
Paul Murphy returning to Ireland after being held in Egypt
He was among a group of participants in the march from Ireland who will fly back to Dublin.
Speaking on RTÉ's Morning Ireland, Mr Murphy said that no other Irish citizens are currently detained in Egypt.
He said some are remaining in Egypt and said he is "conscious of their safety and not putting them in any jeopardy."
Mr Murphy said it was not initially clear to him that he was being detained.
"For the first three hours or so, it was just a slow, bureaucratic process. Things were taking a long time. I asked to leave and was told I couldn't. The whole time they had my passport, and it became clear that I was being detained, as unfortunately hundreds of have been in Egypt, and many people deported.
"Yesterday, in total, I was in the police station for nine hours," he added.
The TD for Dublin South West said that there would be no renewed attempt for the group to continue their march to Rafah, and that they were disappointed that they had not succeeded.
Have now been released, thanks again for all the support. Others from #GlobalMarchToGaza still detained.
Will comment further when I've left Egypt.
Free Palestine 🇵🇸 pic.twitter.com/ZWlmooSQuG
— Paul Murphy 🇵🇸 (@paulmurphy_TD) June 16, 2025
"Obviously, we are disappointed that we didn't get to Rafah. But, we have had probably the largest international people-powered coalition for Palestine in a very long time.
"This phase of the Global March to Gaza is over, there won't be a renewed attempt to get to Rafah. But then our focus turns to events, like in Brussels next week, where the European foreign ministers are scandalously going to be meeting with the Israeli foreign minister at a time when Israel has 20 months of genocide in Gaza, as well as starting a war with Iran," he said.
Hundreds of people came to Egypt for the Global March to Gaza, an international initiative intended to exert pressure for an end to an Israeli blockade of the Palestinian territory and draw attention to the humanitarian crisis there.
Mr Murphy said that pressure needed to be put on western governments to get Israel "to stop what they are doing".
"Many western governments, and many of the people who were there, are coming from countries where their governments are effectively arming and funding Israel. You now have Ursula von der Leyen saying Israel has a right to defend itself at this moment, when they're not just responsible for regional instability but genocide.
"But also, our own Government ... We need to go beyond words, and we need to match those words with action, which means the full implementation of the Occupied Territories Bill, it means stopping weapons flying through our skies, and it means stopping our Central Bank authorising the sale of Israeli war bonds across Europe.
"Relatively speaking, our position is privileged. Therefore, it's still incumbent on all of us to do whatever we can. Unless you close your eyes, you can't not be aware that there is a genocide happening in Gaza," he added.
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Irish Examiner
3 hours ago
- Irish Examiner
Daniel O'Connell personified the perpetual importance of an independent Bar
On July 27, 1813, in the Court of King's Bench in Dublin, Daniel O'Connell rose to defend John Magee, publisher of the Dublin Evening Post, against a charge of criminal libel. His speech that day demonstrated how a skilled barrister could transform an oppressive legal system into an instrument of political change. The case of The King v. John Magee remains one of the most memorable examples of O'Connell's extraordinary ability to use his legal expertise in the service of justice and reform. The charge against Magee arose from his publication of a review criticising the departing Lord Lieutenant, the Duke of Richmond. The article condemned Richmond's errors in governing Ireland and compared him to the worst of his predecessors, who were described as 'the profligate unprincipled Westmorland, the cold-hearted and cruel Camden, the artful and treacherous Cornwallis'. More significantly, it challenged the fundamental principle of British rule in Ireland — 'a principle of exclusion, which debars the majority of the people from the enjoyment of those privileges that are possessed by the minority'. This was no ordinary libel case. As O'Connell understood, it was unavoidably a political case, and it demanded a political speech. The prosecution was designed to suppress dissent and maintain the exclusion of Ireland's Catholic majority from political participation. Attorney General William Saurin made this clear in his opening, describing Magee as a 'ruffian' whose purpose was 'to excite [in the minds of the population] hatred against those whom the laws have appointed to rule over them, and prepare them for revolution'. O'Connell faced formidable obstacles. The law of criminal libel was so broad that, as he later observed, 'every letter I ever published could be declared a libel' and the libel law could 'produce a conviction with a proper judge and jury for The Lord's Prayer with due legal inuendoes'. More damaging still was the composition of the jury — hand-picked to ensure