Here on in, may the force be with us all

THE assistant commissioner came out to the gate to meet me. He was accompanied by a detective superintendent from the Garda Bureau of Fraud Investigation.

The two men escorted me through the front yard of Garda headquarters, in the Phoenix Park. The assistant commissioner was welcoming, although my presence must have been one giant pain in the neck for him.

I was there for an interview. The previous week, the newspaper for which I worked, The Sunday Tribune, had published a major story, claiming that an insurance firm used serving gardaí as claims agents.

Conor McMorrow, who now reports on politics for RTÉ, and myself were responsible for the report. Its implications were of such gravity that the then minister for justice, Michael McDowell, immediately called in the garda commissioner and ordered an investigation. This was in 2006, not long before the garda ombudsman opened for business.

I was brought up a grand staircase to a boardroom with high ceilings and elaborate cornices, where hung large portraits of past commissioners and senior figures in the force.

The three of us sat at one end of a long and expensive dining table, and the interview began. It was the most incongruous place imaginable to be interviewed as part of a major garda investigation.

Of course, the whole thing was a sham. They knew I’d no intention of saying where McMorrow and I had got the story. But we went through the formalities, the superintendent writing out my statement in long-hand, both men trying hard to look interested and engaged, considering the seriousness of the matter.

Afterwards, the assistant commissioner saw me out to the gate again and he couldn’t have been more cordial. I left that day telling myself that an investigation run by these nice, and obviously highly competent officers, might actually bear fruit.

Some weeks later, another interview was conducted, this time in the less salubrious surroundings of an interview room in Mountjoy station.

The two detectives involved didn’t try as hard to look interested.

Further weeks later, I was called again. This time, the interview was more informal, in a pub in Ballymun. The two detectives were new to me. Now and then, one of them scribbled a few words on a folded sheet of paper. I realised that a lot of officers, and hours, were being nominally invested in this inquiry, into what could be a scandal of major garda malpractice.

By then, wiser heads had put me right. Nothing would come of the investigation. It didn’t matter a whit whether the story was correct or not. It certainly didn’t matter that some insurance claimants may have been intimidated by the sight of somebody they recognised as a garda appearing at their door, representing an insurance company.

All that mattered was that this had the potential for scandal, and, therefore, it wouldn’t see the light of day.

An investigation ordered by the minister for justice would be resourced to the hilt, and a full report compiled, but the outcome would never be in doubt: move along now, nothing to see here.

A few months before my visit to garda HQ, I was present at the ultimate outcome of another garda investigation. The murder of Rachel O’Reilly had become a huge national story. Her husband, Joe, had appeared on the Late Late Show with Rachel’s parents to appeal for help in catching the killer. Subsequently, he had been arrested and charged with the murder.

The trial was one of the first to feature mobile-phone technology, used in this case to trace Joe O’Reilly’s movements on the day of the murder. Huge resources were deployed in the investigation.

The courtroom was packed when the jury returned its verdict, late on a Friday evening. When the guilty verdict was announced, the room exploded in a triumphant roar. It was highly inappropriate for a courtroom, and particularly a murder trial, but the momentary lapse of reason was entirely human. Members of Rachel O’Reilly’s family turned to some of the gardaí who had been involved and hugged them. More than one officer was in tears.

That case had been an example of members of the force working beyond the call of duty, in the best traditions of policing, comforting victims with their application, and doggedly pursing wrongdoing.

On the ground, at the more routine level of policing, many will recognise the type of gardaí who do a good and conscientious job. (There are others who are either incompetent or lazy. That’s not unique to the gardaí, but is more problematic, because of the repercussions such shortcomings have for citizens and the victims of crime).

The raft of scandals over the last number of months will have impacted on the morale of good cops, although I have been contacted by some officers who are welcoming of anything that might lead to a cultural shift in the force.

The prevailing culture resembled nothing as much as that within the Catholic Church. In both cases, the foot soldiers, to a large extent, enjoyed the confidence of the community. Their respective briefs were straightforward and morally correct. They were largely on the side of right.

At the upper echelons, the moral compass was all over the shop. When bad things happened, the main thing was to avoid scandal; to place the institution above reproach, whatever the cost; to keep the power intact.

Any dirty linen was washed internally, and if everybody didn’t emerge smelling of roses, well, that was nobody else’s business one way or the other.

In such an environment, those within the ranks who are less than morally upright have the potential to stray, knowing that they can act with impunity.

Before too long, the moral fibre of an organisation is eaten away from within.

The events of the last week within the force have been seismic. A commissioner has been forced out of the job, to a certain extent because of the actions of a lowly sergeant challenging the prevailing culture. Without the dogged pursuit of wrongdoing by Maurice McCabe, there never would have been the controversies that precipitated the commissioner’s departure.

The controversies have also, finally, led to a point where some form of policing authority will replace the direct control of the force by politicians. This is a basic measure, required if the negative aspects of the prevailing culture are to be tackled.

Martin Callinan’s career didn’t end the way he would have liked. He may well have been shafted by his political masters. But the manner of his departure has finally opened up the way for a new dawn on the force. Not withstanding the very good record of the interim commissioner, Nóirín O’Sullivan, the first positive move would be to opt for an appointment from outside the force to fill the vacant job.

Michael Clifford