(Is féidir an leagan as Gaeilge a léamh anseo.)

DURING THE CURRENT election campaign, one question is being asked again and again: Should the President be able to speak Irish?

In response to this, Daithí Ó Sé recently asked a follow-up question: “Is there any other country in the world that would ask themselves [if it is] necessary for the First Citizen to have the country’s first language?”

There is a case to be made that, because of the President’s constitutional duties, holders of the office should be competent in Irish.

When Éamon de Valera outlined the Presidency during the Dáil debates on the Constitution, he described the role as “to guard people’s rights and mainly to guard the Constitution.” This responsibility is most evident in the six discretionary powers which the President may exercise without government approval; chief among them, the referral of a bill to the Supreme Court under Article 26 when questions of constitutionality arise.

Constitutional significance

This referral power is by far the most significant, as it has been used on several occasions, whereas the other discretionary powers have never been invoked. The decision to refer a bill is weighty: once the Supreme Court upholds a law as constitutional, it can never again be challenged on those grounds. The President, therefore, must have a strong grasp of constitutional issues in order to judge when a referral is warranted.

Here, the Irish language has a special role. The authoritative text of Bunreacht na hÉireann is the Irish version, not the English. And the Irish text is not merely a translation. In fact, at an early stage, De Valera had anticipated having the Constitution in Irish only. Eventually, the English and Irish versions were drafted by separate teams, and because of this, discrepancies exist. For example, the English text declares that “Every citizen who has reached his thirty-fifth year of age is eligible” to be President -  suggesting that a 34-year-old qualifies. The Irish version, however, requires “cúig bliana triochad slán” (35 years completed). So candidates must be 35. This is more than a technical curiosity: it underlines that the Irish version carries ultimate legal weight.

In practice, however, there are no specific qualifications for the Presidency. Given the limited scope of discretionary powers, it would be difficult to argue that fluency in Irish – or even formal training in constitutional law – should be a constitutional requirement. Yet this is only the legal perspective. The real influence of the Presidency lies in its symbolic role as the representative of the Irish people.

If we are serious about our cultural identity, our heritage, traditions, and language, it is reasonable to expect that the President should speak our national language. The theory of Governmentality, put forward by the French philosopher Michel Foucault, suggests that a government passes laws and adopts policies in order to shape its society.

If the Irish State is serious about the Irish language, then it is reasonable to expect a representative of the Citizens to speak Irish.

Other bilingual or multilingual states demonstrate how important this can be. In Canada, for instance, Governors General are expected to be fully bilingual in English and French. The 2021 appointment of Mary Simon, who speaks English and Inuktitut but had limited French, sparked considerable debate. Although she promised to improve her French, the controversy reflected how deeply rooted the expectation of bilingualism had become. Even where candidates reach high office without having fluency in both languages, there is an expectation that they would go on to learn the other official language. Canada also invests significant resources in training judges to learn English and French as the first step once they are appointed, before they undertake their formal duties. 

Commitment to the language

Ireland has had similar experiences. Mary McAleese, though not fluent in Irish before her election, recognised the importance of the language in her office and worked diligently to improve. Over time, she became comfortable delivering speeches and engaging with the public in Irish, reflecting the symbolic weight the language carries for the Presidency.

When Joe McHugh was appointed to a Ministerial position with responsibility for the Irish language, he admitted that he spoke no Irish. Minister McHugh set about learning Irish, embracing the task with such enthusiasm that he was able to fulfil his official duties fully in Irish within a short period of time. 

It is not our position that there would be a mandatory level of Irish expected before a candidate could run for office; such a development could result in exclusionary and elitist outcomes, which would be undesirable and could have negative effects, such as those seen at times in Wales, where some politicians admitted that they felt uncomfortable using their Welsh because they did not feel sufficiently fluent.

It may not be practical to make Irish a legal requirement for the office, but there should remain a firm expectation that the office holder demonstrate a genuine and meaningful commitment to engaging with the language in a sincere and substantive way. To weaken this would not only diminish the symbolic role of the Presidency but also represent a serious step backwards in the promotion of our national language.

As Daithí put it: “Is í an Ghaelainn a chuireann an t-uachtar isteach san Uachtarán agus tá’s againn ar fad go dtagann an t-uachtar amach ar barr.”

Prof Laura Cahillane is a Professor in Constitutional Law at the University of Limerick. Dr Seán Ó Conaill lectures in Constitutional Law at University College Cork.