Politics should be about knowing when — and how — to apologise

AT first sight, it might not seem that Beverly Flynn and Martin Cullen have a lot in common. She’s from a dyed-in-the-wool Fianna Fáil family and he’s a political waverer.

Her political future is at an end and he's an ambitious minister of the Government.

But there the differences end. Both have cost the State millions, and both persist in the belief that the public should be grateful to them. Bev still thinks she should be Queen of the West, despite encouraging people to evade their taxes. And Cullen still thinks he is right, despite blowing millions of our euro on an electronic voting frolic.

They're also smart talkers but bad listeners. Last week, they were eloquent in adversity, but if they had listened to people they wouldn't have experienced turbulence in the first place. Bertie advised Bev not to appeal her case to the Supreme Court, and the whole world has been advising Cullen for months about the problems with his e-voting apparatus.

These politicians' worst trait is their wilful adherence to Admiral Fisher's famous maxim: 'Never explain. Never apologise.'

In Cullen's case, there was nothing criminal or improper, just a scandalous waste of public money. But his failure to apologise for rushing the issue, for wasting public money on redundant PR and for being arrogant towards concerned sceptics, shows bad judgment.

Beverly, on the other hand, has tried to win our sympathy. She has a point. She took part in a widely-accepted dodgy practice while still in her 20s a practice which, arguably, should not bar her from political office in future. Her return would require three things: proper contrition, a clear desire to make amends, and a certain period in the wilderness, Charlie Haughey style, before making a triumphant return.

But just as Parnell failed to heed the advice of Cecil Rhodes ("resign, marry, return"), Bev made the mistake of trying to battle on.

How could we forget when she wouldn't ask us to forgive?

Some politicians can't afford to apologise, of course. In 1971 the late English Conservative MP, Gerald Nabarro, was seen whizzing the wrong way about a roundabout in Hampshire. Witnesses easily identified him as the driver but he had the cheek to say in court that the car was being driven by his business secretary, not by himself. She, however, did not have a bald head and handlebar moustache and the jury convicted Nabarro. (Curiously, he was acquitted on appeal so no apology was ever forthcoming).

There can be good reason not to apologise sometimes. You might not be at fault, or fully at fault. You might be worried about the way opportunistic people misuse your words. Or you may be wary of a culture that uses apologies as a form of ritual humiliation.

Last week's apology by the Mercy Sisters to people who suffered abuse in their residential institutions was one of the most abject statements of contrition ever written. Yet the nuns had "sincerely and unreservedly" expressed "deep regret to those individuals who, at any time or place in our care, were hurt or harshly treated," way back in 1996. What was different now? "We have in the past publicly apologised to you," the nuns said last week. "We know that you heard our apology then as conditional and less than complete."

The writer, campaigner and commentator Mary Raftery welcomed this statement as breaking new ground, and saw

it as throwing down a challenge to the other religious orders who ran residential institutions. Don't get me wrong: people who suffered abuse in residential institutions deserve apologies and compensation. And if they are comforted by this latest expression of regret, then it was well worth making. But the fact remains that the nuns added nothing new. All that had changed, in fact, was the context the readiness now of people to hear what they were saying.

In the Alice in Wonderland world of politically correct media, it matters not whether the sisters say what they mean or mean what they say. They mean exactly what others permit them to mean at any given time.

Astute politicians know that the ability to make a well-timed apology is essential for political survival. And if you have to do it, it's better to apologise for someone else's failure. You get to look generous, and the public see you as the solution rather than the problem.

George W Bush may have been deeply embarrassed by the shocking pictures of American soldiers torturing and abusing Iraqi prisoners. But some of the sting was removed by his apologies on TV. It also helped that he was apologising for events he hadn't even been told about.

THE ability to say sorry and, if possible, to portray himself as the victim at the same time is the characteristic that sets Bertie Ahern apart from other politicians. Critics can blame him for not acknowledging his own mistakes such as signing blank cheques for Charlie Haughey or talking up the economy before the last election.

But some of the Taoiseach's best moments in politics have come when he issued heartfelt apologies for other people's failings. A number of years ago, he apologised on behalf of the State to all the people who suffered abuse in residential institutions.

And last week, he generously put his hands up and admitted that the Minister for Education, Noel Dempsey, had wrongly asked civil servants to prepare briefing documents for use by Fianna Fáil candidates in the local elections.

The main reason political apologies are so rare is the politician's fear of being portrayed as weak or incompetent. Having to apologise involves, by definition, changing your mind and acknowledging your error. Your judgment was either faulty then, or it's faulty now. Or you are being inconsistent. This is one of the reasons John Kerry probably won't be elected president of the US in November: his opponents have managed to expose his tendency to "flip-flop" to change his position on important issues.

Matters in this country are made even worse by the party whip system.

Politicians are required to back policies they may not support and make arguments they do not believe. As a result, politicians come to embrace stubbornness as a political virtue. Some may even confuse it with principle. So Charlie McCreevy boasts that he is his own man, that he goes his own way no matter what, and that people can disagree with him if they like. And we are supposed to admire this trait.

In fact, the reluctance of politicians to apologise or acknowledge error is damaging politics. It divorces them from the real world where people change their minds all the time. Stubbornness is not a virtue, it is a vice.

We don't need leaders who have perfect judgment all the time. We need reflective politicians who can manage our affairs prudently, who know when to change course, and who are big enough to acknowledge that, yes, they have spent taxpayers' money badly on occasions.

The media must play a role in fostering this kind of political culture. It should not be the end of the world if politicians have to apologise or admit that the policies they pursued so vigorously for months or years were completely wrong-headed and foolish.

What's so bad about a U-turn, anyway?