Family fear 'depressed and scared' Cliona Ward could be detained in US 'for months'
The family of a "depressed and scared" Irish woman being detained by the US immigration service fear their sister could be imprisoned 'for months' as her legal team tries to secure her release.
Cliona Ward, the 54-year-old Dublin-born woman in question, has been held at a US immigration and customs enforcement (ICE) detention centre in Tacoma, Washington state, since her arrest on April 21 at San Francisco Airport.
While Cliona has been living in America for more than four decades and has a valid green card, her arrest appears to have been predicated upon two criminal convictions she received in the 2000s for drug possession – convictions which she had believed had been expunged from her record.
Now, in an update to a Gofundme launched to aid Cliona in securing legal counsel in Seattle – roughly 1,500 miles from her hometown of Santa Cruz in California – her sister Orla Holladay said that '(I ) wish I had something positive to update but unfortunately I don't'.
'The harsh reality is that Cliona could be held prisoner for months while we plea for her release,' Ms Holladay said.
She said her sister 'is depressed and scared' and that communication has proven difficult as 'every time we talk the connection is so bad that we can barely hear each other'. 'We eventually give up ending the call, defeated and frustrated and sad."
Ms Holladay said that it had come as a relief for Cliona when she had found out that legal representation had been secured for her, but said that the conditions in which she is being held are extremely inhospitable.
'The water is undrinkable, the food is not fit to eat, and her biggest consolation today was that her lawyer was able to bring her a pen,' she said. The Gofundme had raised $37,755 against a target of $40,000 at the time of writing.
Ms Ward, the latest high-profile victim of the Trump administration's hardline crackdown on alleged illegal immigration, had first encountered issues with the system when returning from Ireland after visiting her ill father in Cork on March 19, when she was detained for several days in Seattle.
She was subsequently released and told to present evidence that her previous criminal convictions – which date from 2007 and 2008 – had been expunged. It was when attending that appointment at San Francisco Airport on April 21 that she was taken into ICE custody.
It's believed that the issue which has brought her into the administration's sights is that her convictions had been removed from her record at a state level, but not at a federal one.
An employee with a non-profit Christian charity, Ms Ward ordinarily serves as a full-time carer for her son, who is living with chronic Crohn's Disease.
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Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
‘I called him Dad': the Dublin scout leader and the men who accuse him of abuse
It was an incongruous sight on a sunny, quiet Sunday spring morning: a red van, crumpled at the front, jutting out on to a normally busy road in suburban south Dublin that had been closed by gardaí . The force of the impact with the old Norway Maple had crushed the front of the van on the driver's side; bark had been ripped from the tree. The damage to both van and tree gave an indication of how fast the vehicle had been travelling, in a 50km/h speed limit zone. The single-vehicle crash , which happened shortly after 6am on Sunday, April 7th, 2024 in Churchtown, claimed the life of the driver, the van's sole occupant. He was pronounced dead at the scene. Three hours later, the road was still closed as gardaí investigated how it happened. A garda at the tape cordon declined to speculate. The scene of the crash in which Neville Kearns died on April 7th, 2024 Within 48 hours it emerged that the driver, who was 69, had been due to stand trial the following day on 113 counts including charges of indecent assault, sexual assault, rape and attempted rape. They related to allegations made by five complainants dating back to the 1980s and 1990s. READ MORE The man's identity has never been publicly disclosed. His name was Neville Kearns. A number of men had provided statements to the Garda, lodging complaints that had led to his pending trial in the criminal courts. Kearns, of Edenvale Apartments, a gated apartment complex on Grange Road – not far from Marlay Park in Rathfarnham, south Dublin – was facing 71 counts of indecent assault, 27 of sexual assault, 13 of rape and two of attempted rape at the time of his death. The trial had been due to begin eight days before his 70th birthday. Edenvale Apartments, Rathfarnham, where Neville Kearns lived. Photograph: Nick Bradshaw On Monday, April 8th, 2024 the court was informed of Kearns's death; counsel for the Director of Public Prosecutions told Mr Justice Paul McDermott, sitting at Dublin Central Criminal Court, that the DPP was entering a nolle prosequi – a decision to no longer prosecute. The court directed that the indictment be marked 'deceased'. The men concerned had been ready to go into the witness box to testify against Kearns and outline the abuse they claimed to have suffered at his hands. Today, three of them have decided to share their story publicly for the first time but wish to maintain their anonymity. They believe that being named could