MemoirAt the end of this book, Ruairi Quinn says: "I am still very active in politics and I intend to remain so" - and he goes on to give us his philosophy on political life, the future of Europe, and his strong belief in democratic politics as the engine for humanity's ability to make fundamental social changes.
The book, therefore, is not a farewell volume at the end of a life in politics. What is it? Partly an autobiography, partly an account of the last 35 years of Irish politics, and partly a personal account of his own place in that eventful period - with, at the end, his vision for the future. It is well and elegantly written but one is unavoidably conscious of constraints which have reined in his expression of opinion of people and happenings. Since future appointments to the kind of position he obviously aspires to will be in the hands of a wide range of people, he - even unconsciously - is hardly going to offend them.
Not everyone escapes: Michael McDowell is described as arrogant and self-righteous (an illustration of the perennial tensions between TDs in the same constituency), Frank Feely (former city manager) gets a tongue-lashing, and the late Noel Browne in his latter years was a serious thorn in Quinn's side. The late Stevie Coughlan excoriated Justin Keating at Quinn's first parliamentary party meeting - "I could not have imagined the level of disunity and lack of cohesion . . .". But most of his hostility is reserved for people from the past.
Before we get into an account of Ruairi Quinn's childhood and early development, there is a chapter on the workings of government. Surprisingly, in view of the Supreme Court's decision on absolute cabinet confidentiality, there is a verbatim account of a stressed Alan Dukes exploding at a cabinet meeting during budget preparations in 1985, and an amusing discussion about the establishment of the Commission on Penal Reform, equally verbatim. Have the rules been changed? If so, it's welcome.
It is refreshing to read about a happy childhood and school days in Catholic Ireland in the 1950s, without the dark clouds which beset so many less lucky children. Mr Quinn senior was a hard-working and successful grocer, his sons' school was with the Holy Ghost fathers in Blackrock. Young Ruairi enjoyed it all, even the Blackrock approach to rugby team motivation, which reads rather like the persecution by cultural revolutionary guards in red China. Come to think of it, the nuns at a convent school at that time weren't bad at the psychological control of young girls either.
Having seen the dark side of Irish life while canvassing in Mountjoy Square and Gardiner Street in the early 1960s, Quinn became a convinced and permanent member of the Labour party. The contrast between Sydney Parade, where he lived, and that other side of Dublin was "a daily journey between two worlds". His Catholic religion was shaken off and his description of breaking the news to his mother is eloquent, and accompanies an unusually clear statement of belief.
Life inside political parties is combative, raw, and bruising. This applies to them all, but somehow the Labour Party seems to go at it with more gusto, and more publicly. Quinn, always firmly on the side of social democracy, was loyal to Dick Spring and, before him, Michael O'Leary and Brendan Corish. He has survived many battles, inside and outside Dublin South East. The historic emotional debate between Justin Keating and Noel Browne on the Tara Mines issue in 1973 is brilliantly recalled. Even during the 1972 EEC referendum campaign, the Labour Party was split. Interestingly, Quinn explains that his own lively canvassing against EEC membership was because he saw it "as an opportunity to develop the party organisation".
AS HIS POLITICAL career developed, his life as a student saw him gravitate to student agitation, particularly effectively in achieving the much-needed reform of UCD's school of architecture, wresting control from Desmond FitzGerald. Architecture and the environment as central areas of his life made him an effective city councillor and minister when the time came. The Customs House and Merrion Street ministerial and staff offices are a modern reminder of his energy, while Ringsend's attractive housing scheme was a result of his deep interest in "vernacular" housing for the people.
When a cabinet position - minister for labour - finally came to him, he threw himself into it. Quinn always loved power, and never made any secret of it. Of course, he found the long cabinet meetings between 1983 and 1987 very trying - who didn't? - and often lightened the atmosphere by passing around clever and witty cartoons. As that government struggled to address the calamitous state of the country's economy, bequeathed by Charles Haughey, tensions and difficulties naturally emerged. Garret FitzGerald's ministerial reshuffle in February 1986, undertaken for the best of motives, came unstuck when a Labour minister refused to move, leading to a crisis between the coalition parties. Quinn came out of that enhanced, having public service attached again to his labour portfolio.
He makes an unusual error of fact in saying that I declined FitzGerald's offer of a new Cabinet post, minister for European affairs. Wrong - the only person to let the taoiseach down that day was Barry Desmond.
Quinn's second ministry, some years later - enterprise and employment under Albert Reynolds - was short-lived and eventful. That government collapsed in 1994 amid the Reynolds/Whelehan debacle. It was then that Quinn famously threw down the gauntlet to Reynolds: "It is very fucking simple - we either have your head or Harry Whelehan's." And when John Bruton formed the Rainbow Coalition, Quinn achieved the distinction of being the first Labour minister for finance.That government - defended enthusiastically in the letters column of this newspaper by Quinn as recently as September 8th - saw relations between John Bruton, Dick Spring and Proinsias de Rossa reach a calm and effective "modus operandi". As minister for finance he was proud of the establishment - among other things - of the Criminal Assets Bureau (with Nora Owen of Fine Gael).
In the upward trajectory of an apparently unstoppable political career, Quinn became leader of the Labour Party in 1997 after Spring retired. He handled the merger with Democratic Left with skill and set about producing serious policy documents galore. He refused to go into the 2002 election with Fine Gael - there were, on the face of it, good reasons, not least the bizarre promises made by the larger party - but failed to gain even one seat for the enlarged party. The lack of an alternative government was considered to have played a major part in that defeat.
The depth of his disappointment and disillusionment at the outcome of the 2002 election is palpable. He was angry with everyone, including the electorate, and announced his resignation a few months later, in August 2002. Newspapers of the time carry considerable tributes to him as a politician and as an effective and talented minister in several departments. Why did he resign? He is quoted in The Irish Times of August 28th, 2002, as saying: "Frankly I might not have the energy to give the job the same level of commitment for the next six years."
Readers of this absorbing book will no doubt reach their own conclusions about whether he will have the energy and commitment for the next challenges he hopes to face. Ruairi Quinn was - is - one of the most talented politicians of his generation. He will be forgiven for some hyperbole (did Labour really "set the political agenda for the last 20 years in Ireland"?) and some trumpet-blowing about his own achievements. His book is a most interesting addition to Ireland's too-small library of politicians' memoirs, and it is written with unusual style and vigour.
Gemma Hussey is director of the European Women's Foundation. She is a former minister for education, and author of At the Cutting Edge: Cabinet Diaries 1982-87 and Ireland Today: Anatomy of a Changing State
Straight Left: A Journey in Politics By Ruairi Quinn Hodder Headline, 436pp. €24.99