An Irishman's Diary

IT IS WELL KNOWN that, when Irish eyes are smiling, “all the world seems bright and gay”. A fact somewhat less publicised, unfortunately, is that when Irish eyes are smiling in a passport photograph, it is at least grounds for suspicion that the document may be fake and that the holder is a secret agent on a murder mission.

According to the Department of Foreign Affairs’ official guidelines, the facial expression of anyone posing for an Irish passport photograph “should be neutral”. This involves having “both eyes open and mouth closed”. It also involves avoiding “contrived expressions” of any kind.

No doubt it’s the wisdom of hindsight. But with her pouting lips and icy smile, the “Gail Folliard” of the Dubai suspects line-up seems to infringe at least two of these rules. Indeed, there have been suggestions that her contrived expression may extend well beyond the pout. Some security experts have raised the possibility that she also appears to be in possession of an Adam’s Apple. If so, this too was undeclared to Dubai customs.

Of course, when you know something is fake, everything about it looks suspicious. How, for example, did the Mossad (I believe “the Mossad” is correct grammatical usage, although Israel will refuse to confirm or deny this) pick its Irish names? A glance at the phone directory might have suggested “Murphy” or “O’Connor” as safer bets. Or “Clancy”, to use the passport ID of that well-known Irish freedom fighter: Oliver North from Garryowen.

And the addresses. Having taken the trouble to name at least one real Dublin residence, how did the alleged Dubai assassins choose “78 Memmier Road” for Ms Folliard’s home? Maybe Israeli intelligence warned that Ireland is a small country and that it was risky to use real street names in case the house belonged to the nephew of a former prime minister, or something equally ridiculous.

But “Memmier”? It sounds less like an Irish address, and more like a French verb meaning “to breastfeed”.

Viewed in retrospect, the Mossad’s false identities seem about as plausible as the characters in Woody Allen’s comic essay, The Irish Genius: a fictional line-up that includes the Beamish brothers, “Liam and Quincy” and the poet “Sean O’Shawn” (said to have dined with James Joyce in a place called “Innesfree”). Not that it mattered. The inventions were plausible enough for Dubai border officials, who could hardly be expected to grasp the nuances of Irish identity. Never mind the pouting picture. With a different wig and less make-up, Gail Folliard could probably have named herself “Chester Beatty-Library”, from “Dublin Castle”, and nobody would have asked questions.

THE DUBAI AFFAIRhas caused me to look again at my own passport and, in particular, at two customs stamps on page 29. I acquired them a few years ago in Tel Aviv airport, during a press trip before the Ireland-Israel World Cup qualifier. Which, on the face of it, was an apolitical event. But nothing to do with Israel is apolitical. Even the passport stamps involved making a choice.

When travelling to a new place, many people request such stamps, so that the event is recorded and their passports acquire a lived-in look, like old suitcases. In Tel Aviv, it’s the other way around. The man with the stamp asks you whether you want it.

In reply, I inquired why this was optional. Whereupon he explained that the stamp might cause complications when travelling to other exciting destinations, such as Syria, or Libya, or Yemen. So I considered this briefly, and weighed the potential disadvantages against the official’s courtesy. Maybe the ghost of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas crossed my mind too. In any case, it seemed cowardly to say no. “Stamp away,” I told him.

I suppose the mere experience of travelling to Israel inculcates a certain sympathy with the Jewish predicament. And yes, I’m sure a side trip to Gaza would inculcate the opposite.

Unlike most of those who write letters to The Irish Times about the Arab-Israeli question, I find myself permanently conflicted on the issue and can never quite come down on one side or the other. Which is intellectually unacceptable, I know. My only defence is that one more strident opinion either way will hardly increase the chances of a settlement.

But flying to Israel – in my case through London Heathrow – you will find yourself temporarily somewhere to the right of Binyamin Netanyahu on security matters.

Everything from the machine-gun wielding police guarding the El-Al boarding area – itself a kind-of ghetto – to the outsized X-ray machine in which your suitcase spends several minutes, impresses upon you the plight of a nation surrounded by nations that would rather it didn’t exist. Hence my small expression of solidarity with the stamp-wielding official.

Now, after the Dubai affair, I find that Israel has added a zero or two to my donation. Once a hard currency of international diplomacy, the Irish passport has been devalued by Gail Folliard and her friends. Possession of one will henceforth guarantee extra attention at border crossings, especially the Middle East, and having stamps from Ben Gurion airport will hardly help.

Should complications ever arise, I will probably try to persuade my questioners that a stamp from Ben Gurion is exactly what a Mossad agent would not have. Beyond that I shall try to convince them of my passport photograph’s obvious authenticity.

Note the open eyes and closed mouth, I will point out. But above all, note the facial expression which, just like my attitude to the Arab-Israeli conflict, is strictly neutral.