IRELAND NEEDS A HIGH KING

Stan Gebler Davies on

the slow bicycle race for the presidency

Kinsale THERE are many politicians who would benefit from a liver transplant but Brian Lenihan, so far as I know, is the only one who has actually got one. He was given it in America two years ago when he was Ireland's foreign minister and ran success- fully in the general election immediately afterwards, being hugely popular in his constituency — to lose one's liver may be a misfortune but to lose a seat for Fianna Fail is inexcusable.

Shortly thereafter he was translated to the defence portfolio, an assignment which would not tax a backward infant, for there are no defence forces to speak of and they have nothing to do. (Or nothing, to be precise, that they are allowed to do.) Mr Lenihan remained deputy prime minister, but no onerous duties go with that job either, for Mr Haughey is not in the habit of delegating authority except for the purpose of getting some other fellow to carry the can and he wouldn't do that to his old friend and loyal ally Brian. 'No probe lem!' is Brian's favourite phrase. Indeed, it is very nearly almost his only item of conversation.

Provided he wins the presidential elec- tion on 7 November Mr Lenihan is to be rewarded with the Park, formerly the vice-regal Lodge in Phoenix Park, and now Aras an Uactharain, the House of the President. It has been occupied for the past 14 years by Patrick Hillery, another Fianna Fail nonentity who once served as foreign minister. The presidency of Eire, as laid down in de Valera's constitution of 1937, is largely ceremonial and what power goes with it is carefully circumscribed. The president may decline a prime minister's request to dissolve the parliament and he may refer dubious legislation to the High Court to test its constitutionality. He may not leave the country without the specific authorisation of the government. That is about it and that is how Mr Haughey wants to keep it. Mostly he cuts ribbons and attends cocktail parties, like a minor mem- ber of the British royal family, only minus the glamour.

The Opposition candidates see things differently. Mary Robinson, candidate of both the Labour Party and the Workers' Party (communist in all but name) wants a crusading presidency which would interest itself in housing problems, single parents and the like. A liberal in a profoundly illiberal country, she is widely suspected of harbouring treasonable opinions on the subjects of divorce and abortion and actually resigned from the Labour Party in 1985 in opposition to the Anglo-Irish Agreement, for she considers that we have no right or reason to meddle in the affairs of Northern Ireland. She is opposed also to Articles 2 and 3 of the Constitution which, in contravention of earlier treaties signed on behalf of Eire, lay claim to the north.

For this reason alone I could almost bring myself to vote for her, but she is far too pink really. She is the darling of the Dublin chatterers (to be fair, that is not her fault), so much so that when I appeared on a radio panel here to discuss the presidency along with two senators and an unseated TD, we were all expressly warned before the broadcast, upon the assumption that we were all bien-pensants, not to endorse Mrs Robinson because the station would then be obliged to provide equal exposure to her opponents. (The presenter need not have worried in my case. Three profession- al Irish talkers competing for air-time is a wonder to behold, and I never got a word in edgeways.) The third candidate is the unfortunate Austin Currie who has been nominated by the Fine Gael Party. This peculiar orga- nisation had its origin in its opposition to Eamonn de Valera, went through a fascist phase for 20 years or so and has recently lurched in the direction of social democra- cy. Its profoundly unpopular leader, Alan Dukes, was reduced to hawking the nomination around the party.

The joke made at the time was that Mr Currie was his fourth choice and only at the second asking did he accept the poisoned chalice. He has not a hope in hell of winning. He has less than 20 per cent of the vote in current estimates, compared with Mrs Robinson's 30 per cent plus and Lenihan's comfortable 50 per cent or so. Under our system of proportional repre- sentation the votes of the candidate with the least support are redistributed in a second count according to the voters' expressed preferences among the remain- ing candidates.

It follows that Mr Lenihan cannot lose unless he opens his mouth and defeats himself, and it is certain that Mr Haughey has forbidden him to do anything of the sort. He dropped a frightful danger a couple of weeks ago when he claimed some of the credit for the freedom of the Guildford Four. This was promptly denied by Paul Hill, one of these gentlemen. Mr Lenihan immediately went up in my estimation, though having done nothing to free unjustly imprisoned Republicans is insufficient reason to attract my vote.

Mr Currie's misfortune, and the reason he trails so far in the polls is, apart from his party, his origin. He is from Northern Ireland, where previously he had been the representative of first the old Nationalist and then the new SDLP, which was the same thing with a few socialists attached and is misleadingly referred to in the liberal British press as 'mainly Catholic'. It is almost entirely Catholic. Its present leader, John Hume, has maintained a deafening silence on the subject of Mr Currie's candidature, for he would not jeopardise the right of the Dublin govern- ment to intervene in the affairs of Northern Ireland by himself appearing to intervene in the affairs of Southern Ireland. Notor- iously. in Eire we care nothing for North- ern Ireland but Mr Currie's disastrous candidacy has led to the first overt sign of actual hostility to the place and the people. Mr Hume is wise to keep clear of us.

Mr Currie will sink anyway, with or without him. He will still have his Dail seat, won two years ago, to console him. He deserves better than the presidency anyway: it is a lousy job, paying a miser- able £40,000 a year and with no budget to speak of. When asked on the radio what I would do if I were president I said I would throw a few parties in Phoenix Park; immediately we were inundated with calls from incensed citizens complaining of our lack of compassion for the poor.

Damn it, I would invite the poor, as Andrew Jackson invited them to his inau- guration party. When his servants asked him how they were to persuade these guests to leave the White House and go home, he said, Tut the whisky out on the lawn.'

We could do, in Ireland, with more whisky on the lawn. My own chosen expedient, which no one will take serious- ly, is to reinstitute the High Kingship of Ireland. It was the custom of the Gaels, before the Normans spoilt it for them, to elect their clan chieftains, or petty kings, from among a number of eligible, blood- related candidates who were much in the habit of slaughtering one another. The

High King of All Ireland (Ard ri na hEireann) was chosen in a like manner, except that whole armies contended while the entire nation (with the exception of those who had the misfortune to get in the way) looked on in wonderment and de- light. It was a system of government ideally suited to the Irish temperament.

I should bring it back forthwith and nominate my friend Hugo O'Neill to the kingship. He is a Portuguese Catholic gentleman of exquisite manners, unfailing courtesy and unstinting hospitality, has numerous Protestant relatives in Ulster of noble titles, and is a millionaire. He is the O'Neill.

`O'Neill abu!' say I, and to hell with the president.