Without leadership, Desmond Connell’s sincerity failed to impress

WORKING for Cardinal Desmond Connell, Archbishop of Dublin, meant that life was never dull or predictable.

A few years ago, the Dublin diocesan vocations committee devised a rather catchy concept to promote priestly vocations drawing on the success of the film Men in Black and they invited the archbishop to the Irish Film Centre to launch it.

As a diocesan press officer, I accompanied him, and on the way we discussed some of the issues which might come up.

One of the journalists there was from Sky News. He didn't have much of a clue about the Catholic Church. He didn't know the archbishop from Adam and he certainly wasn't to know that he was a history buff an expert on the French Revolution and keenly aware of the many times in history when the mob had lost the run of itself.

"Well, Archbishop, what do you think of Fr Ted?" the man from Sky asked. I grew tense. I had forgotten that one. Would Des say he hadn't seen Fr Ted, in which case they would say he was out of touch? Or would he criticise it, and knock our vocations campaign right out of the news? I certainly couldn't imagine that he would have liked the show if he had seen it. He told Sky News he had seen Fr Ted, but found it rather boring and switched over. Ouch.

"Well, archbishop," the journalist persisted, "four million people can't be wrong."

"Oh yes they can," Des rejoined triumphantly, "and they have been before!"

That was one of the few occasions when Des Connell got the better of a journalist. During his 16-year tenure, which ended on Monday, the retired Archbishop of Dublin has been better known for his bad media moments outspoken comments, unnecessary bluntness, apparent contradictions and awkward apologies than for the times he publicly defended the rights of Travellers, immigrants, unborn children and other marginalised groups.

The exchange with Sky News reveals why: Cardinal Connell would rather be honest than popular. He was quite willing to be wrong in the eyes of four million people if in his heart he felt he was telling the truth.

He understood, perhaps over-reacted to, the phenomenon of the populist priest who tries to be all things to all people. When he criticised homosexual acts as disordered, made a link between contraception and the commodification of children, or objected to the taking of communion by Catholics in Protestant churches, he was telling it straight.

The Church hadn't changed its teaching on these issues, and the archbishop felt people were entitled to know it. That he didn't think badly of homosexual people, users of contraception or Protestant liturgies was beside the point. That he would be harshly criticised was also irrelevant. He had a job to do and he did it.

That's not to say he was immune to the public odium that was sometimes heaped on him. Nobody likes to be disliked or, as sometimes arose in Connell's case, misunderstood. He was genuinely pained when people thought he was insulting Protestant communion, or parents who used contraception.

But on the central issues, he was not for turning. This trait is both admirable and dangerous. Immune to the culture of spin and soundbite, he resisted the urge to be popular at all costs.

However, his use of language was not gifted. He lacked the diplomatic skills to craft his message for a sometimes hostile audience. As a result, he was sometimes portrayed as heartless as a man whose reasoning was high and solitary and most stern.

But sometimes he was unfairly edited. When RTÉ's Would You Believe asked why he hadn't gone personally to tell victims of Fr Tony Walsh to report their abuser to the gardaí, he said, "I suppose I should have ... but you know I have so much to do."

He went on to say he had people appointed to do that job, that he had met victims "and gone over the awful experiences they have had with them," that he was willing to meet victims, and that he was due to meet some of Walsh's victims soon. But it was too late. Prime Time later edited out some of his words the words left behind suggest that he hadn't met Walsh's victims and that his only explanation was, "I suppose I should have done, but I have so much to do."

His first words had been naïve perhaps. But the only reason politicians and health board officials never say such things is that they have strong ass-covering instincts and loads of State-funded PR advisers.

Connell was different. He wasn't devious. He thought aloud. And he trusted people. Not natural in an age like this.

Being his communications officer could be a mixed experience. He has always been affectionate and grateful for assistance given.

But, deep down, I think he feared that communications management could be something of a black art a subversion of sincerity and reasoned argument. And he never quite managed to get his head around the fact that a conversation with someone in your sitting room was radically altered if that person was holding a microphone.

HE had a surer touch when it came to communicating on political issues than on theological matters. His interventions in the abortion and divorce referendums were dramatic but never counter-productive. He made strong appeals on behalf of Travelling people, immigrants and young couples frustrated by rising house prices.

Perhaps his skill here was down to caution. He realised that such issues were really a matter where lay Catholics, as voters, should try to influence society. The Church should facilitate their efforts, not foul them up.

For me, one of his finest hours came when he appealed to the Eastern Health Board to spare the unborn child in the C case. His offer of help went unheeded, but he was one of the few to speak up for both of the children involved.

By the time the abuse scandals came along, his comments on theological and moral matters had made him enemies. No mercy was shown when it emerged that the diocese had managed some cases badly. But there was plenty of evidence of Connell's good faith. He had moved to dismiss an offending priest in 1991. He followed the advice of his advisory panel on all cases he dealt with. And he learned from his mistakes. Abused people were impressed by his sincerity when they met him.

He deserved better than to be accused of deviousness over the Ivan Payne loan affair. In May 1995 he told RTÉ that he had 'compensated nobody' and that diocesan funds were 'in no way used' to compensate abuse victims. It later emerged that in 1993 he had authorised a loan to Fr Ivan Payne to compensate a victim. He said this loan had never entered his head when talking to RTÉ. Connell's critics preferred to regard it as a lie, not an error. They didn't bother to consider that there was nothing very wrong about the loan anyway, or that he might reasonably have overlooked the loan issue in an interview about compensation.

Archbishop Connell has said that the abuse issue "devastated" his period in office. Sadly this is so. And he lacked the diplomatic and pastoral skills necessary to steer the Church through crisis and change. But the record will show more positive things too. He acted honourably, and impressed people by his faith, courage, charity and sincerity.

The tributes paid by the President, the Taoiseach and his successor Diarmuid Martin on his retirement were not just words of diplomacy, but were deserved by their recipient.