Those considering contesting the Irish presidential election this year should reflect on the response of President Michael D Higgins when asked in 2012 about the potential for expanding the reach of his office beyond the efforts of his predecessors: “I can go a little bit further”. He certainly did that, to the delight of some and the dismay of others.
His interventions on domestic and foreign policies went much further than “a little bit”. Concerning housing, he even accused the Government in 2022 of being a “star performer for the speculative sector internationally”. His approach has ensured that during the coming election, questions will be raised as to whether the next president can or should continue with this style and tone.
I mention style and tone because the constitutional provisions relating to the presidency have not been altered and few suggest they should be. The standard historical narrative is that sleepy, honorary doctorate-style presidencies were only interrupted briefly by the furore in 1976 when Cearbhall Ó Dálaigh resigned after being egregiously insulted by the minister for defence, and that from 1990 Mary Robinson spearheaded a new dynamic.
Having advocated a more active presidency, Robinson, after her victory, insisted: “I have a mandate for a changed approach within our Constitution.” She delivered on that and her successor, Mary McAleese, found a distinct path too, both of them occasionally ruffling feathers.
But aspects of the presidency have always been contentious. Civil servant Michael McDunphy, secretary to the first president, Douglas Hyde, from 1938-45, firmly protected the interests of Hyde and rowed with Michael Moynihan, secretary to the government, who sought to cut off McDunphy’s direct access to the taoiseach. Erskine Childers, elected in 1973, was systematically censored by the coalition government of that era for perceived straying into supposedly prohibited areas of social and economic policy and was prevented from convening the “think tanks” he desired.
Patrick Hillery’s two terms from 1976-1990 were not lethargic, despite the traditional narrative. True, his stated aim was to fulfil his duties with “the minimum of self-projection”, but he also complained his office was underfunded, which curtailed him, and that his activities were underreported. Not that Hillery wanted controversy. He once observed that the most important use of presidential powers “was sometimes not to employ them at all.”
That was certainly how the originators of the office saw the job, as underlined by Dáil debates in May 1937 about the new Constitution. As leader of the government, Éamon de Valera fended off accusations that the proposed presidency was, in the words of Fine Gael TD James FitzGerald-Kenney, about “smoothening the road within the Constitution for a dictatorship.” De Valera insisted the role of president would be mostly about putting a “signature to something ... which has really been done by someone else ... He has to be interested in the broad politics as far as the State as a whole is concerned, but he should not be involved in what you might call party politics or in matters where there are differences of party view ... If he were to interfere unnecessarily he would be a very foolish man indeed.”
Contrast that with the priorities of President Higgins, who has spoken loudly and often critically about abortion, defence policy, tax cuts and the European Union, but has also crafted cerebral reflections on history, memory, sociology, arts and identity in a way that established a meaningful connection with many. This was hardly a surprise coming from someone described by a journalist in 2004 as “the most passionate man in Irish politics”.
Should passion be left at the door of the Áras by the person who, according to the Constitution, “takes precedence over all other persons in the state” and who promises to devote their “abilities to the service and welfare of the people of Ireland”? In 1990, former taoiseach Garret FitzGerald ruled out being a candidate because, “I do not want to spend the next 14 years saying only anodyne things”. In 1997, former minister for health Noël Browne described the presidency as “a glass cage, or even a goldfish bowl”. But Higgins has argued it is for the people to decide if they want “a silent person, a puppet or whether they want a President”.
The cost of a vocal presidency is occasional controversy. What will not change is something also highlighted in 1937 by de Valera: “the powers in the legislative domain are the chief powers” – not the presidential powers. That does not render the presidency irrelevant; the office and the associated election campaigns generate a focus on who and what we would like to symbolise our republic. The history of the office suggests that can involve creative, if risky, reimagining. It is ultimately for the electorate to decide if it has had enough of that or not.
