Crime Religion

Ireland overtaken by an evil cult of sexually-disturbed nuns

They sold human hair to English wig shops.

Think about that.

With the collusion of the State, they enslaved young girls, imprisoned them, tore their babies from their breast and imprisoned them.  They called those children the Spawn of Satan. They regimented the children of those poor girls, humiliated them, paraded them in front of the town children, dressed them in smocks and made certain sure that they would never have the slightest shred of dignity.

That was what these fine Christian nuns did.

That was what these Brides of Christ achieved in our fine new Catholic independent republic.

That was exactly what these disturbed, frustrated, demented religious women inflicted on the young people of this fine republic.

How many hundreds of babies were flung into a sewer in Tuam?

I want to puke. I want to throw up. I really want to finally express my revulsion at the sort of state these so-called revolutionaries created, when all they managed to do was put our children in the hands of religious lunatics.

The nuns sold human hair to English wig shops, torn from the heads of the poor girls they imprisoned against the law. The nuns sold babies to America and Australia, against the law. The nuns used girls as slaves in their laundries against the law.

And now those same nuns thumb their noses to the law by refusing to release information about the babies they stole, leaving heartbroken mothers bereft.

It’s time these nuns were dragged before a court to answer for themselves instead of issuing callous, dismissive press statements, but of course, what could one expect from people who have never experienced close personal human relationships?

People who might be experiencing extreme personal anger as a result.

People who might be very damaged and unsuitable to look after anyone else.


Crime Sport

Pro10 – the Olympic ticket distribution company that doesn’t distribute Olympic tickets

Pro10 is the official ticket distribution agent for the Olympic Committee of Ireland (OCI). For some reason, however, another, unauthorised company, THG, ended up distributing the tickets at the Rio Olympics, leading to the almighty balls-up we’re now watching in amused horror. THG is owned by Marcus Paul Bruce Evans, Chairman of Ipswich Town FC.

Coincidentally, the Irishman arrested in Rio, Kevin Mallon, had a Paul Bruce listed in his phone.

A quick glance at the Pro10 company records shows the following:

The company’s legal name is KMEPro. K for Ken Murray, M for Michael Glynn and E for Eamonn Collins, the three directors.

The company trades as Pro10 Sports Management

It was set up on the 28th April 2015.

It lists its activities as Business and Management Consultancy

It doesn’t appear to have any experience in ticket distribution or any capability to carry out such work.

Let me just leave you with this: KMEPro has the same postcode as 121 other companies.


Drinking water out of lead pipes

I heard an item on the radio today about old pipes. The journalist was grilling somebody from Irish Water about their plans to put orthophosphates in the water in order to combat the effects of lead.

To be truthful with you, I wasn’t paying much attention till I heard mention of my home town, Limerick, where it seems there have been protests against introducing this chemical and that’s when my ears perked up.

Why? What? Who could possibly be for keeping lead in the drinking water? Who could be against a harmless substance coating the inside  of the pipes of prevent people being poisoned?

I don’t know, but apparently some people are opposed to putting orthophosphates in the water, presumably on the basis that they contain too many syllables. On the basis presumably, that chemical names sound too sinister and you couldn’t have that, now could you?

In other words, on the basis of nothing more than a medieval suspicion of science.

On the basis of being an unlettered idiot.

Never mind that you’d get a hundred times as much orthophosphate in a single fizzy drink as you would in a glass of water. Ignore that sort of fact and instead aim for the factoids that motivate such protests. After all, what fun are facts when we can have chemtrails and vaccination conspiracies?

Naturally, Irish Water is the problem, and not the reality that 180,000 houses have lead piping inside their four walls. The same people  complaining about chemicals like orthophosphates (but who have no problem drinking dihydrogen monoxide or for that matter, psychoactive substances like C2H5OH) seem to think that the public purse is responsible for fixing bad plumbing inside a private house.

It isn’t.

If you have lead pipes inside your house, that’s a problem you have to fix yourself instead of expecting the rest of us to pay for it. It makes no difference who delivers the dihydrogen monoxide to your tap. Irish Water can do it or the local council can do it, but the fact remains that your lead pipes are your problem.

That’s a reality that the anti-paying-for-your-own-problems alliance doesn’t seem to grasp. If you have lead pipes in your house, I’m not paying to fix it, either through Irish Water or through the Council.

