Informers provide access that surveillance, arrests and technology often cannot. Yet the most valuable informers are rarely innocent. The closer they stand to power, the more likely they are to be implicated in violence. The question therefore becomes unavoidable:
How far will a state allow an informer to go in pursuit of a greater objective?
It is a question that appears repeatedly throughout the history of organised crime, intelligence operations and political conflict. It lies behind controversies surrounding Gregory Scarpa, Stakeknife and Brian Nelson. It lies behind allegations of collusion, claims of state protection and arguments over intelligence priorities. It lies behind some of the most bitter disputes arising from both the struggle against organised crime in the United States and the conflict in Northern Ireland.
Most comparisons between Cosa Nostra and Irish paramilitary organisations fail before they begin. The Mafia was not the IRA. The UVF was not Cosa Nostra. The political objectives, historical circumstances and social environments were entirely different. Yet the more interesting comparison is not between the organisations themselves but between the ways states responded to them.
Whether confronting Mafia families in New York or paramilitary organisations in Belfast, governments repeatedly encountered the same problem: how do you defeat a secretive, disciplined and violent organisation without becoming compromised by the methods required to penetrate it? Three comparisons help illuminate that question.
The relationship between Gregory Scarpa, Stakeknife and Brian Nelson reveals the problem of intelligence dependency. The comparison between Roy DeMeo's crew and the Shankill Butchers reveals how fear becomes an instrument of organisational power. The existence of parallel authority structures within organised crime and paramilitary-controlled communities reveals why governments became so determined to penetrate these organisations in the first place.
Together they reveal less about organised crime or the Troubles than about the behaviour of modern states.
Why States Fear Parallel Authority
Modern states claim a monopoly over legitimate force. Police arrest. Courts sentence. Governments govern. Armies fight. Everything else rests upon that foundation. The challenge posed by organised crime and paramilitary organisations was not simply that they committed crimes or acts of violence. The challenge was that they exercised authority.
Cosa Nostra settled disputes, enforced agreements, punished transgressors, collected revenue and regulated behaviour. It created consequences outside the formal legal system. For decades it exercised influence across entire sectors of economic and social life, becoming involved in labour unions, construction projects, ports, transport systems and local businesses. It frequently acted as a parallel authority in communities where state power was perceived as distant, ineffective or untrustworthy.
Republican and loyalist organisations frequently performed similar functions within their own communities. They imposed discipline, administered punishment attacks, mediated disputes, regulated criminality and exerted influence over local economies.
Many residents rejected their authority. Many feared it. Yet its existence was undeniable. Governments can tolerate dissent. Governments can tolerate criticism. What they struggle to tolerate are competing systems of power.
A burglar challenges the law. A disciplined organisation capable of commanding loyalty challenges the state itself.
Understanding this point is essential because it explains why intelligence became so important. These organisations were not viewed merely as collections of criminals or gunmen. They were viewed as alternative centres of authority.
The greater the perceived threat, the greater the pressure to penetrate them. And once penetration becomes essential, informers become indispensable.
Intelligence Dependency
No secret organisation can be defeated entirely from the outside. Eventually governments require access from within. This creates an uncomfortable reality. The best informers are often the worst people. Low-level sources provide fragments. High-level sources provide access. The closer an individual stands to power, the more useful he becomes. The closer he stands to power, however, the more likely he is to be implicated in violence.
This is where Gregory Scarpa, Stakeknife and Brian Nelson become useful comparisons. Most readers of the Troubles literature require little introduction to Stakeknife or Brian Nelson. Scarpa is less familiar.
A made member of the Colombo crime family, Gregory Scarpa spent approximately three decades providing intelligence to the FBI while simultaneously maintaining a prominent and violent position within organised crime. Nicknamed "The Grim Reaper," Scarpa was implicated in murders, extortion and other serious criminal activity while continuing to function as a highly productive source. His relationship with federal authorities later became one of the most controversial informer cases in American law-enforcement history because it raised persistent questions about what was known, what was tolerated and what may have been overlooked in order to preserve intelligence access.
Their organisations were different. Their motivations were different. Their political environments were different. Yet all occupied positions that provided extraordinary access to information. Each became valuable because of proximity to power. Each therefore confronted the state with the same dilemma.
How much should be tolerated in order to preserve intelligence access?
The controversy surrounding these figures stems from a common source. The issue is not whether they informed. The issue is whether governments became dependent upon them.
Once an intelligence asset is viewed as indispensable, ordinary standards can begin to erode. Arrests may be delayed. Investigations may be restricted. Decisions may be taken that prioritise intelligence collection over immediate intervention.
Supporters argue that such decisions save lives in the long term. Critics argue that they permit criminality in the present. Both sides claim necessity. The result is a moral grey area that has fuelled controversy for decades. The question remains the same.