bring 'chaos' into their lives and those of their loved ones. Gardaí seal off the road in Churchtown following the crash in which Neville Kearns died last year 'I have children in college, an elderly mother to care for, bills to pay and a life to live,' one says. Now aged in their late 40s and 50s, the men allege that Kearns targeted, groomed and regularly sexually assaulted them as children. They say the alleged incidents took place in the 1980s and early 1990s, when they were aged between 10 and 15, and Kearns was in his 20s and 30s. Kearns denied the allegations. Kearns was a former member of the Catholic Boy Scouts of Ireland, as it was then known, and worked as a house master at St Joseph's School For Deaf Boys in Cabra, Dublin. He went on regular camping trips with boys. Many of these were not official scouting events, but the men say Kearns used his previous involvement in the organisation as a way to legitimise himself. In some cases, the alleged abuse also took place in the children's homes or in Kearns's family home. The men say they worked through decades of pain – and years of preparing for the prospect of a trial – only to have their chance at justice snatched from them 24 hours before they were due in court. 'The whole world fell apart really,' says Andrew*. 'It was the Sunday morning; the trial was the next morning, Monday. And I just knew – as soon as I saw the guard's name come up [on my phone] – I knew.' He knew Kearns was dead and the trial was never going to happen. Neville Kearns on a trip with scouts Andrew believes the location of the crash is significant; two of the men who claim Kearns abused them as children live in the area. He says he was 'absolutely terrified' in the weeks leading up to the trial date, knowing he would be 'quizzed' on the most traumatic thing that ever happened to him. 'It was something I had to do,' he says. 'My own son was the same age as I was at that stage. I could see myself in him as a kid. That drove me on.' His motivation in testifying was to get Kearns 'taken off the streets, and not let him have the opportunity to be in the company of kids'. Andrew had considered contacting the authorities about Kearns for some time, but didn't feel he could do so until his own parents had died: 'I absolutely couldn't do anything about it while they were still alive because they had entrusted this man so deeply. It would have broken their hearts.' Neville Kearns: Scouting Ireland says Kearns ceased to be a member of the Catholic Boy Scouts of Ireland in 1976 and later established an independent youth group He was considering what to do when, at his mother's wake, he received a text message. It was Kearns. 'It was the first time I'd heard from him in over 20-odd years, sending his commiserations,' Andrew says, pausing as he recalls it. 'The neck of him.' Receiving this message angered Andrew, but it solidified his decision to contact the authorities – first Tusla, then the Garda. He thought he was 'the only one in the world' who Kearns targeted but, in recent years, found out 'it was way bigger than I'd anticipated'. 'I was shocked, flabbergasted,' he says. Chris (not his real name), one of the men who made a complaint to the Garda about Neville Kearns. Photograph: Nick Bradshaw 'Chris' speaks about the Dublin scout leader who abused him Listen | 02:42 Over several years, Kearns befriended the boys and, crucially, their parents. 'Everybody adored him, everybody thought he was just this amazing man who gave so freely of his time for the local youth who were just hanging around all summer,' says Chris*, one of the men whose complaints led to the former scout leader's prosecution. 'He was a very charismatic, attractive, friendly, gentle man – that was his persona. It was just this kind, caring person that would happily look after your kids.' On a sunny afternoon, sitting in his livingroom, Chris recalls how the 1980s were 'a completely different time'. 'Everybody was a latchkey kid in the summer in Ireland,' he says, describing carefree days when children regularly went without adult supervision. Chris was raised by a single mother. Kearns became a mentor and, ultimately, a father figure. 'I called him Dad,' he says, adding that his mother was 'delighted' he had a positive male role model in his life. 'I called him dad': 'Chris' speaks about how he was groomed and abused by Neville Kearns Listen | 02:42 He doesn't believe he was abused because his mother was a single parent who worked outside the home to provide for her family. 'I was abused because he found a vulnerability in me and exploited it,' he says. Others allegedly abused by Kearns grew up with both parents or stay-at-home mothers, he recalls. Neville Kearns in his scout uniform Chris says he knew Kearns for about a year before anything inappropriate happened. By that stage, Chris trusted him 'completely'. 'It was letters first; I'd get little notes from him and he'd tell me how much he loved me,' he says. Over time, Chris says, Kearns started to become physical with him – ultimately forcing him to carry out sexual acts on a regular basis. At the height of the alleged abuse, he says, Kearns would frequently visit his house – unbeknown to Chris's mother – and assault him during the night. He would then 'hide under the bed until he could sneak out in the morning'. Chris describes the sexual acts perpetrated against him as 'horrific'. They had a 'profound impact' on his emotional state. 