How about explaining to those protesting about orthophosphates that they have three choices: continue to be poisoned, pay now to replace your pipes, or in the meantime let this substance coat your pipes with a layer that will protect you from the poisonous heavy metal?

Yes, I know that’s the logical answer, but never underestimate the stupidity of rabble-rousers or the people they stir up. We’ve seen what they can do in far worse circumstances and to be truthful, I think our fools are only practising for darker times when their skills are needed to drum up irrational anger against who knows what?





Abstract expressionism and the harmless house painter

I bumped into my neighbour recently. He was covered in paint and waving his arms about aimlessly like a bookie in a maggot farm.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I inquired without much neighbourly empathy. I never liked him anyway.

I’m worn out, he shouted. Worn the fuck out.

Are you now? I snidely remarked, since I know for a fact he never worked a day in his life. Worn out, by Jesus?

I am, he panted. I am for sure, and it’s all the fault of that witch, the Truffle Cream Woman. The evil sorceress.

Surely you mean the Red Woman? I suggested.

Oh, if only it was as simple as dealing with the Red Woman, he replied with a ghastly stare. If only I hadn’t given my home over to the horrors of food colours.

What? I was shocked. You don’t mean ..?

Yes, he said, holding the back of one hand against his fevered brow. ‘Tis true. I forsook the world of men’s colours and invited in the Truffle Cream Woman.

Poor wretch, I shook my head. There was nothing to be done for him now.

Are you saying the walls are covered with Crème Brûlée?

I am, he sobbed. I am. I am. I am!!

The food colours. That which no man understands. The fearful food colours, now all over this poor man’s house.

Lemon Crush.

Wild Sage.

Soft Mocha.

Abstract expressionism

You mean there’s no longer any red or yellow or green or blue?

No, he wailed. Nothing but salmon and avocado. Porridge, Halibut and Prawn Vindaloo. Muted Rhubarb.

Dear God. It was worse than I thought.

Are you saying there isn’t even a touch of white in your home?

Not even a bit, he sobbed. I thought white was white, but no. Now all the ceilings are Natural Calico or Almond.

What have you done to resist this? I demanded. Come on man, don’t be a worm all your life!

Ah, he groaned as he lay back against a rock. It’s easy for you to talk. So easy.

I could see the strength was deserting him and for the first time I began to feel a little sympathy.

Here, I said. Have a swig of this Caribbean Porter, brewed by one-legged hipsters from Shoreditch.

You’re a good man, he murmured. A good man.

After a long hard slug of Caribbean Porter, the light returned to his gaze and he fixed me with a glittering eye. I did my best, he whispered. I did my best but it wasn’t enough. I needed art-work to set off the bland colours but I couldn’t afford it so I ...

Tell me! I caught him by the lapels and shook his withered frame. Tell me, damn you! What did you do?

I went, he coughed a long, agonising choking rasp. I went to Guineys and I bought …

What? I demanded. What did you buy?

I bought some pre-stretched canvases for €4 each. And then I went out to the shed and I found some …

Dear God. What was the wretch going to say next?

… some half-used cans of paint. Men’s colours. Red and yellow and blue and green.

The Devil you say? I was taken aback.

So I splashed the paints all over the canvas from Guineys and I made patterns and then I splashed them some more and then I rode a bicycle over them and then I threw them at a wall. And then I put salami on them and flung them to the dog.

You poor man, I said, overcome with pity for my neighbour even though I never liked him. You seem to be suffering from a severe case of Abstract Expressionism Fake Painting Syndrome.

Not at all, he replied with a grin. I’m just worn out from counting my money. Sold the whole lot to the Tate Modern for €50 million. Now if you wouldn’t mind fucking off, that would be great. I never liked you.




Crime Society

Why is it harder to buy anti-psychotics than a gun in the USA?

As we recoil once again in disbelief after yet another mass killing in the USA, people across the world (and also in America, let it be acknowledged), are asking how a killer could so easily obtain a weapon of mass destruction.  There’s almost no other country in the world where such a thing would be possible and certainly no country among the developed democracies where it would even be contemplated.

Omar Mateen used an Ar-15 to murder 50 people in Orlando and to destroy the lives of 500 more. He used a weapon that he bought in a shop under Florida’s lax gun laws.

