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    Village Idiot March 2018

    His TV credits include ‘Dirty Money: The story of the Criminal Assets Bureau’ and ‘Paul Williams Investigates – ‘The Battle for the Gas Fields’ about the policing of the Corrib Gas protests. ‘Secret Love’ (1995) with Phylis Hamilton told the story of her secret 20-year love affair with Ireland’s most outspoken Catholic priest, Fr Michael Cleary. Williams always tells it as it is, or at least as the gardaí see it. He also writes books: ‘Gangland’ (1998), ‘Evil Empire’ (2001), ‘Crimelords’ (2003), ‘The Untouchables’ (2006), ‘Crime Wars’ (2008), ‘Badfellas’ (2011) and ‘Murder Inc’ (2014). He is known for bravely confronting crimelord John Gilligan about the murder of journalist, Veronica Guerin. The Sunday Tribune said as long ago as 2008 that a common criticism of Williams is that he is “little more than a cheerleader for the gardaí” and noted Williams’s tendency to steer away from any crime or corruption within the force. In 2013 he told an interviewer that “most of my friends are police”. He often explains that particular people are damningly “known to gardaí”. Williams has been criticised for his tendency to give nicknames such as “The Tosser”, “The Penguin”, “Babyface” and “Fatpuss” to the criminals he is reporting on as it tends to glamourise the criminals. In 2011 he joined the Irish Sun, as ‘Investigations Editor’. Since 2012, he has contributed to the Irish Independent where he’s a mate of the editor, as ‘Special Correspondent’. In 2016 Williams joined the newly revamped ‘Newstalk’ schedule as a co-presenter with Shane Coleman on the Breakfast Show. According to the Irish Times: “Williams’s chief asset remains his hard-boiled, fuming persona. It’s not just the criminal fraternity and the Garda hierarchy he takes aim at, but anyone who smacks of being lily-livered or politically correct. He talks about ‘the snobby world of literature’ and dismisses President Michael D Higgins’s voluntary pay cut with a curt ‘big bloody deal’, while constantly making cracks about ‘the Shinners’”. He described the Jobstown protesters on-air last July as “assholes”, “bastards”, “thugs” and “bullyboys”. The BAI didn’t like it. The Charleton (or Disclosures) tribunal is looking into whether Sergeant Maurice McCabe was the target of a smear campaign. Last year Williams told the Tribunal that it was “absolutely false” that he was “in some way acting as a puppet for the guards” in 2014 when he met Ms D, the woman who made allegations of abuse against McCabe in 2006. Her father, a garda at Bailieboro garda station, was moved to other duties after a disciplinary tribunal into his performance was launched after complaints from Sergeant McCabe. McCabe has told the tribunal of a 2016 meeting with Superintendent Dave Taylor of the Garda Press Office during which he said he was told “hundreds” or “thousands” of text messages had been composed by then-Commissioner Martin Callinan and forwarded to senior Garda officers, journalists, and politicians, on Callinan’s orders. “If there was an article praising me, Callinan would say ‘use your phone, do him down, he has to be buried’”. McCabe said Taylor said he would be encouraged to say that McCabe had been investigated for sexual assault. Taylor has specifically told the tribunal that he never sent any negative texts about McCabe to journalists and conveyed it all verbally. Williams told the tribunal that he was never negatively briefed against McCabe but rather, off the record, that there had been an investigation in 2006 into Ms D’s allegation and that the director of public prosecutions had decided not to bring proceedings. In March 2018 McCabe told the tribunal that when in 2014 an article by Paul Williams was published just a few months later containing an anonymised version of Ms D’s allegations, McCabe said he knew “exactly who it was pointing at”. He was not identified in the article, but said he knew it was about him and felt it was “payback”. The article started: “A young woman who was allegedly sexually assaulted as a child by a serving garda claims the incident was covered up through a botched investigation”. “Sure, it was awful. I mean, I have been cleared, completely, and I should have been left alone”, said McCabe. “I can’t prove it, but I knew it was in relation to what I was doing, in relation to penalty points”. TD Joan Collins has named Williams under Dáil privilege as one of those to benefit from having their penalty points cancelled by gardaí. Williams has previously given evidence that he was contacted directly by Ms D and was not negatively briefed about McCabe by Garda Headquarters.