'He made me feel like I was the one who wanted it. It's very difficult to get past those emotions,' he says. 'I loved him as a father. I suppose that's why it all unwound for me as soon as I had kids. Fathers don't have sex with their children. What the hell was he doing?' Eileen Finnegan, a psychotherapist who helped Chris through intensive therapy, says the alleged grooming in this case is typical of predators; befriending boys and their families over a prolonged period of time so, when it finally happened, the abuse 'totally blindsided people'. 'The power and control and the level of grooming that he was able to do – he was absolutely systematic in what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing,' she says. Eileen Finnegan, psychotherapist and former clinical director of the charity One in Four. Photograph: Alan Betson Finnegan has extensively researched this area and previously served as the clinical director at One in Four, a charity that supports survivors of childhood sexual abuse. She says it is common for survivors of abuse to compartmentalise what happened to them – or block it out completely. 'For the mental wellbeing of the person, the brain actually comes in and splits off because it is so traumatic. It's a huge coping mechanism,' she says. [ View that child sex abuse is a thing of the past 'has allowed it to persist', says charity Opens in new window ] It is also relatively common for people not to disclose what happened to them until after their parents have died. Finnegan says survivors of abuse can find it difficult to tell their loved ones, especially parents, because it's usually them who welcomed the offenders into the family home. 'No child comes over with an adult and says: 'Mam and Dad, I'm after bringing a friend home for you.' It is mostly Mam and Dad there with a neighbour or friend or somebody that has begun to acquaint themselves with the family,' she says. Chris says that, while processing what had happened to him through therapy, he realised that it was unlikely he was the only one who had been targeted by Kearns. 'With the awful clarity of hindsight, I now look back at photographs from that time and I can identify the children [Kearns] likely targeted,' he says. The three men interviewed by The Irish Times say they were assaulted in numerous locations – often on camping trips. On several occasions, they claim, Kearns got them drunk on rum or port. Chris says the sexual acts perpetrated against him had a 'profound impact'. Photograph: Nick Bradshaw 'If I smell [rum] now, it makes me go somewhere, so I don't touch it,' says Michael*, another of those whose complaints led to the criminal prosecution being taken against Kearns. Michael says he was regularly abused on camping trips and at Kearns's house. On one occasion, he and other boys were visiting St Joseph's School For Deaf Boys in Cabra for a 'sleepover'. Kearns allegedly kept giving the boys mugs of rum. Michael got very drunk and remembers being carried out of the room. 'When I woke, it was in his private room. It still sends a shiver down my spine as to what happened that night,' he says. 'How many other boys, vulnerable boys, ended up there?' Becoming emotional, Michael says the abuse lasted for several years and he 'prayed' it would end. On multiple occasions as an adult, he 'pointed the car in the direction of Dundrum Garda station and started to drive'. 'But I never made it,' he says. In 2019, while sitting at home one evening, Michael told his wife what had happened to him as a child. 'I just blurted it out ... within an hour, we were at the Garda station,' he recalls. He didn't realise that, at around the same time, other men were also contacting the Garda or Tusla about Kearns. Ultimately, a case file was prepared for the office of the DPP, which agreed there was enough evidence to proceed with a trial. 'I categorically know that there are other men out there who have suffered at his hands but haven't come forward or, if they've come forward, they decided not to press charges,' Michael says. Whether they choose to contact gardaí or not, he adds, these men should seek support from a loved one or professional – if they feel ready to do so. Neville Kearns as a scout leader A spokesman for An Garda Síochána said the first statement of complaint they received about Kearns was made in May 2019. He was 'arrested and interviewed on several occasions' in relation to complaints made by five men, he added. 'Anyone who believes they may have been a victim or have knowledge of an alleged crime is encouraged to contact any Garda station,' the spokesman said. 'Victims can be assured that they will be supported and heard. An Garda Síochána will treat all reports sensitively and in confidence.' A spokeswoman for Scouting Ireland said that according to its records, Kearns ceased to be a member of the Catholic Boy Scouts of Ireland in 1976 and was not affiliated with any of the legacy scout organisations after that time. (The Catholic Boy Scouts of Ireland and Scout Association of Ireland merged to form Scouting Ireland in 2004.) [ Embattled Scouting Ireland board 'exhausted' by infighting, review finds Opens in new window ] She noted that Kearns established an independent youth group 'which was not authorised by, or affiliated to, the legacy scouting organisations'. 