conviction. With characteristic boldness, O'Connell confronted this unfairness head-on, telling the jurors: 'Gentlemen, he [the Attorney General] thinks he knows his men; he knows you; many of you signed the no-popery petition... you would not have been summoned on this jury if you had entertained liberal sentiments'. Rather than being cowed by these disadvantages, O'Connell turned them into weapons. He began by meeting Saurin's personal attacks, describing the Attorney General's speech as a 'farrago of helpless absurdity'. When Saurin had stooped to calling Magee a ruffian and comparing him to 'the keeper of a house of ill fame', O'Connell lamented how far Saurin fell below the standards of the great Irish barristers such as Curran and Ponsonby: 'Devoid of taste and of genius, how can he have had memory enough to preserve this original vulgarity — he is, indeed, an object of compassion; and, from my inmost soul, I bestow on him my forgiveness and my bounteous pity'. O'Connell was even able to use Saurin's own words against him. When the Attorney General accused Magee of Jacobinism, O'Connell recalled Saurin's defence of himself against the same charge in 1800, when Saurin, then anti-union, had declared that 'agitation is ... the price necessarily paid for liberty'. O'Connell's response was devastating: 'We have paid the price, gentlemen, and the honest man refuses to give us the goods'. What made O'Connell's defence truly remarkable was how he transformed a hopeless legal case into a powerful platform for political reform. His bold claim: 'the Catholic cause is on its majestic march — its progress is rapid and obvious... We will, we must, be soon emancipated' is electrifying even now. What must it have sounded like in his voice, in that court, in that trial, in those times? His confidence in his legal position was equally striking. When Saurin threatened to crush the Catholic Board, O'Connell declared: 'I am, if not a lawyer, at least a barrister. On this subject, I ought to know something; and I do not hesitate to contradict the Attorney General ... the Catholic Board is perfectly a legal assembly — that it not only does not violate the law, but that it is entitled to the protection of the law' Perhaps the most significant moment came not during the trial itself, but at the sentencing hearing on November 27, 1813. When Saurin attempted to use Magee's publication of O'Connell's defence speech as grounds for increasing Magee's sentence, O'Connell delivered what may be his most important statement on the role of the legal profession. In the face of personal threats of contempt and possible imprisonment following his denunciation of the Attorney General, O'Connell stood firm, delivering an impassioned defence of the importance of an independent Bar: 'It is the first interest of the public that the Bar shall be left free... the public are deeply interested in our independence; their properties, their lives, their honours, are entrusted to us; and if we, in whom such a guardianship is confided, be degraded, how can we afford protection to others?'. This was not merely professional self-interest, but a profound understanding of the Bar's constitutional role. In a system designed to exclude the majority from political participation, an independent legal profession became the last protection of individual rights. O'Connell grasped the fact that, without fearless advocates willing to challenge authority, the law would become merely an instrument of oppression. That is why, as the Taoiseach, Micheál Martin, put it when addressing the O'Connell 250 Symposium in Trinity College Dublin on Tuesday last, The Bar of Ireland has always been rightly proud of the fact that O'Connell was such a distinguished member of the Bar. Two hundred years later, the existence of a fearless independent Bar, practising advocacy and giving legal advice to the highest professional standards, remains an essential guarantee of the rule of law and the protection of individual rights. The many, often insidious, efforts that exist, whether prompted by powerful commercial, bureaucratic or political interests, to degrade or diminish the Bar are always, above all else, an attack on the rights of citizens and on the rule of law. O'Connell's performance in The King v. John Magee exemplifies the best traditions of forensic advocacy at The Bar of Ireland. Faced with a corrupt system, a biased tribunal, and impossible odds, he refused to bow his head or moderate his principles. Instead, he turned the forms and processes of an unjust and oppressive system against itself, using a political prosecution against dissenting speech as the means to condemn the oppressor and amplify the dissent. In an age when legal systems worldwide face challenges to their integrity and especially to the independence of barristers and advocates, O'Connell's example reminds us that the law's highest purpose is not merely to maintain order, but to secure justice. His defence of John Magee shows the difference a single barrister, armed with skill, courage, and unwavering principle, can make. Seán Guerin SC. Picture: Conor McCabe Photography. Seán Guerin SC is Chair of the Council of The Bar of Ireland


