Social Items

TPQ
Showing posts with label Informers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Informers. Show all posts
Michael Phillips ✍ I bumped into my traitor one day in Belfast. 

It was unexpected, to say the least. I wouldn’t be overly confident the feeling was mutual, though. The only significant indicator that he wasn’t acting alone was his sudden appearance and equally strange exit. The surprise encounter naturally blindsided me. 1–0 to him.

His initial reaction to our encounter did, however, tell me he knows that I know. Apologies for being overly enigmatic at this point, so just bear with me. Despite knowing it was bound to happen sooner or later, I was left feeling unusually vulnerable and chastised myself for it later. I’ve simulated the experience many times in my head and therefore run through the whole gamut of emotions one would expect from a friend who had planned to put a bullet in your head.

And not just me. I’m not that special. He could have made it 2–0 earlier had it not been for their ineptitude.

The point being, I decided on the spot that it wouldn’t serve any purpose raging about it, cursing him or making a scene. Besides, he possesses powers of invincibility and would make a suitable character in Marvel’s anti-hero series The Boys. As well as being adept at deception, his range of superpowers includes resisting public humiliation, shrugging off defamation, surviving demotion and possessing no discernible moral compass. Basically, nothing sticks.

The rest of our short conversation revealed little of any tangible substance about our impromptu meeting, if there actually was one. He is quite skilled and manipulative, but his armour can be pierced. Every anti-hero has an Achille’s heel, naturally, and his kryptonite is talking.

It may seem counter-intuitive for a traitor, but he is a seasoned, competent speaker. On the other hand, he tends to shift from subject to subject in the same breath, in what is known as ‘cognitive load management’. He also frequently steers the conversation towards safer ground with familiar topics. It’s a technique referred to as ‘strategic redirection’ and helps bring the listener in closer.

Those near and dear to him might appreciate these peculiar traits as dynamic, a bit nuts, random, quirky. In reality, it’s being evasive and deceptive for those who understand the game.

As we said our goodbyes, he invited me for a coffee. Funnily enough, I was expecting this, since I’d been informed, he had employed this tactic before.

And that is exactly what I did next.

I felt a touch of apprehension, as I had no idea what I was walking into. Acts of betrayal have that effect on friends. I was quite intrigued by his behaviour at this point. I certainly wasn’t poking around for ‘evidence’ of his guilt, nor was I trying to provoke him into letting his mask slip. That’s Amateur Hour.

There’s a bigger picture, which I’ll return to later.

He’s in the driving seat here, and I was the lone passenger along for the ride, wondering where the hell we were going.

My visit to his office on this occasion was a surprise to him. We’re 1–1 now. He couldn’t mask it, but he was afforded a few minutes to compose himself while I waited for him to join me. His manner was more relaxed, but we still went through a similar dance routine to the first time around: shifting subjects, walks down memory lane. I got a personal tour of his office.

Unfortunately, the coffee bar was closed.

On a personal note, a couple of things grabbed my attention.

When he mentioned another person in a certain context, he used the term ‘one of us’, and I thought it was a fascinating reference. I was relishing the idea of quipping that he was, in fact, a very unique individual, but I let him carry on. I saw it as a ruse to retreat to his safe space.

Another incongruous matter was the way he dealt with a person in our presence. He plied them with exaggerated compliments, and it suddenly reminded me why so many people blindly appreciate the respect and adulation he confers upon them.

It’s so much harder to suspect a nice guy of treachery.

I wasn’t searching for the truth because I’m absolutely convinced that even if forced to observe the physical torture of a family member, my traitor wouldn’t blink twice. I’ve come to terms with what he is and can take an educated guess at his raison d’être.

Ultimately, he carries around a gargantuan, egocentric sense of himself that you will not see externally, since his survival utterly depends upon it.

In My Traitor, the novel, the protagonist Antoine is shocked by the revelations that his friend and mentor, Meehan, is a tout, but eventually learns to accept the contradiction. It really appears he captured the essence of those entangled in close proximity to traitors.