At what point does protecting an informer become participating in the consequences of his protection?
When Intelligence Becomes Complicity
Every intelligence service confronts a version of this problem. If a source is sufficiently valuable, should he be protected? If protecting him allows criminality to continue, is the intelligence worth the price? If intervention exposes him, does the state sacrifice long-term security for short-term justice?
There are no easy answers. Compromise rarely arrives dramatically. It develops gradually. A prosecution is delayed. An arrest is postponed. An operation is monitored rather than disrupted.
Each decision appears defensible in isolation.
Collectively they can create circumstances in which intelligence gathering begins to resemble complicity. This is why debates surrounding Scarpa, Stakeknife and Nelson remain so contentious. The issue is not merely what these men did.
The issue is what governments were prepared to tolerate in pursuit of a greater objective.
Fear As Organisational Power
Violence kills. Fear governs. This distinction explains why Roy DeMeo's crew and the Shankill Butchers remain historically significant. Many organisations committed murder. Many individuals committed murder. What distinguished these groups was their relationship with reputation. Their names became symbols. Stories circulated. Legends developed. Fear multiplied their influence.
Most readers require little introduction to the Shankill Butchers. Roy DeMeo and his crew may be less familiar.
Operating within the Gambino crime family during the 1970s and early 1980s, the DeMeo Crew became notorious for what investigators later described as the "Gemini Method" of murder. Victims were typically lured to a location, shot, stabbed, dismembered and disposed of with chilling efficiency. The crew's reputation for extreme violence became legendary even within organised crime circles. Whether every story told about them was true became almost irrelevant. Their reputation acquired a life of its own.
The Shankill Butchers generated a similar atmosphere of fear. Their notoriety extended far beyond the number of murders attributed to them. Their name alone communicated a message.
In both cases violence functioned as communication. The objective extended beyond the immediate victim. Entire communities received the message. People adjusted their behaviour accordingly. The most effective violence is often violence that does not need to be repeated. Reputation becomes a force multiplier. Fear becomes an organisational asset.
There were, of course, important differences. The DeMeo Crew operated within a criminal environment. The Shankill Butchers operated within a sectarian conflict. The motives differed. The social context differed. Yet both demonstrate how violent organisations convert brutality into authority.
For governments attempting to penetrate such organisations, this created additional pressure. The more effective fear became as a mechanism of control, the more difficult it became to recruit sources. The more difficult it became to recruit sources, the more valuable existing informers became.
Again, the same question reappears. How much should be tolerated to preserve access?
Intelligence Wars
Many conflicts are remembered through bombings, murders, arrests and trials. Yet increasingly they become wars of information. The struggle against organised crime evolved into an intelligence contest. The struggle against republican and loyalist organisations followed a similar trajectory.Understanding networks became more important than confronting individuals. Mapping relationships became more important than counting weapons. Recruiting sources became more important than conducting raids. Information emerged as the decisive weapon.
This transformation explains why informers became so important and why controversies surrounding them continue to resonate decades later. The decisive battles increasingly occurred not in streets but in shadows.
The State And Its Necessary Devils
Scarpa, Stakeknife and Nelson illustrate intelligence dependency. The DeMeo Crew and the Shankill Butchers illustrate fear as organisational power. Parallel authority structures illustrate why governments regarded these organisations as threats demanding extraordinary attention. Together they reveal a broader truth.
The real comparison between Cosa Nostra and the Troubles is not about gangsters and gunmen. It is about power. It is about authority. And ultimately it is about the uncomfortable reality that states often deal with devils because they believe they cannot prevail without them. The central question remains unresolved.
How far should a democratic state allow an informer to go in pursuit of a greater objective?
Every intelligence service eventually confronts that question. Few answer it publicly. Fewer answer it honestly. Yet it remains one of the most enduring questions raised by organised crime, intelligence operations and the Troubles alike
No secret organisation can be defeated entirely from the outside. Eventually governments require access from within. This creates an uncomfortable reality. The best informers are often the worst people. Low-level sources provide fragments. High-level sources provide access. The closer an individual stands to power, the more useful he becomes. The closer he stands to power, however, the more likely he is to be implicated in violence.
This is where Gregory Scarpa, Stakeknife and Brian Nelson become useful comparisons. Most readers of the Troubles literature require little introduction to Stakeknife or Brian Nelson. Scarpa is less familiar.
A made member of the Colombo crime family, Gregory Scarpa spent approximately three decades providing intelligence to the FBI while simultaneously maintaining a prominent and violent position within organised crime. Nicknamed "The Grim Reaper," Scarpa was implicated in murders, extortion and other serious criminal activity while continuing to function as a highly productive source. His relationship with federal authorities later became one of the most controversial informer cases in American law-enforcement history because it raised persistent questions about what was known, what was tolerated and what may have been overlooked in order to preserve intelligence access.