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    The life and Crimes of CJH

    There is something quaint about Conor Lenihan assessing the life of Charlie Haughey, the man who stole money from the fund for his father’s liver transplant and then fired his father as Tánaiste and Minister for Defence. Lenihan has pieced together a mixture of his own memories of the former Taoiseach and anecdotes that his father, Brian Lenihan senior, passed on to him. Because of this, the reader inevitably looks for evidence of personal bias on the part of this author and it is certainly a particular, personal work. This is a distraction because these characteristics import a significant source of new material, and new perspectives on old material. Nevertheless the media do not seem to have embraced Lenihan’s approach and strangely this book has not been reviewed in the mainstream press. The book is easy reading if patchy. Lenihan of course has a pedigree of grandson, son, brother and niece of TDs and, as a famously boisterous quidnunc he exploits it – all. Lenihan opens by admitting, nay boasting, that it is rare that an adult life is heavily influenced by an historical figure, but that his was, by Haughey. The moral compass of the book spins unpredictably. It often lionises Haughey but also assiduously maintains another Lenihan-centred narrative which actually surfaces only sporadically and peaks in intensity with the sacking of Lenihan senior and with the loss of his bid for Áras an Uachtaráin weeks later. The most poignant page in the book is the last one, the sole appendix, which reproduces the letter from Haughey requesting the resignation of Lenihan’s father. It begins “A Thánaiste, a Aire” and proceeds to threaten that if he does not resign that Haughey will request the President to terminate the appointment. An underpinning of authorial disdain is surely being implied. Lenihan reprises a lacklustre recitation of the Small Man’s biography: son of a Free Stater, Lieutenant in the FCA, North Dublin ward boss, marriage to Lemass’s daughter, reforming minister, arbiter of taste (here Lenihan is too kind). But consistent hypocrite supporting Archbishop McQuaid’s banning of Edna O’Brien’s ‘The Country Girls’. The man from TACA, the 1960s Christian Brothers’ Boy in mohair suits doing the social rounds in The Shelbourne, The Hibernian, Jammet’s, The Russell and Groome’s. So far, so well-known. Lenihan explains the realpolitik forcing Lemass to offer Haughey the Finance Ministry and Blaney the Agriculture Ministry leaving Lynch to see off Colley (59 votes to 19) and become Taoiseach. A brisk narrative on the Arms Crisis foreshadows Haughey’s first fall. Lenihan believes Lynch “knew much earlier than he insisted that weapons were to be purchased” but “backed off and decided to blame the entire fiasco on those ministers, and Captain Kelly”. Haughey, Blaney and Gibbons were “briefed at every step of the way, if not by Captain Kelly, then by the Army’s Head of Intelligence Colonel Michael Hefferon”. Still Lenihan is perplexed as to why “Lynch opted to put those involved on trial in the courts” and adds ‘my father always said that the main person pushing for a prosecution was George Colley”. Haughey’s return is well done. He enlisted Reynolds and his country and western caucus and was back as a Minister in Lynch’s government by 1975. Haughey’s pretensions rose ever greater: “Some preferred the Mercedes but Haughey felt the Jaguar cut a greater dash, with its leather seats and inlay”. Meanwhile back in the city Haughey’s constituency machinery cranked out cheques and Christmas turkeys. In summer there was a charity gymkhana (in aid of the Central Remedial Clinic!) with marquee and CJH in riding gear with Lady Valerie Goulding, silver trays and matching teapots on the lawns of Kinsealy. By 1979 he was leader of Fianna Fáil and Taoiseach. Lenihan notes (in a sentence that in fairness he appropriates from Haughey’s Wikipedia entry, that: “Within days of his becoming Taoiseach, Allied Irish Banks forgave Haughey £400,000 of a £1,000,000 debt. No reason was given for this. The Economist obituary on Haughey (24 June 2006) asserted that he had warned the bank ‘I can be a very troublesome adversary’”. Haughey’s 1980 Ard Fheis was “like a Baptist revival meeting rather than a political conference”. Then GUBU set in in 1982. Lenihan surely veers towards the unedifyingly bizarre as he reveals that a contact of his in the Tory party told him that Haughey was “the first person to compliment Mrs Thatcher on her legs” at the Anglo-Irish summit which spawned Lenihan senior typically ponderous invocation of “the totality of relationships”. Haughey’s interventionism over the liver transplant for Lenihan senior in the Mayo Clinic is narrated scrupulously with Haughey ordering Paul Kavanagh who fundraised €270,000, though “no more than €70,000 was spent”, to divert the balance to Haughey and his Charvet shirts (though Lenihan, being a Lenihan, is much too practical to care, or even mention, the fetish for haute couture). Lenihan recounts with palpable pleasure how Haughey survived the 1991 challenge from Reynolds (55 votes to 22). Haughey lived through his dissection by the Moriarty Tribunal and died of prostate cancer in 2006 before he could be prosecuted. Homely depictions of Lenihan’s mother and her friends debating the ethics and sexiness of early Haughey mingle with Lenihan’s recollection of how Brian Lenihan senior’s hopes that Fianna Fáil might not campaign against divorce were dashed by Haughey. Other anecdotal references sometimes, though not always, seem tailored to elevate the perspicacity of the author’s dad but also give the book a beguiling sense of Lenihanesque intimate authority – as when he reveals that he acted as an informal intermediary for Albert Reynolds in the early 1990s, though he was a working journalist. There is charming colour too as when for example he captures the private sides of De Valera and Lemass, or remembers a bottle of whiskey placed at Jack Lynch’s setting at a dinner in the late 1960s being consumed in the course of an evening. He reveals that his father and Ray Burke, of all people, agreed to fill out their ballot papers the same

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