Irish Examiner
3 hours ago
- Irish Examiner
Colin Sheridan: Obama's silence on Gaza makes Freedom of Dublin award deeply problematic
There's a long and noble Irish tradition of giving medals to people who don't need them. Mimicking our one-time oppressors, we're good at the pomp and pageantry, terrible at timing. And in this grand tradition of ceremonial sycophancy, we've now decided to give the Freedom of Dublin to Barack Obama — the same Barack Obama whose presidential legacy includes a kill list, expanded drone warfare, and now, more recently, a silence on Gaza so deafening it practically registers on the Richter scale. Now, before someone starts waving a Hope poster in my face and singing 'Is Feider Linn', let's be clear: this isn't a character assassination. Barack Obama is, by many accounts, charming, intelligent, a skilled orator, and less overtly monstrous than some who followed him. But if the bar for receiving Dublin's highest civic honour is simply 'better than Trump,' then let's all take turns. This isn't about left or right. It's about right and wrong. And giving Obama the keys to a city that prides itself on solidarity, social justice and neutrality — a city only a century since it's own liberation from colonisers, a city that once shut down its port in protest of apartheid — is a moral absurdity that would be funny if it weren't so grotesque. Let's talk about Gaza. Right now, we're witnessing an unquestionable genocide, one that even conservative estimates rank among the worst atrocities in recent memory. Tens of thousands dead. Children buried under rubble. Journalists and doctors targeted with impunity. And what's Obama's response? A few muted bromides about 'the complexity of the situation' and the usual plea for restraint — the kind of lukewarm platitude you'd expect from someone looking to protect a Netflix deal, not someone once hailed as the conscience of the free world. Remember, this is the same man who, while president, gave Israel the largest military aid package in US history — $38bn over ten years. The same man who watched as Gaza was pummelled in 2014, and then blocked efforts at the UN for accountability. In Obama's world, apparently, some lives matter more than others — and it's not the ones buried under the debris in Khan Younis So let's ask: What, exactly, are we honouring? Is it the weekly 'Terror Tuesday' meetings where he personally signed off on drone strikes — many of which killed civilians, including children, with such frequency that his administration had to redefine the word 'combatant' to keep the numbers palatable? Is it the Nobel Peace Prize he received before bombing seven countries? Or is it the charming eloquence with which he explained away extrajudicial assassinations and mass surveillance? Maybe it's the warm pint he had in Moneygall. Maybe that's enough. Maybe our foreign policy is so thin it can be blown over by a puff of Guinness foam. Obama's defenders, and there are many, will say: "He tried." They'll point to the Iran deal. They'll mention the thaw with Cuba. And fair enough — no presidency is black and white (though drone strikes absolutely are). But a Freedom of the City is not a footnote in a CV. It's a declaration of values. And at a time when Dublin has become a symbol — however small — of international moral conscience on Gaza, this award feels not just tone-deaf, but actively insulting It's worth asking how we'd feel if another country handed such an honour to, say, Tony Blair, citing his contribution to the peace process while politely ignoring Iraq. We'd scoff. We'd march. We'd write strongly-worded op-eds, the kind I'm doing now. And yet, because Obama quotes Seamus Heaney and has a smile that makes white liberals feel good about themselves, we're expected to ignore the trail of bodies left in his geopolitical wake. It's also galling because the Freedom of Dublin isn't just symbolic fluff — at least, it wasn't meant to be. It should be given to people like Nelson Mandela and John Hume — people whose lives were defined by their resistance to violence, not their management of it. To toss Obama into that company is like inviting Monsanto to an organic farming festival. Let's not pretend this is just a harmless bit of civic theatre. In a world as interconnected and morally muddled as ours, gestures matter. They signal what we stand for And giving Obama this award now — as children in Gaza die in silence, too exhausted to even scream — sends a very clear message: that brand is more important than behaviour, that the image of progress is more valuable than the practice of it. And to those in Dublin City Council who greenlit this award: shame on you. Not because Obama is uniquely evil — he's not — but because you should know better. You should know that real solidarity isn't measured in photo ops, but in principles. You should know that timing matters. Context matters. And right now, there's blood on the sand in Gaza, and silence in the White House archives. We don't need empty ceremonies. We need moral courage. And giving the Freedom of Dublin to Barack Obama is not an act of courage. It's an act of cowardice wrapped in a velvet sash.


