Diarmaid Ferriter: Will an Garda Síochána tackle sordid aspects of its own history during centenary?

There was much piety on display when An Garda Síochána celebrated its 50th birthday in 1972.

A celebration of Mass in St Paul’s, Mount Argus, was led by Dermot Ryan, the Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, and concelebrated by 50 priests who were sons of members and ex-members of the force, while serving and retired Gardaí assisted on the altar.

There was also a service at St Patrick’s Cathedral during which the congregation heard a homily from the Church of Ireland Archbishop of Dublin Alan Buchanan: “The more I reflect on today, the more I see the resemblance between your job and mine. We both wear uniform; we are both marked men. People expect a high standard from both clergy and guards, forgetting sometimes that they are all men of flesh and blood.

“Both of us have to place our public service before our private life. Both need to take positions that are frequently unpopular. Both can be lonely, and both can be disappointed; both of us have to deal with much that is sordid and seamy.”

Diarmaid Ferriter: Tension, tears and anger as Treaty ratified 100 years ago

---

Diarmaid Ferriter: Have we really got to stage where the auld Púca must be cancelled?

---

Diarmaid Ferriter: The treaty passed and peace of Christmas 1921 shattered

---

Diarmaid Ferriter: Desire for united Ireland remains theoretical

---

Some of these assertions looked increasingly ironic and troubling as the 1970s progressed, as underlined by the current series, Crimes and Confessions, being broadcast on RTÉ, which revisits some of the allegations of egregious behaviour by individual gardaí and the consequences of their actions.

Gardaí did indeed have to contend with much that was “sordid and seamy” but some of them, unapologetically and assisted by their superiors, made that a hallmark of their own behaviour.

The closing of ranks, or what would be termed at a later stage the 'blue wall of silence', protected gardaí who took the law into their own hands

Osgur Breatnach was interviewed for the series and outlined how what he experienced destroyed his life. In his own words he was “kidnapped, tortured, framed and jailed” because of the scandalous Garda investigation into the Sallins mail train robbery in 1976.

Entirely innocent and coerced by brutal beatings into signing a forced confession, he has never received an apology, even though his conviction was overturned and the case against him was clearly a tissue of lies.

It was often asserted in the 1970s, with much justification given the pressures on and murder of members of the force, that the Garda were facing their biggest test since the 1930s, a time when the new police force endured the challenge, as a largely unarmed force, of creating cross-community allegiance in the shadow of a recent civil war in a society not yet fully demilitarised.

The legitimacy of the State, and by extension the Garda, was contested by subversive and paramilitaries of various hues.

But the closing of ranks, or what would be termed at a later stage the “blue wall of silence”, protected gardaí who took the law into their own hands.

Those, like Breatnach, who faced the dire consequences of this, had reason to hope that more recent whistleblowing might bolster their chances of an apology. He thought that the attention focused on the vindicated revelations of Sergeant Maurice McCabe would help, but Breatnach is still waiting because of what he termed in 2018 “a very strong culture in there . . .one of Blue Omerta”.

Whether the force is prepared, on its centenary, to confront difficult and sordid aspects of its own history alongside the celebration of decency and public service of most of its members, some of whom lost their lives in the service of the people, remains to be seen, but I would not count on it.

Last year I was asked to contribute to a history of the force, described as “the official book for the centenary celebrations”, by writing a section entitled “Policing the Troubles”.

Responding to difficult policing environments was not matched with sufficient reform or enough focus, or accountability, regarding excessive force

When I enquired about academic freedom and editorial independence in relation to such a chapter, I was told the contents would have to be vetted by the Garda Press Office. I regard that as a joke. Any credible history of the force needs to confront, without Garda vetting, the complications and abuses that are a part of our policing heritage.

As socio-legal professor Vicky Conway, author of Policing Twentieth Century Ireland, has argued, it is an exaggeration to suggest the new force in 1922 marked a radical departure from the discredited Royal Irish Constabulary that preceded it.

The structure of policing remained highly centralised and political, and responding to difficult policing environments was not matched with sufficient reform or enough focus, or accountability, regarding excessive force.

As regular police work became secondary to security demands, problems inevitably arose. Those gardaí who resorted to violence – unfortunately some still boast about it – saw their methods as indispensable because they could supposedly “break” those deemed subversive, even when they had no evidence. They were facilitated by too many others, including senior judges.

One initiative that should be pursued for the centenary is the issuing of genuine apologies and explanations to those who are still badly in need of them because of the actions of gardaí who made a nonsense of the oath and pledges they made.