The AR-15 is a fearsome weapon, made famous in these parts by Sinn Féin’s Danny Morrison when he spoke about the Armalite and the ballot box, and yes, that’s what the AR-15 is. An Armalite. Following modifications that increased its weight, it was adopted by the US military as the M-16, a version many military people regarded as inferior to the original which was light, portable and lethal.

We saw that capability in Orlando where a single shooter was able to massacre so many people on his own but we should not be surprised. This weapon, the AR-15, can fire a small projectile at such a high velocity that anyone struck by a bullet, in any part of their body, will almost certainly die. That was the designer’s intention. This weapon can shoot through walls and still kill you. In fact it will kill you worse, since the flying thing that  hits you will be a mis-shapen lump of high-velocity lead that tears a gaping hole in you.

This was also the designer’s intention.

ar 15 assault rifle

Now, the National Rifle Association is seen today as the body that does most to promote gun ownership in the United States and perhaps it is. The NRA is seen as the political wing of the American armaments industry and perhaps that’s true too. But if so, this is a very recent development indeed. If so, this is far from the traditional American attitude to ownership of weapons.

In reality the NRA’s support of unlimited access to weapons is less than forty years old. As far back as 1934, it supported the National Firearms Act, introduced to combat organised crime gangs following the Prohibition era. At that time, Karl Frederick, the NRA President stated as follows:

[dropshadowbox align=”none” effect=”lifted-both” width=”auto” height=”” background_color=”#ffffff” border_width=”1″ border_color=”#dddddd” ]I have never believed in the general practice of carrying weapons. I seldom carry one. … I do not believe in the general promiscuous toting of guns. I think it should be sharply restricted and only under licenses.[/dropshadowbox]

Somehow, between the situation we find ourselves in today and the NRA’s  establishment in 1871 as a response to the perceived inadequacies of American military marksmanship, the NRA morphed from a quasi-official research organisation to a full-blown advocate for the major small-arms manufacturers. It was a classic example of a peripheral obscure quango taken over for profit, regardless of the consequences.  Though it had been lobbying since 1934 for a change to the gun ownership law under the the Second Amendment, that lobbying was on behalf of  hunters and competitive marksmen.

Even as  Charlton Heston entered his 50s, his hands not yet dead or cold, the NRA was still opposing widespread ownership of firearms, and it wasn’t until 1977 that it went fully political, becoming a thinly-disguised front for the arms industry.

Why do so many Americans today believe that the Second Amendment conferred the right to carry high-velocity assault rifles? Nobody knows. The National Rifle Association certainly never claimed any such thing until shortly before Ronald Reagan took office. The framers of the amendment never imagined anything more lethal than a muzzle-loading musket and certainly not a high-velocity automatic rifle that one man could use to shoot fifty people dead. Their concern was about keeping a militia available to defend against the return of the colonial power, and any other reading of the amendment is downright perverse.

[dropshadowbox align=”none” effect=”lifted-both” width=”auto” height=”” background_color=”#ffffff” border_width=”1″ border_color=”#dddddd” ]A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.[/dropshadowbox]

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State …

The Second Amendment, which is now entirely superseded by history, has to do with maintaining a militia, not with giving a redneck the right to own a bazooka and yet it has been used to foster a national love affair with firearms.

Perhaps this obsession with guns has been fostered through an endless diet of movies and TV series in which the gun has become an object of fetishistic veneration. Perhaps it was aided by the rise of the Western novel towards the end of the nineteenth century or maybe via the film noir of the 1940s and 1950s. Maybe it was the war movies of the forties right up to the present day. Who knows?

What does seem to be true is that many Americans firstly believe the gun is the answer to all life’s problems and secondly that the world consists of good guys and bad guys.

Of course, I can’t say that this childish binary mindset was caused by Hollywood. For all I know, reality is the reverse and Hollywood was caused by this childish mindset, but one way or the other it seems to exist and it seems somehow to have dominated the entire world through force of arms and economic muscle, which might not necessarily be two different things in the case of the United States.

What I find baffling is the complete inability of the USA to see that it is not in any sense the leader of the putative “Free World”, and I’m quite sure this is a feeling shared by most people in Europe and elsewhere when Americans refer to their President as our leader. How much self-delusion is required before a nation can believe such nonsense? How much Orwellian indoctrination? How much insularity? How much ignorance?

Only a nation whose citizens have never travelled abroad could possibly convince itself that its President is the leader of some mythical Free World it knows nothing about.