Whilst the book is based on reality, I found a glitch in Antoine’s psychology that undermines his supposed loss and profound disappointment in humanity. He was an outsider, got manipulated by a conman and, when confronted with the hard facts, continued to believe Meehan was a redeemable character.

Doubtless, Antoine demonstrates motivated reasoning, clinging to Meehan because of the significant fear that accepting the truth may reflect on his own deeper character flaws. It was a devastating mistake in any case, and one many of us could make if left to face similar circumstances.

My curiosity, rather, has evolved from those Republicans who are behaving like Antoine by accepting the contradiction of this agent and his co-sponsors. The difference, though, is that many of them know or suspect reality is being twisted around them, yet they continue to provide moral and physical support for these agents.

To add further insult, my traitor picked up the equivalent of Charlie’s Golden Ticket and could have tiptoed off to start a new life elsewhere. Instead, the leadership wholeheartedly welcomed him back into their arms, which are apparently as wide as the Mississippi.

No wonder he feels like ‘one of us’ and confidently struts around the Republican communities he once wrought murder and mayhem upon.

Much has been discussed, argued and speculated over informers continuing to clock into work in the North, but one question begs a proper answer, and it’s nothing to do with their dark arts.

They’re just doing what their British masters trained them for.

After 30 years of peace, leading Republicans demonstrate an irrational willingness to shed these critical tools of betrayal, regardless of the mountain of material currently stacking up against them.

Why?

The Dark was right.

And finally, if you’re reading this, you still owe me a coffee.

⏩Michael Phillips is a former republican prisoner.  Keep up with his work.

Coffee With My Traitor

Frankie McKillen ✍ Imagine two men sitting in separate prison cells. 

Both swore the same oath. Both accepted the same risks. Both know that cooperation could dramatically improve their circumstances. One talks. The other remains silent. Why? That question has fascinated me for years. Not because some people become informers. There is nothing particularly mysterious about that. Human beings have always sought to avoid suffering when they can. The real mystery to me at least, is why so many people refuse. Take examples from two very different organisations. 

In the American Mafia, Sammy Gravano Sammy Gravano became one of the most famous informers in Mafia history. Faced with life imprisonment, he chose cooperation. He later justified his decision by claiming that John Gotti had betrayed him and was prepared to sacrifice him to save himself. Yet in the same world there were men such as Sonny Franzese, who spent decades in prison and never became a government witness. Whatever else can be said about him, he repeatedly chose silence over self-interest. 

The same contrast can be found within Irish republicanism. 

Republicans such as Raymond Gilmour and Christopher Black informed. Thousands of others did not. Men such as Brendan Hughes served long years in prison without abandoning the principle that informing was unacceptable. The same pressures. The same dangers. The same possibility of freedom. Entirely different decisions. 

The Mafia provides another interesting contrast. Gregory Scarpa Jr. cooperated with the FBI while imprisoned alongside convicted terrorists, including Ramzi Yousef. Rather than informing on the Mafia, he passed intelligence about terrorist activities and alleged plots he learned about in prison. Scarpa has maintained that he drew a clear distinction between betraying his own organisation and providing information he believed could save innocent lives. 

Gregory Scarpa Sr spent decades secretly informing for the FBI while remaining one of the Colombo family's most feared captains. His case illustrates the other end of the spectrum from his son: where Gregory Scarpa Jr. drew a line at informing on the Mafia, Scarpa Sr. crossed it repeatedly. 

Most discussions focus on the people who talk. The reasons people inform are generally easy enough to identify - Fear. Greed. Revenge. Disillusionment. Exhaustion. The desire to return to family. The desire to avoid prison. The instinct for self-preservation. None of these require much explanation. Human beings are wired to survive. Given a choice between freedom and confinement, comfort and hardship, most people will naturally gravitate towards whatever benefits them. That is not a mystery.

Why do people refuse opportunities that appear entirely rational? History is filled with examples. Men facing life sentences. Men facing the prospect of dying in prison. Men offered reduced sentences. Men offered witness protection. Men offered money. Men offered freedom. Yet they refused. Why does honour or their political belief matter more to some people than freedom? Why would a person willingly accept years, perhaps decades, of imprisonment rather than break an oath? 