Irish Examiner
3 hours ago
- Irish Examiner
Colin Sheridan: ICC justice for Netanyahu? Maybe not — but the arrest warrant still changes everything
In school, most of us learned about The Hague the way one learns about algebra or Shakespeare — with begrudging reverence. A solemn Dutch city, home to two of the most formidable-sounding institutions ever cooked up by the sober minds of the post-Second World War West — the International Court of Justice (ICJ) and the International Criminal Court (ICC). One for disputes between states. The other for the monsters among us — war criminals, genocidaires, and heads of state with more skeletons than mistresses. But lately, those halls of justice have grown quiet. The problem isn't just that people have stopped listening to the verdicts. It's as if they've stopped pretending to care at all. If all the courts can do is issue warrants nobody will enforce, then what is the point? Last year, the ICC's chief prosecutor, Karim Khan, requested arrest warrants for Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu and defence minister Yoav Gallant. Charges of war crimes and crimes against humanity, tied to Israel's genocide in Gaza. We know by now who said what, but it's instructive to go back in time a little, and learn that none of what we heard came as a surprise. In March 2021, the ICC formally launched an investigation into alleged violations in the Occupied Palestinian Territories, covering actions by Israel and Hamas dating back to 2014. The investigation focused on alleged war crimes in Gaza, the West Bank, and East Jerusalem. The announcement triggered strong, sharply divided reactions from governments, human rights organisations, and legal observers. Israel, unsurprisingly, strongly condemned the ICC's decision. Netanyahu called it 'the essence of anti-Semitism and hypocrisy', further citing that the ICC had no jurisdiction, as Israel is not a party to the Rome Statute (the founding treaty of the ICC), and that Palestine, in Israel's view, is not a sovereign state capable of delegating jurisdiction. The Israeli government doubled down, vowing to protect its military personnel and refuse co-operation. The Palestinian Authority (the much-maligned Fatah-controlled government body that exercises partial civil control over the Palestinian enclaves in the Israeli-occupied West Bank) welcomed the decision as a long-awaited step toward justice, calling it 'a historic day for the principle of accountability'. It viewed it as international recognition of its right to seek legal redress for Israeli actions. The International Criminal Court in The Hague, Netherlands. Two decades on, the court has handed down just five convictions for core crimes. Most of those were against African warlords. Picture: AP The US, under the Biden administration at that point, strongly opposed the ICC investigation. Then US secretary of state Antony Blinken said: 'We firmly oppose and are deeply disappointed by the ICC prosecutor's announcement.' Washington took the opportunity to reaffirm its support for Israel's right to 'self-defence' and echoed concerns over jurisdiction. So, although president Biden had lifted Trump-era sanctions on the ICC, the administration remained hostile to this investigation. In Europe, reactions ranged from the technical (Germany and Hungary opposed on jurisdictional grounds) to tentative support (France and Belgium respected the court's independence, even if they had concerns). It is important to note that the 2021 investigation pre-dated October 2023 by over two years, and while no arrest warrants were issued at that point, it marked a turning point in international law regarding how Israel would be treated in its ongoing occupation of Palestine, and its military operations therin. In essence, the reactions in 2021were just an appetiser for those that followed the May 2024 decision that 'there were reasonable grounds' to believe Netanyahu, Gallant, and several Hamas officials had committed international crimes since October 7. On that basis, the court issued arrest warrants for Netanyahu, Gallant, and Hamas commander Mohammed Deif (later withdrawn after reports of his death). Israel, if it were so inclined to take heed, had been warned by the ICC in 2021. It ploughed on regardless. Today, in August 2025, Netanyahu isn't in a holding cell. Neither is Vladimir Putin, who had his own ICC warrant slapped on his name last year. Sudan's Omar al-Bashir evaded capture for over a decade despite indictments and a passport that read like a serial offender's travel diary. The ICC shouts into the void, and the void responds with billions of dollars of military aid and state dinners. So what went wrong? Or perhaps more honestly, was it ever really right? The roots of these courts are noble, born from the most ignoble chapters of human history. After the unthinkable horrors of the Holocaust, the international community collectively said 'never again'. The Nuremberg Trials in 1945 introduced the novel idea that even heads of state could be held accountable. The precedent gave rise to the ICJ in 1945, the UN's 'principal judicial organ', meant to settle disputes between countries. Think of it as marriage counselling for nations with nuclear weapons. Then, in 2002, came the ICC — a separate body entirely. Born of the Rome Statute, it was designed to prosecute individuals for four core crimes: genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, and the elusive crime of aggression, which sounds like something out of a philosophy exam paper. The ICC was supposed to be the last line of defence for victims when national courts were unwilling or unable to act. A legal lighthouse amid stormy seas. But there were always caveats. Big ones. The US, China, and Russia never ratified the Rome Statute. Israel signed it