Long, costly and no one goes to jail at the end. That, pretty much, is the public perception of tribunals of inquiry in the Irish system.
But it wasn't always so. Ireland has had short (and cheap) inquiries in the past. In the early days of the State, a year was a long time to wait for a tribunal report, and one sat for just two hours.
In a neglected corner of her recent book Political Corruption in Ireland 1922-2010 (Manchester University Press), academic Elaine Byrne shines a welcome light on those early inquiries.
Between 1920 and 1930, there was an obsession with probity (ministers who were forced to sleep in their offices because of gunfire outside were asked to reimburse the £4 9s 6d it cost for their meals), but standards fell in successive years.
Here are four inquiries which describe the often uneasy relationship between the Irish and the letter of the law:
The strange case of the Wicklow gold prospectors (1935)
The Irish economy in 1935 was strictly controlled and regulated, with government licences, leases, export quotas and permits required for all manner of commercial activity. Seán Lemass, as Minister for Industry and Commerce, was the dominant economic figure.
Lemass granted a mining licence to Senator Michael Comyn and TD Bob Briscoe (both Fianna Fáil) covering 982 acres of land in Co Wicklow. He subsequently issued another licence for 2,000 acres nearby.
Comyn and Briscoe sub-let their lease to a UK mining company in return for £12,000 worth of shares and royalties on any gold extracted. The UK company planned to raise money on the stock market to fund its operations -- a measure still seen as shady in the aftermath of the Wall Street crash of 1929.
Patrick McGilligan of Cumann na nGaedheal (later Fine Gael) was Lemass's great tormentor. He had preceded him at Industry and Commerce and suspected that Lemass was favouring party colleagues. When he said as much in the Dáil, Lemass responded by instituting an inquiry.
The minutes of the inquiry are instructive. Lemass strongly believed that public representatives should be treated precisely the same as any other citizen. The notions of influence, the brokering of power, of implicit corruption, were foreign at that time.
The inquiry cleared Lemass of any wrongdoing, mostly on the basis that he did not benefit financially from the transactions.
The mysterious case of the doctor and the hairy bacon (1946)
Dr Francis Ward was a prominent Fianna Fáil politician in Monaghan, and was widely tipped as the next Minister for Health in 1946.
He was also the holder of a pig producer's licence from Seán Lemass's department. He resigned his directorship of his company in anticipation of his appointment as minister.
Ward had a constituency rival in Dr Patrick McCarvill, a former leader of the Irish Medical Organisation. McCarvill wrote to Taoiseach Eamon de Valera with a long list of serious allegations against Ward.
Among these were that (i) Ward had sacked McCarvill's son from his meat factory and replaced him with his own son; (ii) Ward had pocketed £12,000 from the company accounts; (iii) Ward was still being paid as a local doctor even though he had been replaced by a locum; and (iv) Ward used public money to erect a Fianna Fáil hall on his own land.
De Valera established a tribunal of inquiry, which sat for just nine days, and exonerated Ward of the worst of the charges. It did find that Ward had evaded income tax, which prompted his immediate resignation. He became the first politician in the history of the State to resign over alleged personal impropriety.
The Dáil wrestled with the idea of introducing rules governing the private commercial activities of TDs. Oliver J Flanagan's view was that "the criminal law, the Ten Commandments and the ordinary principles of decency and good conduct" were sufficient.
The peculiarly Irish case of the distillery and the unreliable witness (1947)
In the post-war years, among other privations, there was a worldwide shortage of whiskey. So, when Locke's distillery in Kilbeggan came on the market, it excited much interest, especially given its extensive stocks.
The company secretary at Locke's wrote to Oliver J Flanagan outlining serious concerns over the proposed sale to a foreign syndicate. Flanagan raised the issues in the Dáil in October 1947.
He accused Taoiseach Eamon de Valera, his son (also Eamon, a respected surgeon), Seán Lemass and Justice Minister Gerry Boland of political favouritism and abuse of power.
De Valera appointed a tribunal of inquiry, which sat for 18 days, most of it spent trying to decipher the labrynthine evidence of Oliver J.
The tribunal examined 10 allegations, and rejected nine of them.
They upheld one, relating to the improper introduction of members of the syndicate to the President, Seán T O'Kelly.
The tribunal refused to examine any witnesses abroad, which limited its access to members of the Swiss-based syndicate.
The company secretary withdrew his accusations, and the proceedings became an investigation into the credibility of Flanagan.
The Tully Tribunal finished its work in just two hours (1975)
James Tully was a Labour TD for Meath in the 1960s and 70s.
He was, according to Frank McDonald, author and veteran environment correspondent for The Irish Times, "the worst minister for local government in the history of the State".
Tully gave his name to the "Tullymander" (redrawing electoral boundaries for party motives) and the "Tully permission" (a planning permission completely at variance with proper planning).
Fianna Fáil TDs Brendan Crinion and Bobby Molloy alleged in the Dáil that Tully had improper associations with developer Bobby Farrelly, and signed cheques every week which went to pay Farrelly's staff.
Taoiseach Liam Cosgrave announced a tribunal of inquiry into the matter.
Crinion and Molloy retracted their allegations (Molloy resigned from the party over the controversy), but Cosgrave allowed the tribunal to proceed.
It turned out to be the shortest in the history of the State -- it sat for just two hours, determining in that time that there was no foundation to any of the allegations.