Is America really Hollywood made real or is Hollywood the real America?  I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that this vast, immensely powerful nation has a juvenile understanding of the world that extends right up to its top echelons as we saw with the utterly stupid invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, culminating in the creation of Islamic State, thanks to a complete disregard for other cultures. They were going in to take out the bad guys and that was all that mattered.

Hollywood might not have intended to create the militaristic tendency of the United States, but the military sure as shootin’ bought into the clichés provided by the film industry, just as the Mafia bought into The Godfather. Pretty soon, you’re not sure who’s talkin’ like who or where it all started. Pretty sure, you start to believe the only guys who can save the Earth from an asteroid strike are Bruce Willis and the crew of the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier USS Can-Do-Hoo-Ha!

Naturally, those who support access to firearms will argue that guns make people safer which makes it hard to understand why the United States firearms death rate is five times that of Canada, 50% higher than Mexico’s, five times that of Israel (Israel!), ten times the death rate of Germany and fifty times the rate of the United Kingdom, where nobody has a gun.

On the other hand, if I suffer from a psychotic illness in the United States, while I might not be able to afford the medical care to treat any homicidal tendencies, I can always walk into my local gun store and buy myself an Armalite, with no questions asked.

What was that they said about the  Free World?


Also on Bock

Orlando murders

The second amendment

Mass murder and the American gun fetish

Gun control in America




New York Times


White-collar criminals

I was idly chatting with a friend, as one does, when I remembered a story someone else told me recently.

Two stories, actually, but related to each other. Three, for all I know, or four, or twenty, but let’s keep it down to two for the sake of story-telling.

Last week, I cooked what I can only call an utterly delicious meal worthy of the finest chefs in the land, and I did it for some friends visiting my home.

Here. Have some of this delicious grub, why don’t you? Eat more.  More.  Eat more.

They seemed to like it and I was glad of that because there’s nothing more dispiriting than cooking stuff that people don’t eat. Luckily, my visitors were not only willing to scoff the grub, but happy to take away extra servings which is always a good thing.

What did I make? I’m glad you asked me that.

I made a delicious barbecue sauce for the shoulder of pork we’d been keeping in the freezer, along with baked potatoes in butter and egg-fried rice with shallots. But at the last minute I learned that one of our guests doesn’t eat meat, so I had to cobble together an emergency vegetarian lasagne. I never made a vegetarian lasagne before, but it was good to see how quickly they hoovered it up and even though I made enough to feed the 5th Panzer Division, I handed it out to friends and family, all of whom happily hoovered up the available grub.


I promise to put up a recipe here soon, although to be honest with you, it’s just a regular lasagne without the meat. With added aubergine, peppers and stuff. And leaves from the bay tree in the garden, bless it. And garden garlic.


As it turns out, the lasagne was extremely tasty, but so was the barbecued pork, gobbled in equal measure by the visitors as we’d like it to be. Why wouldn’t it be?

One of the visitors told us about when he had a flat over the old Eircom building in Henry Street. There was a plant room on the roof and so they lined the walls with shiny fabric, set up some decks and wired it for sound. As one does.

In due course, Eircom sold the building to the Department of Justice and that was how, one night, there came a bang-bang-bang on the door of the plant room as three burly guards stood outside.

Could ye keep it down lads?


Well, you see, the prisoners in the cells are complaining about the noise.

Now, I know you’re thinking exactly the same thing as me. The prisoners in the cells were convicted of nothing and therefore deserved every consideration. I might easily end up a prisoner in one of those cells, should a policeman take a dislike to me.

Be quiet, lads.

Later on, I was telling this story to another friend who wasn’t so forgiving. One time, he said, we were in Jerry O’Dea’s after a funeral, giving it socks, when a prison officer arrived and asked us to keep it down. The lads in the cells were complaining.

Were they now? I thought to myself. Were the poor oppressed skobes upset by people singing? Good.

Yep, he said. We told them to fuck off.

But then it occurred to me that not everyone in prison is a skobe. Some of them are only white-collar criminals.

No, I thought. They’re skobes. Fuck them.

With such ferment going through my mind, I found myself sitting on a bus with an acquaintance who might have more experience of skobes than many of us.

Why was I relying on the bus? Because I was meeting a friend and I calculated, correctly, that there would be a number of beers involved. No driving for Bock.

As we passed the prison, I remarked to my companion that there were worse criminals than skobes.

What? he replied. Are you mad?

