone who looks at the annual registers can testify, these requirements are extremely weak. Most TDs record "nil" interests and even where information is provided it is so vague as to be useless. For example, a number of deputies record their activities as "consultants" but provide no details of the nature or recipients of these services.
The need for a standing investigative commission on corruption is more apparent than ever. The kind of skill-set needed would be a mix of the work currently done by gardaí, journalists, lawyers and accountants. A specialist body would build up a level of expertise to allow for quicker response times when investigations are called. Its staff would be highly qualified and well-paid - and even then it would cost less than the tribunals.
Other legislative changes should provide for restrictions on the activities of lobbyists, and reforms to the libel laws to facilitate investigations by journalists in the public interest. This option would also prove a lot cheaper than the tribunals. So far in this tribunal, the middle-men risen from modest circumstances, such as Frank Dunlop and George Redmond, have been the "fall-guys". Meanwhile, the wealthy businessmen and politicians the tribunal was set up to investigate remain largely untouched. But only so far, we hope.