Ivor Callely: A deluded sense of entitlement

ONE word stood out from the judgment that sent Ivor Callely to prison for five months yesterday. Entitlement.

The former politician had acted out of nothing more than a sense of entitlement. He wasn’t in financial difficulties at the time he crafted bogus invoices to claim Oireachtas expenses. He was not in thrall to compulsive gambling or any other addiction. All that informed his decision to breach both the law, and the trust of those who had voted for him, was a sense that he was entitled to claim the expenses. Producing bogus paperwork was a mere detail.

Judge Mary Ellen Ring, in her comprehensive ruling which took nearly a half hour to read out, said that explanations in mitigation of crimes is often forwarded. Circumstances can often force otherwise law-abiding people to resort to crime.

“In this case, there was no explanation, except the excuse of entitlement,” she said.

Politicians, she pointed out, are not superhuman, but “are expected not to lie for an entitlement.”

There was some surprise in the courtroom when the sentence was finally read out. Callely’s counsel Michael O’Higgins had made a strong case that his client be afforded leniency. The only comparable case, he contended, was that of Ray Burke, who had received a six-month sentence in 2005 for tax evasion The barrister argued that in that case, Burke had broken a law that he had been party to enacting.

Callely, Mr O’Higgins said, had produced bogus paperwork, but the expenses scheme he claimed on was not based on a statutory footing.

Judge Ring wasn’t buying it. She had delayed sentencing last week to hear from the prosecution and defence on the issue of “breach of trust.” This wasn’t Joe Public who stole from his employer. This was a politician, in whom had been vested the purest form of power — the mandate of his constituents.

Callely showed no reaction when sentence was passed. Within seconds, he rose from his position where defendants sit, and exited through the door that would lead him to custody, a prison officer at his heels.

In the realm of the inflated sense of entitlement that permeated the upper echelons of politics, business and the public service, Ivor Callely is small beer. He was a minor politician, who owed much of his electoral success to tireless massaging of his constituency, including a willingness to scrape any barrel for votes.

Back in the day when he was one of the best vote-getters in the country, he showed no compunction in drawing a kick at any minority, as long as it resonated with sections of his constituency. Travellers and asylum-seekers were, at different times, subjected to his manufactured vitriol.

He never expressed much in the way of political thought, beyond being vaguely pro-business. He was regarded as valuable in Fianna Fáil because of his vote-getting appeal. His only real political innovation was the introduction on this side of the Atlantic of expensive, self-promoting Christmas cards, which depicted him in the bosom of his family, presenting himself as a virtuous pillar of family values.

Bertie Ahern appointed him a junior minister in 2002, and once in office he distinguished himself as an insatiable publicity hound. Staff reportedly found it difficult to work with him. Over four years, six of his staff either quit or transferred.

Such was his self-delusion, that he told RTÉ in 2005 that one day he hoped to be taoiseach. A few months after that, he slipped from his perch. News broke that, when he had been chairman of the Eastern Health Board, a construction company had painted his home free gratis.

He was sacked from his ministerial post. Worse was to follow at the 2007 general election when he lost his seat. He couldn’t even get elected to the Seanad. Ahern took pity on him and included him as one of the 11 appointees to the Upper House.

Then, within a few months of that appointment, he discovered that he could claim retrospectively for mobile phone expenses. The bogus invoices materialised. He was so careless that he claimed in pounds for a period in which the legal tender had switched to euro. In total, he pulled in more than €4,200, hardly a windfall by any stretch of the imagination.

There is little doubt but that his sense of entitlement, perhaps coated with bitterness, had kicked in. The gravy had dried up. A generous ministerial, and even backbench TD, salary had been denied him. After all he had done for his constituency, his party, his country, he was now reduced to pulling in around sixty grand plus expenses for a part-time number.

It was, possibly, in that frame of mind that he decided to get his mitts on that to which he believed himself entitled. Falsifying the invoices was merely a detail. The expenses were retrospective, and he grabbed every last cent that he could.

Similarly, he began claiming travel expenses on the basis his holiday home in West Cork was his main place of residence. Nobody bought it, and an Oireachtas committee censured him when the practice was uncovered.

The lowest point, in terms of his conduct, must surely have been his reaction when faced with questions from gardaí after his arrest in 2012. He claimed ignorance of the false invoices, and suggested that perhaps it was the work of his former business partner, John O’Dolan. Mr O’Dolan had died tragically two years previously. As with his kindred spirits, Charlie Haughey and Bertie Ahern, Callely sought refuge in the grave, apportioning blame on a dead friend who couldn’t answer for himself.

If entitlement was the motivation, then Judge Ring was clear on the higher bar of trust required of those who are bestowed with the power to govern. Ultimately, it was the “breach of trust” that ensured Callely would not escape with a non-custodial sentence.

Callely’s fall has taken more than just his freedom, albeit temporarily. The court heard about a marital break-up and financial difficulties which have beset him in recent years. His early business and political successes have long disappeared from the rear-view mirror.

A fitness fanatic, he was once an early-morning fixture on the promenade in Clontarf. These days, shame reportedly takes him on a quiet, less scenic route for his morning jog.

The sense of entitlement engendered in politicians like Callely is a thing to behold. An expenses system that was ludicrous in its generous design should have been enough for him. Instead, he would break the law.

Delusion, it would appear, is the perfect companion when a sense of entitlement gets out of hand. He’s paying for it now.