For some people, an oath eventually ceases to be something they have taken and becomes something they are. Breaking an oath is no longer merely changing a position. It becomes an attack on their own sense of self. To inform would not simply betray others; it would betray the person they believe themselves to be. 

For some the answer appears to be belief. They continue to believe in the cause, organisation or values they embraced when they first joined. For others it is loyalty. The oath remains binding regardless of changing circumstances. For others it is identity. They simply cannot imagine themselves becoming an informer. To do so would fundamentally alter how they see themselves. 

For others it may be something more difficult to define - A personal code. A sense of dignity. A refusal to betray comrades. A conviction that some lines, once crossed, can never be uncrossed. 

History provides countless examples of people who shared similar beliefs and values but arrived at opposite conclusions. Some remained silent. Others talked. Even informers themselves rarely explain their decisions purely in terms of self-interest. Many insist they were betrayed first. Sammy Gravano's explanation is a good example. His account was not that he suddenly became disloyal. Rather, he argued that loyalty had already been broken by others. Whether one believes him is beside the point.

The important thing is that few informers view themselves as villains. Most have explanations. Most have grievances. Most tell stories in which cooperation became justified, necessary or unavoidable. 

Yet many others have experienced the same grievances without informing. John Gotti believed he had been betrayed by bosses and still remained silent. Many republicans believed they had been betrayed by leaders and still remained silent. 

The same experience often produces entirely different responses. Which brings me back to my original puzzle. Two people can swear the same oath. Fight for the same cause. Belong to the same organisation. Endure the same prison. Face the same incentives. One talks. The other remains silent.

No political theory adequately explains it. No criminal code adequately explains it. No psychological theory completely explains it. 

The answer appears to lie somewhere deeper within the individual. Some people eventually decide that freedom is worth more than loyalty. Others decide that loyalty is worth more than freedom. Some place self-preservation first. Others place honour, belief or identity above self-preservation. What separates them remains unclear. 

The real mystery is not Sammy Gravano. History contains countless examples of people choosing their own interests. The real mystery is Sonny Franzese. The real mystery is Brendan Hughes. The real mystery is the thousands of unnamed prisoners, republicans, gangsters, soldiers, spies and revolutionaries who could have improved their own circumstances by cooperating but refused. 

Perhaps the answer lies in the words that Bobby Sands often quoted from John 15:13: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." 

Whether expressed through faith, loyalty, honour or conviction, perhaps that is what separates those who refuse from those who cannot. What gives some people the strength to place loyalty, honour or belief above even their own survival? After centuries of prisons, wars, revolutions and criminal conspiracies, I am still struggling to answer that question.

🕮 Frankie McKillen is a Belfast Rockabilly

The Real Mystery Is Not Why Some Men Talk

Frankie McKillen ✍ Governments confronting secretive organisations face a recurring dilemma.

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

🕮 Frankie McKillen is a Belfast Rockabilly

Necessary Devils 🪶 Informers, Organised Crime And The Limits Of State Power

Michael Phillips ✍ I picked up Talking to Strangers by Malcolm Gladwell some time ago, partly because I like the author and partly because the title caught my attention. 

What I didn’t expect was how directly some of its case studies could be applied to Republicanism — especially to the leadership’s repeated inability, or refusal, to identify touts even when the evidence was staring them in the face.

That does not excuse the fact that certain touts were allowed to operate with apparent impunity, no matter what information came to light.

Gladwell explores why human beings are so poor at detecting lies. In one study, Professor Timothy Levine found that people could identify liars only 54% of the time. Those are decent odds if you fancy your luck on a horse, but hardly the sort of odds on which you’d re-mortgage your house. Other experiments, involving job interviews and orchestra auditions, showed evaluators made better decisions when they did not actually see the candidates.

Gladwell then turns to more striking examples: the CIA’s supposed crème de la crème being made to look like amateurs by internal moles. Top-secret departments were infiltrated for years despite rumours, suspicions and even lie-detector tests. The most embarrassing part is that these spies were not masterful James Bond figures, skilled in deception and cunning. They left trails of breadcrumbs that Hansel and Gretel would have been proud of.

