Though I tried it once, myself, I have come to an inescapable conclusion about seeking public office in Ireland in recent years: You’d have to be an utter fool to do it.
What follows here are a series of statements that many people will disagree with, but are, I think, true:
First, the salary is not especially good. Sure – it’s a high salary, much better than being a teacher or a nurse or a garda. But it’s not much better than being a successful barrister or a good doctor or an in-demand architect. It’s considerably less well paid than being a CEO or senior business leader. For all the perennial “make Michael O’Leary Minister for X” talk we get in times of crisis, the fact is that Michael O’Leary, for example, would be taking an enormous pay cut if he decided to become Minister for anything. That’s just a fact. TDs are paid well, but they are paid less than people in many other professions. Consider, for example, that the Department of Health is a larger organisation than the average Supermarket chain. Who do you think gets paid more? The Minister for Health, or the CEO of Super Valu Ireland? Maybe we want people with experience running large, complex organisations in Government. But we’d never ever pay what those people get in the private sector.
Second, the job comes with dog’s abuse, and no job security. You’ll be hounded from morning to night. You’ll be, in some cases, openly blackmailed: The country is full of community groups who, at election time, touch politicians up for money. It’s all above board, of course – “please consider making a donation to our fundraiser” – but everyone will know which candidates do, and do not, pony up for the GAA club’s new roof. And sure, aren’t those greedy hoors on big money. You’ll be chased day and night by people demanding that you solve their problems, and fix their roads, and get them medical cards, and help get their children jobs. Most of these things you won’t be able to do. But they’ll take up far more of your time than legislating will: Between Mrs Murphy’s medical card and attending Joe Blogg’s funeral, you’ll not have any time to think about what reform of third level education might look like.
And of course, you can be fecked out at the next election, and find yourself with a mortgage, but no job, even if you’ve worked night and day for the full five years. You won’t even be fecked out because of something you did. You can get the boot because of something Simon Harris did.
Third, there’s the scrutiny. No other job comes with this kind of scrutiny.
Consider, for example, that people are up in arms over Robert Troy’s houses. But nobody in this country will ever ask, or dream of asking, whether the senior civil servants in the department of housing are landlords themselves. They have just as much – and in practical terms more – say over housing policy than the average Minister, but their personal conduct and finances are immune from public scrutiny. They cannot be fired. While politicians are ringing county councils about potholes, they’re the ones writing the policy documents. If you want political power in this country, become a civil servant, not a politician.
And so, when I see things like this, I do think we should cheer. I think we should recoil:
Election candidates could be forced to disclose their property and business interests before running for public office as part of a “major overhaul” of the country’s ethics legislation.
Michael McGrath, the Minister for Public Expenditure, last year launched a long-awaited review of the current laws governing politicians’ disclosures which have come under further scrutiny in the wake of revelations around Robert Troy’s property interests and his subsequent resignation as minister of state last week.
Speaking to the Business Post, McGrath said a report was being finalised by his officials and he would shortly bring its recommendations to cabinet.
“Arising from that, I intend to return to government later this year seeking approval of a general scheme of a bill providing for a major overhaul in this area,” he said.
There is, in this country, even with our relatively compliant and friendly media, compared to the rest of the world, no job where you will face the kind of scrutiny that politicians face. The closest comparison is probably being manager of the national soccer team – but even then, journalists won’t be rooting around in your personal life to find any evidence of corruption.
Last week, I wrote about the disaster than rent controls are: They’re designed to protect tenants, but, because they end up driving landlords from the market, they actually have resulted – and always result – in fewer rental properties and higher rents. It’s the same thing here.
We want politicians to be whiter than white, we want them to declare all their assets to us and submit to a public rectal exam to see if they have any money hidden anywhere. The result, simply, is that people who have been moderately successful outside of politics have no incentive to get into politics.
That’s one reason for the big trend in young candidates: When you’ve accomplished nothing, and own nothing, there’s less risk in standing for election. Your business won’t be attacked. You won’t have fanatical weirdo political activists demanding that you be subjected to a revenue audit. You have less to lose.
And in the end, we arrive at what we have: A Dáil full of people who, in most cases, have rarely achieved much of anything outside of politics. And these are the people we want to solve the country’s problems.
Voters: We’re our own worst enemy.