In times of such great uncertainty, it helps to be able to look into the past and see how those who came before us grappled with the hand that fortune dealt them. In the rich, yet tragic history of this great Celtic land, lie stories, which, when recounted, inspire anew. In this series, The Fair Observations looks back and the state of affairs in the affairs of state.
Bertie Ahern and Michael McDowell
One weekday night in early 2007, on a week which bore no special significance, one of the greatest political conspiracies in Irish history almost became unravelled. Michael McDowell, then Tánaiste and Minister for Justice, was participating in an edition of Questions and Answers, a show where politicians and political commentators discuss the issues of the day with a studio audience. An indignant middle-aged man in the audience expressed his disbelief and ire at the government’s plans to introduce civil partnership for gay couples. Utterly confused and angered at such a decision, he told the studio that he suspected the Tánaiste and then Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern, were secret lovers. Everybody scoffed. It was a ridiculous moment in Irish television comparable to the time Pat Kenny was called a piece of shit or that exploitative news shot of a man slipping on the ice. The presenter, John Bowman dismissed the comment, the audience giggled, and McDowell didn’t even bother to answer it. It was clearly not the motivation of the government, a preposterous idea, comical, homophobic, and pitiful. But it was also the truth. Had someone of competence entertained the idea, they would have uncovered one of the greatest scandals in Irish politics.
 |
| Who knew. |
Back in 1989, they had met in a bar where men no longer needed to conceal who they really were. The future Taoiseach’s affable charm, lack of pretentiousness, and ever-ready smile proved too alluring for Michael. Bertie was also taken. He revelled in charming such a man, polished and well-spoken, unlike the many gurrier-type men he had had to contend with in his journey of sexual exploration. Michael was frank, but he struggled to assert himself past his shy mannerisms. At times, he got quite flustered and would trip over his words. Bertie found the whole thing adorable from the very beginning. The palatable tension between a devoted Fianna Fail man and an ex-Fine Gaeler made for a sexual chemistry that both men found irresistible. In the throes of the bedroom, both men conceded that they were of the same party.
Over the years, their relationship developed tenderness and mutual respect, peppered with the sexual excitement of a secret love affair. Bertie’s marriage crumbled; the plotting and the governance and the love affair left him with no time to be an attentive husband, and it strained his later relationship with Celia Larkin. In November 1994, the night after Ahern assumed the leadership of Fianna Fail, he and McDowell met in privacy. Together, seated on perpendicular couches in their private nest, they ran their fingers in and out of each other’s and gazed deeply and honestly into each other’s eyes. They made a bold pact to plot themselves to the top of the political ladder with a scheme so subtle and cunning that nobody would suspect a thing. It was the flight of self-interest to self-interest in an act of self-interest itself. (Incidentally, this is also what happens when people vote for Fianna Fail or Fine Gael).
“Jesus, are they going to make that little faggot Taoiseach?” former party leader Charles Haughey quizzed PJ Mara after the 1997 election. He and other members of the party assumed that the coalition with the Progressive Democrats was a risky venture, but it was exactly as Bertie planned it. He became Taoiseach and slowly, ever-so-subtly began to undermine Mary Harney’s leadership of the PDs. The 2002 general election seemed to be a deathblow to her career, but Harney held fast. By 2005, Michael had become despairingly impatient and argued with Bertie about the set backs in their plan. “You sit on the throne with that bitch at your side. I want her gone so I can take my rightful place.” Bertie questioned Michael’s stomach for the ruthless mission they were on. After much stressful arguing, Michael broke down crying. Bertie consoled him, feigning pity. He secretly resented such weakness. “Listen, Harney is one of the toughest nuts I’ve ever met, but she is on the way out.” Michael stopped sobbing. “If I can make my daughter a famous writer, I can make you Tánaiste.” They left the room happy lovers once more, but the experience had diminished Bertie’s view of Michael. He noted that he must now plan to be rid of him.
Within a year, McDowell was Tánaiste. He told himself it was a felicitous time, but deep-down he knew something was wrong. He had fallen too deeply in love with the Taoiseach, and he was cloy and overly-affectionate. He displayed too much joy when Bertie appeared on the radio in King Crisp ads. Bertie's affection by contrast had grown cold, and the he flinched when Michael referred to himself as his loyal queen. Michael had long-since conceded that they could not be a couple in public, but he was saddened that no such arrangement was possible in private. His wife no longer asked any questions, and the close political positions they held meant that nobody would suspect a thing, but Bertie still refused to let his guard down. One cold, rainy night in March 2007 — a night that should have been warmer and softer — Bertie ended the affair. Michael was devastated, but not entirely surprised. On his way home, he asked his security escort to let him walk the rest of the way. They grudgingly agreed, even though he refused an umbrella. He arrived back at his house saturated by the rain and his tears. His wife opened the door for him. “I’m home now”, he muttered meekly.
Forsaken by his real partner and demoralised, Michael McDowell the politician crumbled. His passion for creating a country for wealthy elites waned, and he lost his Dáil seat to Green Party leader John Gormley later that year. The Greens replaced the Progressive Democrats as Fianna Fail’s partner in government, and the Taoiseach could have made Gormley Tánaiste, but Bertie was gracious enough not to replace Michael with his Rumble in Ranelagh opponent.
And so, time moved on, and all trace of the love affair and the mechanisms and schemes that brought those two men to power were forgotten. As sad and beautiful as their love was, we must not forget that they corrupted and manipulated the political system to their own self-interested ends. People were crushed and conned by a system secretly rigged. Both men abused their power and stood on anyone who was an impediment to their ambitions. In the final analysis, what does it matter though? Nearly a year after the marriage equality referendum, do we want to dig up an old scandal that would link homosexuality with infidelity, nepotism, and conspiracy? And even if we did, wouldn’t the perpetrators just characterise it as a story of two men who found love, despite being trapped in an oppressive society? The Teflon Taoiseach would remain untouchable as he always has been. It is a regrettable state of affairs perhaps, but not as mournful as the longing of the former Tánaiste, who would refuse any opportunity of power to touch his true love just one more time.
 |
| "Ah, it's good to be the king." |
