How his hard work was undone by arrogance

“Although the results of the recent local elections gave the party little to shout about,” declared a Young Fine Gael newsletter in 1986“In Phil Hogan’s case, it showed how a little charm, good humor and a lot of work can pay off.”

Charm, good humor and hard work – these are qualities that people in Brussels who have witnessed Hogan in the European capital for the past six years instantly recognize.

But they also see other traits, traits that are not unrelated to those who joined forces or crossed swords with the man from Kilkenny during a political career spanning nearly four decades: self-confidence that tends to arrogance; a forcefulness that some feel is authoritarian; and a determined cruelty in the pursuit of political and personal interests.

If necessary, Hogan was always ready to shoot the wounded. This week, he was the one looking for mercy. It was not imminent.

Hogan is one of the few Irish politicians who has translated his undoubted skills on the local and national stage to success in the European milieu. Ray Mac Sharry did. Also Charlie McCreevy. Pádraig Flynn too, although that didn’t end well. And it has not ended well for Hogan either, forced this week to offer his resignation to European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen after revelations about his attendance – of everything – at the Oireachtas Golf Society dinner and his trips to Ireland in apparent violation (although he insists he did not violate any laws) of Covid-19 restrictions.

Brussels insiders wondered earlier this week whether von der Leyen might be immune to Hogan’s charm, preferring the more tangible matter of facts and verification. So it has turned out. Hogan was unable or unwilling to provide a satisfactorily comprehensive account of his time in Ireland and, if von der Leyen was willing to give him time, his patience was not infinite. As Naomi O’Leary’s report from Brussels has shown, in the end von der Leyen lost confidence in him and thus had to leave. Perhaps a more open and compelling apology approach would have saved Hogan, but we’ll never know.

National mood

What many of his contemporaries and observers wonder is how a politician of such proven ability could fail so badly to understand the national mood, both in his expectation that people, especially politicians, would comply with pandemic restrictions, and their anger when they didn’t. . It was a failure of a politician’s most basic skill, being able to read the room, on an epic scale.

Even within his own party, he was feared, hated, loved, and admired, often all at the same time.

Hogan has often been accused of arrogance; but he was also able to connect with ordinary people. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of the Fine Gael organization and an ability to judge the small-caliber politics of most situations. But as he navigated the shoals and reefs of Brussels, becoming a major player on the international stage in one of the few commission jobs that have real global influence, these skills became less important.

Like all successful institutions, the European Commission has a strong sense of itself. It is the guardian of the treaties, the heart of the European project, defending and promoting it against all threats and enemies, be they their own national governments or international rivals. It’s a large but narrowly focused operation, mostly made up of smart and motivated people.

At its peak are the 27 commissioners, one from each member state, but who are committed to serving not their national interests, but the cause of the European Union. Even in discussions they avoid phrases like “my country”, preferring to refer to the “member state with which I am most familiar”.

Being a commissioner is living a life apart. They have well-staffed private offices and the resources of a large civil service. The commission’s chauffeur service takes them around town. They are paid a salary of 22,000 euros a month, plus nice allowances, but they hardly have time to spend it.

In Brussels, to be a European Commissioner is to be at the top of the political tree. To be one of the few with a truly meaningful portfolio, as Hogan was, is to enjoy both status and power.

Golden existence

And unlike, say, a minister in the Irish government, there is little for commissioners to deal with more mundane matters. There are no voters to appease, no party to serve, and little meaningful scrutiny from parliament, the press, or the public. Commissioners are governed by a number of ethical laws, but it is primarily their own staff who are in charge of oversight. It is a golden existence.

Hogan returned in late July from this elite situation to a plaintive country after months of pandemic restrictions and a people with little tolerance for politicians who seemed to think the rules didn’t apply to them. In an iconoclastic age where the ordinary is a virtue in politicians and there is no greater crime than being “out of touch”, Hogan could not have touched a rarer nerve had he tried.

But Ireland’s politics are different now than Hogan left in 2014 in other ways. The Oireachtas club dominated by Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael, who might disagree during the day but all go golfing together in the end, is gone forever. It has been replaced by a radically different, more divided, more combative, more partisan and less collegiate parliament, where old enemy friends have to cling to each other to retain power. There was no TD from Sinn Féin at the golf dinner, that’s for sure. Here’s Hogan’s tragedy: he was operating according to old-world rules; a world that is gone.

For a career that rose to the heights of European politics, Hogan’s rise was more steady than spectacular. He became a councilman on the death of his father in 1982, a senator in 1987, and TD in 1989.

In a more relaxed and drunken political culture, he was part of a group of Fine Gael TDs, including Enda Kenny, Michael Lowry and others, who often drank at Dessie Hynes’ pub on Upper Baggot Street and sometimes met at Joy’s nightclub across the street. , a haven for night owls, journalists, the occasional gregarious lawyer and other creatures of the metropolitan nightlife.

In the mid-1990s, Fine Gael was in government and Hogan was minister of state in the Finance Department, a man on the rise. But then came a stumbling block: An aide sent budget details hours before they were officially issued and was forced to resign.

Few doubted that they would see him again in the ministerial position. But the Bertie Ahern era was dawning, and it would be 14 years before Fine Gael returned to power.

By then, Hogan was a big party beast and a close ally of Kenny. He was chairman of the party for several years and a key fundraiser, a fact that would be examined by the Moriarty court when businessman Denis O’Brien’s donations to Fine Gael piqued his interest. Hogan was by no means a central focus of the court’s investigations, but he was on the fringes of some of them.

He had even been a candidate for the party leadership after the electoral collapse of 2002, when Kenny came through a crowded, if hardly stellar, field. Few thought Hogan could be a leader; a sharp political brain, sure; but too abrasive; more of a backroom negotiator than a front guy.

But if he wasn’t going to be a leader, he showed that every leader needs a “Big Phil.” Hogan’s reputation as Kenny’s bully was cemented by his management of the defense against Richard Bruton’s leadership uprising in 2010. Hogan, in London for a Fine Gael golf fundraiser, commanded the defense before the uprising would have started correctly, contacting the TDs and making sure they would. stay loyal to Kenny.

He used a mix of threats and promises to keep Kenny’s support firm and prevent the “Capuchin conspirators” from gaining momentum. When the votes were counted, Kenny was the winner by an undisclosed margin. Hogan’s status in the inevitable Fine Gael administration was consolidated.

In the following elections, he demonstrated a more subtle political flair than required during the armed struggle of the uprising against Kenny, appealing to the “decent people of Fianna Fáil” to “lend” their votes to Fine Gael.

With Hogan as director of elections, Fine Gael won 76 seats, his best performance yet and with a handful of seats from the general majority. Hogan became Minister of the Environment.

Even within his own party, he was feared, hated, loved, and admired, often all at the same time. Like other ministers, he embarked on a round of budget cuts and other austerity measures. However, by the time he introduced the water charges, public tolerance after six years of cuts and higher taxes was nearly exhausted. There were huge protests and the fact that the contract for the installation of the water meters had been won by an O’Brien-owned company gave him an additional advantage. The Labor partner of the coalition, scared and rightly, insisted on a pause. It was Hogan’s signal to go. To Brussels, then, as commissioner of agriculture.

He soon became a major player in European circles, admired for his political intelligence and his on-the-ground understanding of the mechanics of the Common Agricultural Policy. He saw through policy reforms and concluded the Mercosaur trade deal with a group from South American countries. His rise to the commercial portfolio was testament to his position as a heavyweight in Brussels. His departure represents a significant decrease in Ireland’s influence in Europe, but it also leaves the commission with a big hole to fill. Big Phil’s downfall will reverberate for some time.