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VOICES
Surrealing in the Years RTÉ's existential crisis has united the nation like little else
A sort of Italia ’90 for poor corporate governance.
WHEN IT COMES to wrapping up the news, Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start The Fire is something of a benchmark.
Fall Out Boy released an updated version of Mr Joel’s beloved track this week, featuring such eye-widening gems as “Shinzo Abe blown away,” the juxtaposing of SpongeBob with the capture of the Golden State Killer, and the apparently rhetorical question “World Trade, second plane/ What else do I have to say?”
They also wanted so desperately to shoehorn in the mention of John Bobbitt – the man whose penis was cut off by his wife Lorena in 1993 – that they say his name backwards to make it fit the rhyme scheme.
Obviously the song is an abomination, but as a man who is also tasked weekly with cramming too much news into too tight a space while making pop culture references which are at best vaguely amusing and at worst deeply insensitive in the context of human tragedy, I can sympathise.
I can sympathise because a lot happened this week. More specifically, a lot of one particular thing happened.
In the wake of the RTÉ secret payment scandal, several of the national broadcaster’s executives were brought before two separate Oireachtas committees to answer questions as to how and why Ryan Tubridy was paid a tremendous amount of money that was never disclosed.
Quizzed over a combined eight hours on the culture that exists in RTÉ, it became apparent that nobody present would be taking responsibility for the scandal. The official RTÉ executive board line is that recently resigned Director General Dee Forbes is the only one who knew everything about the payments, and she did not attend the committees, citing health reasons.
Tubridy and his agent Noel Kelly may now be called before the Oireachtas committees, though it is possible that they will decline the invitation.
The committees have nevertheless been almost shockingly watchable, morbidly entertaining, and a grand unifying experience for almost all Irish people regardless of political persuasion. A sort of Italia ’90, but for poor corporate governance.
One such example was the minute-long performance by Chief Financial Officer Richard Collins as he hesitated on giving his salary, before saying he didn’t know it “off the top of his head”. Eventually he gave an answer of “in-and-around €200,000″ plus a car allowance of €25,000.
The Chief Financial Officer of RTÉ not knowing his exact salary is a beautiful new chapter in the long history of jaw-dropping things said by rich Irish people about their money.
"Chief Financial Officer of RTÉ can't tell us what his pay is. I'm supposed to buy that?"
— TheJournal.ie (@thejournal_ie) June 29, 2023
RTÉ CFO Richard Collins told the Oireachtas PAC his salary was a "private matter" and that he didn't know his exact salary before giving an estimate of €200,000 plus car allowance. pic.twitter.com/pIxcdMXNas
It hearkened back to another wonderful Oireachtas committee moment when the treasurer of the FAI confusedly stated that there was just one FAI bank account (there were 24), and the well-known story of Finance Minister Bertie Ahern operating without a bank account. At this point such things are an Irish tradition, and it warms the heart to see it upheld among the upper echelons of the national broadcaster.
Director of Commercial Geraldine O’Leary was quizzed on her use of the barter account, which included a trip (with clients) to the 2019 Rugby World Cup in Japan. Economic correspondent and elected board member Robert Shortt painted a picture of a staff-at-large that sees no such benefits, joking that the “company car” for most employees was the “RTÉ Guide”.
Referring to two €75,000 payments to NK Management which were labelled as “consultancy fees” on invoices, Collins admitted that: “My own opinion is, maybe, the taxpayer was defrauded”.
Taoiseach Leo Varadkar has since said he cannot rule out that some of the payments made through the RTÉ barter account may have been “on the wrong side of the law”. RTÉ have received legal advice saying that there was no fraud in relation to Tubridy’s payment.
All this against a backdrop of regular staff protesting pay and working conditions at RTÉ, while the top earners – the so-called talent – revealed their pay on-air.
The incoming Late Late Show host Patrick Kielty magnanimously agreed to wave €50,000 expense account on top of his €250,000 base salary, and has asked RTÉ to “carbon offset” the 180 flights he will take between London and Dublin over the course of his contract. Presumably RTÉ will be able to find space in their budget for some seeds and a watering can.
As of this weekend, the story is far from over. The answers proffered across the two Oireachtas sessions appear to have been insufficient for the TDs and Senators present, insufficient for the roughly 1,800 ordinary staff at RTÉ, insufficient for advertisers, and insufficient for the public.
Nobody of note – literally nobody! – has come to the defence of RTÉ management. And if nobody wants to forgive you over one thing you’ve done wrong, the chances are that their problem with you runs significantly deeper.
RTÉ now finds itself in nothing short of an existential crisis. The national broadcaster – a vital pillar of Irish life and home to hundreds of good workers, researchers, journalists, and media technicians – faces an omnidirectional discord that promises to drag into next week and beyond.
RTÉ’s wasn’t the only financial scandal that came before the Public Accounts Committee this week, but I am no Billy Joel. If you can compose a song that puts the “grave financial matter” raised by the Irish Horseracing Regulatory Board alongside the sentencing of Paul Hyde for making false or misleading declarations of interest to An Bord Pleanála then… bravo.
For now you’ll have to make do with imagining me being tackled off the stage as I try to finish the line “Presenter pay! Tubs away! What else do I have to—?”
