All portrait painting are self-portraits, say the art experts. Which simply means the artist in painting another seeks what is either lacking or recognisable in themselves. That an experienced interviewer might seek the mirror in another is equally plausible. Ryan Tubridy’s recent Late Late Show interview with Bertie Ahern had decided reflections. “Did you think more as a person, as a father, than a politician when you decided enough is enough?” asked Tubridy, referring to Ahern’s commitment to ending the Troubles.
His own reasons for quitting the Late Late Show are still opaque: “when you know, you know.” There is no suggestion that his glancing brush with cancel culture – accusations of misogyny for asking a Derry Girl actress her age – had anything to do with it. Leave when you’re ahead, is the conventional wisdom. As though journalists were like roses, to be pruned on full flower. Quite the opposite – wisdom usually comes with a certain wilting. The creases and sorrows of Ahern’s changing face undoubtedly reflect the lessons of his life. Especially now that he has stopped hiding his smarts behind malapropisms – there was not an upset apple tart in sight – and speaks plainly. Ostensibly about the Belfast Agreement and Ahern’s pivotal role, the interview became something much more complex – about commitment, mortality, grief and imperfections.
As Ahern furnished those negotiating rooms, filled with “unionists, loyalists, nationalists and republicans – people who didn’t like each other,” and Tubridy listened, devoid of the self-consciousness that hinders many television interviews, the dynamic was clear. Two men, fulfilled in their own missions, standing on the precipice of new beginnings.
One, at the height of his professional skills, is leaving the highest-profile job in Ireland; the other, still at the height of his political skills, faces massive challenges if he runs for the presidency. The interview was not long. And it certainly wasn’t soft. It elicited the clearest indication so far that Ahern intends to run.
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“Campaigns are ruthless,” said Tubridy, pinpointing the Mahon tribunal, with its uncontested finding that Ahern had “failed to truthfully account” for receiving IR£160,000 (€203,000) in dig-outs, as the hurdle he would face on a daily basis. Ahern didn’t explain it to the tribunal’s satisfaction then, and it’s unlikely he can now. The truth is, Ahern will probably always have to carry that tribunal finding with him, like the rock tied to Prometheus by an angry god. Bearing that, as he faces the “ruthless campaign”, is retribution of a kind.
The public is also aware in their calculations that an excess of virtue alienates. As Joseph Brodsky notes: “Heroes are best observed from a distance.” And we Irish have always enjoyed an ambivalence about our heroes. Daniel O’Connell, among other things, had a very relaxed interpretation of financial probity. Until the Belfast Agreement commemorations hove into view, Ahern had largely been in the shadows. Brexit, the rise of Anglophobia and the renewed demonising of unionists over the protocol brought him unobtrusively into the light.
Almost alone in the republic, he understands unionism. Had he not had empathy with unionists that fateful day in March 1998 when he found himself at an intersection of life, death and politics, history might be very different. It was the standout moment of the Tubridy interview. As the agreement edged towards completion, Ahern faced what Tubridy called “one of the hardest a things you ever go through, The death of a parent... Can you recall the madness of that and the sadness of that?”
The sadness? “Yeah. Well, you know, you lose your mam.” His stoicism is striking. The madness, however, unleashes the political vigour. Three weeks out from the agreement, the participants had “a huge agenda” and determination that nothing could stop them now. “My mam’s removal was a Tuesday and I thought after the funeral tomorrow I’ll go back up North.” But the news as he emerged from the removal was apocalyptic; David Trimble was walking out unless Strand Two (on North-South issues) was renegotiated. The clear advice from Ahern’s officials was not to give in to Trimble. And he agreed.
Stopwatch drama
Then he turned to George Mitchell, a man he could trust. “I spoke to him the length and breadth of Griffith Avenue. ‘What do I have to do?’ I asked him.” What followed was a stopwatch drama – travelling at the crack of dawn to Belfast to meet Trimble and Blair, back to Dublin to the funeral, back to Belfast for the talks. Ahern’s account to Tubridy is spare, self-effacing. George Mitchell gives the visceral version.
“Ahern’s aides recommended that he reject the demand of the unionists... [but] too many lives were at stake. At ten o’clock at night, standing alone on a dark and silent Dublin street, the prime minister of the Republic of Ireland made the decision... to renegotiate. It was a big decision by a big man. It made possible everything that followed.”
[ Fintan O’Toole: Why it is so good to have Bertie back about the placeOpens in new window ]
It was undoubtedly Ahern’s finest hour, the legacy of his pluralist Drumcondra upbringing, where he did “messages” for Protestant neighbours and imbibed his father’s ideology of inclusive Wolfe Tone republicanism of “Protestant, Catholic and dissenter”. The corollary of Bertie Ahern’s understanding of Protestantism and unionism is his searing insight into their nemesis, Sinn Féin: he knows how it works. That makes him the one contender who could seriously challenge any attempt by Sinn Féin to run Gerry Adams for President.
As George Mitchell tells it, Bertie Ahern has no ego. Tubridy’s interview showed it. Might this be a refreshing quality to bring to Áras an Uachtaráin?