AND ANOTHER THING
The Guardian, Mr Jordan and a simple case of mass murder
PAUL JOHNSON
The Guardian, a paper specially written for people who hate England and the English — who hate themselves, in fact gave generous space last week to Neil Jor- dan, the director who has made a hagio- graphic movie about Michael Collins. I had never heard of Jordan before, but to judge by his article he is quite a pretentious little body. He has picked up a bit of history and fancies himself as a teacher of it — he is a pseudo-intellectual, in fact, rather like Prince Charles — but has no sense of peri- od. Indeed, he seems lacking in sensitivity generally, though with a sharp eye for the main chance: perfect Hollywood material, in short.
Michael Collins was a man for the main chance too. He was one of those profes- sional killers who punctuate the dreadful history of the 20th century, and was very good at his job — loved it. I suspect he was a psychopath: that is, a man who could see the difference between good and evil but believed that the distinction did not apply to him. Frank O'Connor said he would suddenly change from being a calm, calculating, organisation man, who merely planned murders, into 'a hooligan whose antics could resemble those of berserkers at play'. He was capa- ble of appalling rages.
One of his sidekicks, Joe O'Reilly, when Collins was safely dead, used to give an imi- tation of him working himself up to a 'job' (i.e., a killing): stamping about the room, `digging his heels in with a savagery which almost shook the house'. But he was also a smiler who could overwhelm with his charm and his soft talk both men and women, English and Irish, including hard- bitten Tories like Birkenhead. I suspect that both 'Circe' Londonderry and her hus- band were in love with him. He bowled over women but he also excited the homo- sexual sadists he occasionally employed as hit-men.
The most important part of Collins's life- work was his creation of a squad of nine later a dozen — trained killers known as the Twelve Apostles, whose task was to murder Dublin Castle detectives and intel- ligence agents. They were the direct ances- tors of the present IRA, and some of their dodges are doubtless reflected in IRA training manuals. One of them described how they did it: 'We'd go out in pairs, walk up to the target and do it, then split. You wouldn't be nervous while you'd be waiting to plug him, but you'd imagine everyone was looking into your face. On a typical job, we'd use about eight, including the back-up . One of us would knock him over with the first shot, and the other would finish him off with a shot to the head. Collins was a marvel ... [He] would meet us from time to time and say, "You're doing great work, lads."' As a rule, Collins had to authorise each of the murders, which were by no means confined to police officers or soldiers, or indeed men. There was the case of the elderly Cork landowner, Mrs Lindsay, who warned the authorities about a proposed Collins ambush. As a result, six gunmen were taken and sentenced to death. Cork Number One Brigade then kidnapped Mrs Lindsay and told the British she would die if their men were hanged. But the law had to take its course, whereupon Mrs Lindsay and her driver were murdered in cold blood. Collins's biographer, Tim Pat Coogan, thinks Collins may not have ordered these killings since 'the usual thing in such cases was to burn the informant's house'.
However, says Coogan, his own father was once sent out by Collins to murder two young women 'who had been consorting with British soldiers and had apparently given away information'. His father, howev- er, 'decided that the girls were very young, and very beautiful and . . . should not be shot'. For once, added Coogan, 'Collins does not appear to have been too con- cerned about the non-fulfilment of the "job". My father was promoted to more congenial duties.' Neither Coogan nor his father seems to have speculated on what would have happened if the girls had been a little older, or plain.
Twentieth-century professional killers have come in two main categories, of which Eichmann and the late Mr Najibul- lah of Kabul are the archetypes. Eichmann organised mass murder on a huge scale, but was too fastidious to participate directly in the slaughter. Najibullah, a huge man known as 'The Bull', killed per- sonally as many of his 60,000 victims as he had time for, often strangling them with his hare hands. Collins seems to have been halfway between the two. He obviously enjoyed his work, but Coogan could find no actual evidence that he did any plug- ging himself. If so, the probable explana- tion is that Collins, who had been in British custody twice and inexplicably released, was aware that a third time would be unlucky and that if the British had any evidence he was personally involved in a murder, he would hang. Another possibility is that, as a supersti- tious papist, he may have believed that it was less sinful to order a crime than to carry it out yourself. If so, he was very much mistaken, as he has long since discovered.
Some people believe that the Collins movie should not be shown in British cine- mas. I am not particularly in favour of banning it, as I doubt if it will do much harm in England. We have no propensity to political violence and sensibly regard Republican killers with abhorrence. But if the Irish authorities have any sense, they will not allow it to be shown there. Irish Republicans are quite violent enough without receiving any further encourage- ment. Southern Ireland is and always has been a violent place and is becoming more so as organised crime strengthens its grip. As recent events have shown, any law- abiding reporter who tries to probe the secrets of large-scale crime in Dublin is liable to be murdered just as surely as any of Collins's designated victims, and the police seem to be unable or unwilling to do much about it.
In its present state, Ireland is about the last place on earth where a man like Collins should be exhibited as a hero. But that is a matter for the Republic's own government. As for Hollywood, it is wel- come to Jordan. The Guardian photo shows him with little, know-all eyes, a sneering mouth and the inevitable design- er stubble. His article is redolent with the bogus idealistic self-righteousness which goes down so well in Tinseltown. Holly- wood used to be a curious mixture of gen- uine altruism and commercial rapacity. Now it is plain, unmitigated evil. Correc- tion: not plain evil, complicated evil, with all the sexual trimmings.
Perhaps that mega-earthquake the experts say is coming to California will engulf it. But it has some delightful art deco buildings and other aesthetic extrav- agances which ought to be preserved. It is, then, an ideal place for a trial run of the neutron bomb which is said to eliminate people without touching property. What a wicked thought! Get thee behind me, Satan.
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