‘FOR A new politics.” TD Mick Wallace’s election campaign slogan has a bittersweet quality to it now. The trouble with the high moral ground is that the higher you are, the harder you fall. People in glass houses, etc. . .
There is inevitably not a little schadenfreude in much of the clamour that has gone on since his admission to this paper that he cheated on his taxes. Those in the “establishment parties” who have been on the receiving end of his sharp criticism take unseemly pleasure in the reversal of roles, although, for the public, the saga has little to do with the latter’s exculpation, and more the sad confirmation of their perception that “they’re all at it”. The political class as a whole is indicted again.
Wallace’s candour and hands-up-I’m-guilty approach are refreshingly different from most of the other political rogues caught out cheating the taxpayer and/or the law. Some of them, most having retired “naturally”, remain firmly ensconced in Leinster House – most notably, Michael Lowry. Calls for Wallace’s resignation from the Dáil in that context may perhaps then be seen to be setting an unfairly higher standard for him to meet, although TDs voted overwhelmingly to ask Lowry to resign his seat “voluntarily”. He declined. And in truth, it is Wallace himself, in his reforming zeal, who has raised the bar.
There is no legal requirement on Wallace to stand down unless he is bankrupted, and although the procedure involving the Oireachtas Members Interests Committee in the matter is currently unclear, it’s likely that in the end the Dáil will, one way or another, rightly censure the TD but it may then only go as far as imposing a 30-day suspension from the House.
Yet if there can be no legal necessity to resign his seat Wallace must still ask himself, in all conscience, whether he remains, to his personal satisfaction, able either to represent constituents effectively or contribute usefully to the causes that animate him. That requires a degree of political and moral authority, a capital now seriously diluted. His voice, in his short time in the Dáil an articulate and effective one that would be missed, will now inevitably sound a discordant note on any issue.
How can a tax defaulter plausibly argue the case for the non-payment of water or property taxes as a legitimate strategy of civil disobedience? How do his campaign allies shake the moral ambivalence that inevitably attaches to their campaign? How can he credibly again ask others to meet a standard of probity that he has not met himself? But these are ultimately questions for Wallace himself, and his supporters, rather than the Dáil.
Whether Wallace will also yet face prosecution by the Revenue authorities remains unclear. While his admitted offence clearly falls within the more serious ambit of those the tax authorities regard as “deliberate behaviour” – involving a deliberate attempt to mislead – prosecution rightly remains a discretionary decision. Most tax defaulters, even in this category, will not face a court and a decision not to prosecute, while certainly arguable, would not be egregious.