The reason, according to Levine, lies in what he calls Truth Default Theory: human beings are inclined to believe others, even when confronted with signs of dishonesty. There is an evolutionary logic to this. Society cannot function if we treat every stranger as a potential liar. Without some basic level of trust, society would collapse into suspicion and chaos — wonder if this sounds familiar today.

The surprising part is that even when we understand deception in theory, we often hesitate to suspect those close to us. A truth bias overrides the doubts we might otherwise have. Consequently, those who raise suspicions early, therefore, take enormous risks: public humiliation, loss of employment, isolation, and in some cases even death. We still see this today when whistleblowers leak damaging information that society should, in theory, be grateful to know.

But there is one factor Gladwell touches on without, in my view, giving it enough weight: likeability.

A few years ago, one of my neighbours was finally exposed as a paedo after what felt like an eternity of being widely known as a pervert. Yet most people liked him, more or less, provided they ignored the strange, off-the-wall remarks he made regardless of who was present. The American and British spies discussed in Gladwell’s book were often oddballs too. But they were generally liked — until, years later, the truth became impossible to ignore.

And this brings me to the real reason for these thoughts.

I have written several times about the person I consider to be the Brits’ current top Republican tout. I often wondered what a chance encounter with him would feel like, especially after having known him personally for so many years. Then it happened.

What struck me most was the likeability factor. We often imagine touts as rats, monsters, people without conscience. But one reason some of them survive for so long is precisely because they are nice guys! They can be friendly, approachable, easy in company. They can talk like old school friends at a reunion and slip naturally into their surroundings.

That was exactly how my encounter felt, despite everything I know about him and the damage he has inflicted on all of us. No wonder so many Republicans had doubts over the years.

Yet, to return to Gladwell, even the best spies and informers leave breadcrumbs. What they often share is an inability to provide respectable answers for the inconsistencies, contradictions and strange quirks throughout their careers.

At first, that failure is on us. After that, it belongs to those who still refuse to act on the evidence — and especially to those who stand in their corners defending them, when we know that they already know.

⏩Michael Phillips is a former republican prisoner.  Keep up with his work.

An Academic Theory Of Being A Good Tout

Michael Phillips ✍ How many touts does it take to change a lightbulb? 

Just one—but only if there’s a spotlight on them while they do it.

In recent years, a pattern has emerged as new stories slip past the censors: being outed once no longer seems enough to damage a reputation. If anything, some lean into it.

Once, touts, informers, rats—and even paedos (a stretch in the past, but no longer)—were the scourge of Republican areas. Families of those exposed could barely show their faces. Meanwhile, being a ‘dissident’—the hardliners of the period—was seen as naughty but necessary, tolerated for putting their cojones on the line for good ole Éire. Now, those roles appear to have been cleverly reversed.

How so? Prominent touts today are not only kept within the Republican fold but rewarded: comfy jobs, public roles, meetings with presidents, trips to Washington. Agent Jude and Agent Shirley Temple, for instance, have held prestigious positions despite their past being widely known. When former comrades questioned them, the ‘dissident’ label was swiftly deployed to silence critics. ‘Friends’ have a word in their ear.

We’re not yet at the point where touts are falling from the trees, and those at the top still manage the narrative with care. But there’s a growing restlessness—a sense that people won’t be fooled forever.

Because the truth is simple: touts don’t change. They are driven by self-preservation, ambition, and exploitation. Having survived the worst of the Troubles, many now feel emboldened—confident enough to let it all show.

More troubling still is the failure of those who know better. Time and again, warnings have been ignored. Agents Jude and Shirley Temple have never been held accountable; they continue to enjoy political protection. At the very least, they should be expelled, condemned, and publicly ostracized—not quietly shuffled around like paedo priests.

But—and it’s a big but—there remains a chance to correct these failures.

If such agents are fully exposed, it could begin to restore faith in what remains of true Republicanism—a truth many of us ex-POWs are too proud, or too embarrassed, to admit we were once misled about.