Well, I said, the white collar criminals have destroyed the country.

Come here, he said. What would you prefer in the middle of the night? A gang of skobes or a gang of white-collar criminals breaking into your house?

I don’t follow you.

No? If you charge downstairs, would you prefer to meet a skobe in a tracksuit robbing your house or some fucker in expensive loafers?

I paused. Nonplussed.

Where’s loafer-man gone? Straight out the door he came in, leaving a trail of quinoa, gluten-free bread and low-fat milk products stolen from your fridge.

Stuck for words, I uttered the only question possible.

What is your point?

My point, young man, he said, is that we need effective gluten-free policing.

I was grateful that he said young.









Paul Murphy free legal aid story deflects from real injustice

Paul Murphy free legal aidThe decision to grant Paul Murphy free legal aid has attracted widespread derision, much of it justified, but it masks a far deeper injustice routinely inflicted on innocent citizens whenever the State moves to prosecute them. Leave aside the fact that Paul Murphy is paid €87 thousand in salary and that his decision to give most of it to a political movement is his own choice. Leave aside the fact that he drew down an enormous amount of money as an MEP from 2011 to 2014. Forget the fact that he’s also in receipt of expenses.

None of that is relevant to the central injustice of the present system.

As matters stand, any person prosecuted by the State suffers an immediate, severe financial penalty regardless of their guilt or otherwise. Why? Because they have to pay for their defence, and the costs can sometimes dwarf any fine a court might impose.

Therefore, simply by taking the case, the State imposes punishment on every person it chooses to prosecute unless that person can demonstrate inability to pay legal fees.

It’s impossible to understand how this can be fair.

It opens the door for every sort of vexatious, capricious and downright oppressive prosecution. It creates conditions where an unscrupulous official is free to inflict severe punishment on innocent people, knowing full well that the State’s case has no merit and will be thrown out by a jury.

Forget about the court granting Paul Murphy free legal aid. His case is just a side-show and in any event he now has his costs covered, even if his argument was somewhat thin.

It seems obvious that, just as in a civil case, if the State brings a prosecution against a person and fails to prove its case, the accused should not be at a financial loss, so what’s the answer?


If an accused person is acquitted, the State should be liable for all their costs, whether that person is a billionaire or a pauper. That’s the risk everyone runs when they take a civil case, so why not a prosecution?

What could be more self-evident?


A killer stalks my garden

Arrogant as a surgeon, surly as a bus driver, aggressive as a junior lawyer, he lands at my feet while I fork my sadly-neglected garden.


He cares nothing for me, nor for any danger I might pose, since he knows full well that I am no threat to him at all.

He’s been watching from a distance as I fork, dig, separate weed from clod. He knows my sole purpose is to take out every last bulb of this beautiful, pungent, delicious yet invasive wild garlic. He knows I’m harmless, though the same can’t be said for the Hound of Satan and so we set up a delicate balance. I’m happy enough with my new, tiny, murderous companion, at least for now.

Get gone, Hound of Satan, lest you feel my wrath! And stop trampling the garlic!

He hops up to my foot and nabs a tiny grub unearthed by my fork. How did he do that? How did he see that? This robin has the eyes of a hawk.

I move slowly so as not to startle this bird, but he doesn’t care. When I stumble on a tuffet, he hops himself sideways a flap or two like a small red crow on a freshly-dug motorway, casual as the Great Blondin winking at Niagara.

I become the bird. He trains me not to worry about sudden movements because he knows I mean him no evil, though the same could not be said for his intentions towards insects, larvae and worms. As I continue to dig and to sift, my murderous visitor gorges himself on earthworms, leatherjackets and centipedes, none of which I noticed writhing in my freshly-turned earth but all on the menu of this little predator.

He batters a worm against a rock until it submits, then disappears with it into the lovely magnolia tree that flowers twice a year, but where is all this earth-meat going? He can’t be eating these things. Is he bringing them to a nest full of voracious mini-killers? I can conclude nothing else.


Eventually, I grow tired of culling this garlic field and begin to clear out a rockery, but of course I’m conflicted. Should I dig out all the dandelions, thus depriving the pollinators of food?  I can’t do it, but I turn to my flexible principles for consolation and I compromise. I’ll remove some that are in the way and I’ll leave the rest for the bees.