Their organisations were different. Their motivations were different. Their political environments were different. Yet all occupied positions that provided extraordinary access to information. Each became valuable because of proximity to power. Each therefore confronted the state with the same dilemma.
How much should be tolerated in order to preserve intelligence access?
The controversy surrounding these figures stems from a common source. The issue is not whether they informed. The issue is whether governments became dependent upon them.
Once an intelligence asset is viewed as indispensable, ordinary standards can begin to erode. Arrests may be delayed. Investigations may be restricted. Decisions may be taken that prioritise intelligence collection over immediate intervention.
Supporters argue that such decisions save lives in the long term. Critics argue that they permit criminality in the present. Both sides claim necessity. The result is a moral grey area that has fuelled controversy for decades. The question remains the same.
At what point does protecting an informer become participating in the consequences of his protection?
When Intelligence Becomes Complicity
Every intelligence service confronts a version of this problem. If a source is sufficiently valuable, should he be protected? If protecting him allows criminality to continue, is the intelligence worth the price? If intervention exposes him, does the state sacrifice long-term security for short-term justice?
There are no easy answers. Compromise rarely arrives dramatically. It develops gradually. A prosecution is delayed. An arrest is postponed. An operation is monitored rather than disrupted.
Each decision appears defensible in isolation.
Collectively they can create circumstances in which intelligence gathering begins to resemble complicity. This is why debates surrounding Scarpa, Stakeknife and Nelson remain so contentious. The issue is not merely what these men did.
The issue is what governments were prepared to tolerate in pursuit of a greater objective.
Fear As Organisational Power
Violence kills. Fear governs. This distinction explains why Roy DeMeo's crew and the Shankill Butchers remain historically significant. Many organisations committed murder. Many individuals committed murder. What distinguished these groups was their relationship with reputation. Their names became symbols. Stories circulated. Legends developed. Fear multiplied their influence.
Most readers require little introduction to the Shankill Butchers. Roy DeMeo and his crew may be less familiar.
Operating within the Gambino crime family during the 1970s and early 1980s, the DeMeo Crew became notorious for what investigators later described as the "Gemini Method" of murder. Victims were typically lured to a location, shot, stabbed, dismembered and disposed of with chilling efficiency. The crew's reputation for extreme violence became legendary even within organised crime circles. Whether every story told about them was true became almost irrelevant. Their reputation acquired a life of its own.
The Shankill Butchers generated a similar atmosphere of fear. Their notoriety extended far beyond the number of murders attributed to them. Their name alone communicated a message.
In both cases violence functioned as communication. The objective extended beyond the immediate victim. Entire communities received the message. People adjusted their behaviour accordingly. The most effective violence is often violence that does not need to be repeated. Reputation becomes a force multiplier. Fear becomes an organisational asset.
There were, of course, important differences. The DeMeo Crew operated within a criminal environment. The Shankill Butchers operated within a sectarian conflict. The motives differed. The social context differed. Yet both demonstrate how violent organisations convert brutality into authority.
For governments attempting to penetrate such organisations, this created additional pressure. The more effective fear became as a mechanism of control, the more difficult it became to recruit sources. The more difficult it became to recruit sources, the more valuable existing informers became.
Again, the same question reappears. How much should be tolerated to preserve access?
Intelligence Wars
Many conflicts are remembered through bombings, murders, arrests and trials. Yet increasingly they become wars of information. The struggle against organised crime evolved into an intelligence contest. The struggle against republican and loyalist organisations followed a similar trajectory.Understanding networks became more important than confronting individuals. Mapping relationships became more important than counting weapons. Recruiting sources became more important than conducting raids. Information emerged as the decisive weapon.
This transformation explains why informers became so important and why controversies surrounding them continue to resonate decades later. The decisive battles increasingly occurred not in streets but in shadows.
The State And Its Necessary Devils
Scarpa, Stakeknife and Nelson illustrate intelligence dependency. The DeMeo Crew and the Shankill Butchers illustrate fear as organisational power. Parallel authority structures illustrate why governments regarded these organisations as threats demanding extraordinary attention. Together they reveal a broader truth.
The real comparison between Cosa Nostra and the Troubles is not about gangsters and gunmen. It is about power. It is about authority. And ultimately it is about the uncomfortable reality that states often deal with devils because they believe they cannot prevail without them. The central question remains unresolved.
How far should a democratic state allow an informer to go in pursuit of a greater objective?
Every intelligence service eventually confronts that question. Few answer it publicly. Fewer answer it honestly. Yet it remains one of the most enduring questions raised by organised crime, intelligence operations and the Troubles alike
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| 🕮 Frankie McKillen is a Belfast Rockabilly |
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