 ⏩Michael Phillips is a former republican prisoner.  Keep up with his work.

Touts Are The New Hardliners

Michael Phillips ✍ The Belfast Telegraph revealed on 8 April that an “MI5 source had details on IRA plans to attack England.” 

Cue Homer Simpson: “Doh!” It’s a short article, but worth unpacking—because there’s an important rebuttal to be made. To the casual Republican observer, it might seem those persistent MI5 snoops chalked up another success. The reality is far darker—and more disappointing.

Firstly, there were no plans. Strictly going by the court proceedings—since I was there—no plans, maps, targets, dates, or anything remotely suggestive were ever produced. The prosecution inferred plenty from the ASU activity, but that was about it. To be fair, the article did include a teeny caveat just to tidy up any exaggerated statements: “It said there was no clear indication of the intended targets.”

So yes, MI5 can claim another victory—but the starker truth is they remain victorious and must wonder how the charade continues. Let me add some perspective for my Republican comrades still wearing green-tinted glasses.

Again—going strictly by the court proceedings, for my own peace of mind—the two lads sent over had never met, nor communicated with anyone in England. It was, quite literally, a terrorist blind date—facetious as that may sound. Yet one of them, with no record or murky Fenian profile, was observed and photographed disembarking in Wales.

Which suggests MI5 knew well in advance—likely from the moment he started to pack his bags, despite having little time to prepare. The second lad, unknown to him, was also tracked via a separate route. At this point, incompetence seems unlikely; the odds of both making major errors from the outset are low. Later, the van sent from the north—allegedly for the ASU use—was tracked from departure. Meanwhile, the London crew had scant details of that operation until it reached them.

Now, without diminishing MI5’s brilliance in keeping the fading flame of imperialism alive, and despite their fingerprints being all over this, it’s abundantly obvious there was a Republican rat embedded in this tightly controlled department. Identifying suspects wouldn’t be rocket science—and just to clarify, it wasn’t the same devious character still collaborating with Belfast Republicans; he wasn’t promoted to that department until later.

In the end, the real story isn’t the Belfast Telegraph glorifying British spycraft, but the decades-long suppression of Republican touts by Republicans themselves. But more on that later.

⏩Michael Phillips is a former republican prisoner.  Keep up with his work.

MI5 Shocker!

Michael Phillips ✍ Seriously — do they get any downtime from their spymasters? It would seem not. Let me explain.

I was watching an interview with a world-renowned security expert. He and the interviewer discussed prompting an AI chatbot with: “Make the case… (that Epstein was an Israeli spy)” to test how well it could argue and present evidence. To his surprise, it laid out a solid case — which the expert himself said he could confirm, though he refused to say how.

Inspired, I substituted the second half with: “…that the British government still have a spy in the Republican movement in Belfast” — just to be a tad condescending.

Here are a few highlights from its response:

The infrastructure to run such agents was vast, expensive, and highly effective. Intelligence agencies do not simply dismantle successful networks because a peace process begins… From London's perspective, the strategic value of a well-placed source has arguably increased, not decreased. Understanding Republicans’ internal positions on issues like a border poll, their relationship with dissident republicans, and their long-term constitutional strategy is of enormous interest to the British state… The institutional culture, the handlers, the tradecraft — this does not evaporate with the Good Friday Agreement. Former intelligence officers have noted publicly that ‘running’ sources in Northern Ireland was never fully wound down, simply scaled back and restructured under a more normalised policing framework with the PSNI… Donaldson was only exposed in 2005 — seven years after the Good Friday Agreement — meaning British intelligence maintained a top-level political source well into the peace process. This alone establishes that the peace agreement did not end agent-running. If one such source was active seven years in, the question is not whether others existed, but how many remain undetected.

It concluded that this was based on publicly stated facts and reasonable inferences, blah blah blah.

Relying on new tech gadgets to show how the Brits are still scheming and plotting against us is hardly scientific — but it will only get better. Bear in mind too that AI itself is part of the tout machinery, and can be used right back at them.