but later 'unsigned' it — an act that should be impossible, but like many things in geopolitics, defies logic. Without these major players on board, the ICC became a court with jurisdiction over everyone except the people most likely to ignore it. So, how is the ICC doing two decades on? It has handed down just five convictions for core crimes. Most of those were against African warlords. Critics have long accused the court of selective justice, a phrase that sounds like something from a dystopian menu: 'Would you like your international law with or without hypocrisy?' Emergency services personnel work to extinguish a fire following a Russian attack in the Kharkiv region of Ukraine. Picture: Ukrainian Emergency Service via AP Meanwhile, the ICJ, for its part, has presided over more than 180 disputes, many of them relating to maritime boundaries. It has done admirable work in the dry, academic realm of state-to-state conflict resolution. But unlike the ICC, the ICJ can't issue arrest warrants or hold individuals responsible. It depends on voluntary compliance. That's a bit like having a referee at a boxing match who can only politely ask you to stop punching. Despite their apparent impotence, there is an argument that if neither court existed, you'd invent them both tomorrow. 'Both the ICJ and ICC have major political impact, that perhaps supersedes any ability it lacks to follow through on arrest warrants,' argues Maryam Jamshidi, an associate professor of law at the University of Colorado Law School. 'The legal arguments the ICJ and ICC are making remain the most effective way to shut down any discussion that what Israel is doing is anything other than war crimes.' There is huge symbolism, too, in those who are bringing the cases to the courts, and those who are rejecting them. 'The construct of contemporary international law is, in and of itself, very much a product of the West and Western interests. But over time, especially since decolonisation after the Second World War, the Global South has asserted its role and place in holding actors accountable. 'This moment — with Israel's crimes in Palestine front and centre — is a moment that the Global South is shaping. It is holding a mirror to the West. How we think about genocide, how we think about occupation and colonisation. That is incredibly important. If international law is to have a future, the Global South needs to continue to lead the way, because the Global South understands better than anyone.' Last year, ICC chief prosecutor Karim Khan requested arrest warrants for Israel's prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu and defence minister Yoav Gallant. Picture: AP So here we are. Two international courts, plenty of legal muscle on paper, but little in the way of teeth when it comes to the powerful. They can indict. They can admonish. But increasingly, they cannot compel. 'Yes,' Jamshidi agrees, 'but the courts are a critical weapon in a wider ideological war. They use sound legal arguments to shape the narrative and apply political pressure. The most significant aspect of the ICC warrants for Netanyahu and Gallant was that they were the first issued for 'Western' leaders. That's not nothing.' Power has shifted. The UN Security Council, still stuck in 1945 with its five permanent members, can't agree on lunch, never mind accountability. Multipolarity has returned, and with it, a jostling of narratives. Everyone's got a skeleton to show, and no one wants to open the closet. And yet, the need for justice hasn't disappeared. If anything, it's more acute. In Gaza, in Sudan, in Ukraine, in Myanmar, real people continue to pay the price for the hubris and avarice of their leaders. The legal frameworks exist. The moral arguments are clear. But the enforcement mechanisms are laughably absent. What's next? So what comes next? Some argue for regional courts — African, Asian, or European criminal tribunals, more culturally and politically embedded, less burdened by the Global North-South mistrust. Others speak of truth and reconciliation commissions, like those pioneered in South Africa, which trade prosecution for collective healing. There's also the tech-utopian fantasy: AI-driven evidence collection, blockchain-protected war crime registries, crowdsourced justice via global citizen tribunals. But these ideas, while shiny, are fraught with their own dangers and easily co-opted. Realistically, what we may see is a shift toward informal legitimacy over formal legality. Sanctions, visa bans, public shaming, asset freezes — none of these are justice in the Nuremberg sense, but they may be the closest we get in a world where power trumps process. Perhaps, too, we must rethink what justice looks like. Less about punishment, more about prevention. Less about dragging leaders to The Hague, more about making it politically impossible for them to commit atrocities in the first place. That's a long road. It involves education, diplomacy, and strengthening domestic institutions. But then, so did the building of these courts. What, then, will we teach our children? There's a bench in The Hague. It sits silently beneath a row of flags and beside the empty dock where tyrants are supposed to face their reckoning. Today, it feels like theatre — well-meaning theatre, perhaps, but theatre all the same. A performance of justice rather than its practice. And yet, something nags at the conscience. That small, stubborn belief that laws matter. That truth has weight. That even in an age of polarisation and propaganda, the idea of accountability shouldn't die so easily. Maybe the ICC is failing. Maybe the ICJ is ignored. But the alternative isn't attractive, and perhaps, as Jamshidi argues, the symbolism of its rulings and the discomfort those rulings impart outweigh the futility of its warrants.