The micro-murderer turns up and it’s clear from his body language that he cares nothing for the bees. It’s clear that he’d happily eat a bee if he caught one. It’s clear that he’d eat me given half a chance or drag me to a nest filled with his clamorous murderous offspring. A killer’s children who will end up just like their father and come to a bad end.

As I hack away at the overgrown, weed-infested rockery, my little killer friend abandons all pretence and launches straight in between my hands, grabbing the grubs I thought were pebbles, battering them into submission and disappearing into the magnolia tree before returning for more slaughter.

It’s carnage. It’s horrible and it’s nature.

Luckily, no Vegans were present to witness the horror.




Anders Breivik human rights violated in prison

anders breivik


Anders Breivik has won his case. The mass murderer persuaded a Norwegian court that his conditions in prison are inhuman and I’m bound to say that I agree with him. His conditions of incarceration are inhuman. The guards wake him at hourly intervals, sometimes strip-searching him. He’s allowed no contact with anyone except prison staff. He spends at least 22 hours a day alone in his cell.

On the other hand, do I think he deserves that sort of treatment? Of course I do. He set off a bomb in Oslo that killed eight people, and then he murdered 69 kids in cold blood on the island of Utøya. If the decision had been left to me, I’d have fed him slowly into the gearbox of a tractor feet first, but luckily the judicial systems of western democracies are not based on the atavistic rage of people like me.

If we’re going to treat convicted criminals worse than a rabid dog, then we need to be honest and just kill them.

Shoot them and get it over with.

We can’t have it both ways. If we claim to have abolished the death penalty but just replaced it with a system of torture then we are hypocrites, and from what we know of Breivik’s confinement, it certainly amounts to torture.

It has often been said, falsely, that hard cases make bad law when the opposite is in fact true: hard cases test good law and cases don’t come any harder than Breivik’s.

He’s vile. He’s an extremist, a terrorist, a heartless killer. His own father rejected him.

In other words, Anders Breivik is a perfect test of democracy. Do we send people to prison as punishment or for punishment? Admittedly, the jury is out on that one since we have developed a class of people for whom prison is a second home but in the absence of an alternative, what is to be done with the likes of Anders Breivik? Should there be some sort of extrajudicial punishment to be administered at the whim of a prison governor? Should that same governor have the right to punish you or me a little bit more if he disapproves, for instance of our not paying a TV licence?

It can’t happen. You’re either in jail or you’re not and no matter how repellent we might find Anders Breivik, he has been found guilty and sentenced but he was not sentenced to torture, much though we all might have wished for that. He was not sentenced to solitary confinement, without the possibility that he might meet a civilised individual in prison, a person who might perhaps help him to understand the enormity of his actions.

Can it be beyond the wit of man to have Anders Breivik mixing with prisoners who are not Nazis, not white supremacists, not adherents to an ideology that will reinforce his beliefs? Would it not make sense to expose Breivik to intellectual challenge from people who do not fear him, mentally or physically?

After all, if he isn’t in prison for rehabilitation, why not just kill him now? None of us would lose a wink of sleep over it.



Utøya survivors too often clam up

We survived the Breivik massacre


Criminals welcome High Court ruling on suspended sentences

The body representing Irish criminals has welcomed a High Court ruling that suspended sentences are unconstitutional.

In a statement on behalf of the Association of Irish Criminals (AIC), spokesman Barry Smallbore said This is a historic day for criminal rights in Ireland.

Speaking outside the High Court, Mr Smallbore pointed out that Irish criminals deserve protection under the equality  laws.

Our members are the most oppressed minority in Ireland, said Mr Smallbore. Irish criminals are probably the minority most harassed by the police. If our members were African or Muslim, we’d be entitled to equality and it’s not our fault that Africans and Muslims aren’t committing enough crimes to qualify for membership of the AIC.

The only reason the Gardai are oppressing our members  is because we are criminals, and that’s simply not on.

Responding to questions about the High Court decision to strike down the law permitting imprisonment of people who commit a further crime while serving a suspended sentence, Mr Smallbore was direct.

Let me say this.  There are people right now in jail solely on the basis that they are criminals. For no other reason. Are you going to tell their wives, their children, their mothers and grandmothers that they should be in jail just for being criminals?

We in the Association of Irish Criminals welcome the High Court decision and we look forward to the Supreme Court confirming the judgement. Nobody should be in jail solely due to membership of a minority. Criminals deserve the same respect as any other oppressed group in our society.