I do have more practical evidence, however, for why touts can’t take holidays. It may also explain why some Republicans still scratch their heads over why the Brits forced their number-one tout back to work. Next time, we can prompt AI as to why he was so readily embraced by his colleagues — again. Alas, there’s no rest for the wicked. For that reason, this anecdote uses fictionalized names; it’s not only fresh but active.

Let’s call the two protagonists Andy and Ben — close, blood close. One day Andy questioned Ben about his past Republican activities. It was out of character, especially as he persisted before being brushed off. Ben was shocked but let it pass. Eventually, annoyed, he made enquiries about Andy. Nothing surfaced.

Except one evening, after Ben mentioned the anomaly to Rory — a prominent Republican — Andy happened to bump into Rory in a supermarket. Within seconds he was name-dropping and probing whether Rory knew Ben well, even letting slip an innocuous detail Rory knew to be false. The exchange lasted moments. Rory left stunned; he barely knew Andy. The timing alone set off alarm bells. Then there was the odd detail of Andy leaving the shop with nothing but a loaf.

There’s more, but for now it simply illustrates that our near and dear are still being flogged for every scintilla of information.

And as our newest tech gadget suggested: “The peace agreement did not end agent-running… the question is not whether others existed, but how many remain undetected.” I just hope their service to King and country — over our dead volunteers and incarcerated Republicans — was worth it. Perhaps, in time, some will even receive public recognition for their blood gains.

⏩Michael Phillips is a former republican prisoner.  Keep up with his work.

Do Touts Get Holidays?

Michael Phillips ✍ I bumped into someone who jogged an odd detail loose. 

Let’s call him a Truth Seeker—one of many, I dare to hope. He mentioned that, once upon a time, the agent in the Kenova report—the one who officially doesn’t exist but whom every dog on the street seems to know—lived in a quaint little community in County Down. Another voice chimed in that he’s lived in more houses than you or I have had Sunday roasts. That rang true. I don’t recall many Sunday roasts growing up; there were too many marauding mouths to feed in our house for a single roast to survive beyond the first sitting.

That detail triggered a memory: a meeting I once had with the agent-who-doesn’t-exist at a tourist spot beside a beautiful lake. He invited me up to feed the swans. It was a long way to go for swans. I went anyway, just for the craic, and never once questioned the location. The truth is, I was still in my Republican nappies, so the less said the better. I do remember briefly wondering whether it was reckless or brazenly bold—given the area was home to security forces and well-to-do Unionists. Ignorance is bliss, and I was clearly guilty of incuriosity. Looking back now, though, the idea that he had his own personal rat hole nearby makes perfect sense. He wasn’t reckless or bold at all. He was in his natural habitat.

That was then. Times, they are a-changin’. Perhaps I’m too curious now. Funnier still is that some people are paid to be curious—their careers are built on it—yet they’ve managed to ignore the most obvious and controversial issue staring them in the face, without so much as a twitch suggesting they might probe it.

Another Truth Seeker recently asked me about certain journalists, sending me rummaging through the recesses of my brain to see what I’d missed—again. Not long ago, articles were circulating online pointing out how certain northern journalists have ignored the agent-who-doesn’t-exist, despite documented links to him. Normally, it pays not to react to every online provocation. But this Truth Seeker might be onto something. For one, the journalists in question were close enough to the agent to adjust his hidden microphone. Two, their careers are long, respected, and well established. Three, their paths have crossed for decades.

So how is it possible they’ve never reported on one of the most explosive stories in the North? Their lack of professional curiosity deserves Olympic gold—especially given that some were tipped off years ago by a friendly source. They chase major crimes and political heavyweights, yet suddenly turn coy when confronted with a British agent who slipped through the Stakeknife saga. Voltaire warned: “Cherish those who seek the truth but beware of those who find it.” True to form, these journalists cherry-picked their truths. When the agent-who-doesn’t-exist appeared, they heard no evil, saw no evil, and published no evil.

And now, ironically, they’re becoming the story.

⏩Michael Phillips is a former republican prisoner. Keep up with his work.

Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Write No Evil

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)