Harney's rebuttal of last week's Ireland on Sunday claim that she used her influence as health minister to secure an early operation for her mother in Tallaght Hospital, has led to some discussion of the timeliness of justice minister Michael McDowell's dodgy new privacy bill. That thin, brittle principle, 'the public interest', has been given its customary goingover.

The very phrase 'public interest' . . . like 'right to life' . . .

creates problems by trying to enforce an unenforceable unanimity, and by urging us to decide arbitrarily what we mean without consideration of the specifics. But let's look at the 'public interest' point all the same, and see whether the privacy of the Harney family was justifiably invaded in the publication of this story.

Needless to say, had the story been true, it would have been absolutely in the public interest to publish it. You forfeit your alleged 'right to privacy' the moment you use your public influence to redress the problems in your private life.

If Mary Harney had abused her position as minister for health, then we would have the right to know it. And if the minister's ailing mother was dragged into it, then that would be regrettable, but it would be Mary Harney's fault . . . not the fault of the press.

The fact that it turns out not to be true means the family has been upset without cause. Mary Harney herself clearly was, and her mother was, no doubt, just as embarrassed. You can be sorry for that, but you can also conclude that it was in our interests to know this story by virtue of the very fact that it was false.

Remember when we discovered that politicians could be bought? Well, discovered is hardly the word. But, for the sake of a shortcut, let's date it to the McCracken tribunal.

There were some public apologists at the time who wanted to know which of us, in the same position, would have refused "the few bob" if we were offered it.

Wouldn't we have at least seen a planning application through, even for the small sums that go the way of county councillors (the cheap, streetlamp prostitutes of the political red-light district)?

This proposition was and is laughable to anyone who regards the work they do as even a tiny, tiny bit more important than their own, infernal personal needs.

Yet because of that proposition, there is now an idea out there that anyone who does not accept money to do the bidding of the wealthy is somehow a towering example of morality in public office.

Of course, there is nothing praiseworthy about not selling political favours. It just demonstrates that, at the very least, you're not among the people who have no integrity whatsoever, none at all, not a smidgen (whatever the word means), human snakes. It makes you normal; it doesn't make you go down in history.

But consider this: which of us wouldn't move our sick mother or brother or any other loved one to the front of a queue for an operation if it was in our power? If it came to a moment so desperate and worrying, wouldn't any of us, really, be tempted? We might be ashamed, but would we be ashamed enough not to do it?

Let's leave aside . . . just for a second . . . the natural argument that it would be better if people didn't have to wait for operations at all. Had the health minister pulled strings on behalf of her sick mother, wouldn't it have been understandable? And if she didn't, knowing that her position would make it inexcusable, isn't that something exceptional?

Is that not way beyond human snake and somewhere much closer to towering?

If Mary Harney has shown unusual integrity . . . not only above what other politicians might show, but above what you and I might show . . . it's surely worth our while knowing it, right to privacy or not.