'Individuals who were members of [this group], and believed it to have been an official scout group, came forward disclosing abuse to Scouting Ireland in 2019 and 2020,' she said. The spokeswoman said Scouting Ireland recognises the men's 'bravery in speaking out', adding that the organisation has paid for counselling services. 'We encourage any individual who experienced abuse while in scouting to report the matter to the appropriate authorities or to Scouting Ireland's safeguarding team.' Neville Kearns on a scouting trip St Joseph's School for Deaf Boys no longer exists. It amalgamated with St Mary's School for Deaf Girls to form a new school, Holy Family School for the Deaf, in 2016. A spokeswoman for the new school said it 'adheres rigorously' to child protection legislation and guidelines. Tusla, the Child and Family Agency, said it cannot comment on individual cases but encouraged people to come forward if they needed support. As he reflects on the fact that a trial will now never take place, Chris says Kearns's death meant that 'he could just disappear into the footnotes of history without a trace'. Imagining what he would have said to Kearns in court, he says: 'You had the opportunity to face up to what you had done but you chose not to, and so you have left a despicable legacy of abuse over decades. How many more children did you violate? When did you stop? Did you stop? We will never know – that secret has gone to the grave with you, as your final act of cowardice.' Fourteen months on, pieces of shattered glass from Kearns's van still sit at the foot of the maple tree he crashed into in Churchtown. The men deprived of their day in court and the justice they sought will be picking up the pieces for years to come. * Names have been changed to protect the interviewees' identities ** Reporter Órla Ryan can be contacted at ** If you have been affected by anything in this story, please contact One in Four by e-mailing info@ or calling 01 66 24070; the Dublin Rape Crisis Centre's freephone 24-Hour National Helpline can be reached by calling 1800 77 8888 * If you have had a similar experience, you can share this using the form below.
Irish Examiner
an hour ago
- Irish Examiner
Séamas O'Reilly: Many of the tropes of standard Irishness are not universally applied both sides of the border
You might be expecting me, a topical columnist, to give you, the schoolchildren of Ireland, a timely pep talk about the Leaving Cert exams you've just started, perhaps with a stirring tale from my own experience. Sadly, I can't do that because I never did the Leaving Cert. I was raised in Derry, and thus the British school system, so I did A-levels. They are, I'm sure, similar enough to the Leaving Cert that much of my advice would still be relevant, but still different enough that it wouldn't really make much sense to apply them directly to the exams you're sitting now. Such are the slightly odd contradictions of being raised in Northern Ireland and discovering, over many years, that many of the full-fat tropes of standard Irishness are not universally applied both sides of the border. I should be clear up-front that I've never felt any neurosis about this. It would, I suppose, take a lot for someone named Séamas O'Reilly to gain a complex about being insufficiently Irish. Sometimes, however, these complexes are thrust in front of me. Rarely, however, in London, where few locals know, or care, the difference between north and south. Here, it's mostly had a simplifying effect, where I might as well be from Tallaght, Togher, or Twomileborris, if they had any clue where those places were. No, here it's my status as an undercover Brit that surprises people, and has even granted me the opportunity to shock unsuspecting Londoners with my deep knowledge of BBC radio comedy, or British cultural products of our shared yesteryear. More deliciously still, it's also allowed me to correct them when they've called me an immigrant, usually with the attendant undertone that I should complain less about my gracious hosts. When, this week, the Telegraph printed a rabidly scaremongering report that 'White British people will be a minority in 40 years', they clarified this cohort as 'the white British share of the population — defined as people who do not have an immigrant parent'. Leaving aside how garbled that formulation is — there are millions of non-white Brits who meet that definition perfectly — it carried with it a parallel consequence. I myself do not have an immigrant parent. In fact, every single pale and freckled ancestor of mine since 1800, Irish farmers to a soul, was born and raised in something called the United Kingdom. This is true for a large number of Irish people in the North. And since the late Prince Philip was himself a Greek immigrant, it gives me great pleasure to point out that they'd settled on a definition of 'White British' which includes Gerry Adams but excludes King Charles III. The only people who've ever questioned my Irishness — to my face — are other Irish people, admittedly rarely, and almost always in the form of gentle ribbing from the sort of pub comedians who call their straight-haired friend 'Curly'. The type who're fond of hearing me say 'Derry' and asking, reflexively, whether I mean 'Londonderry'. In the time-honoured tradition of any Derry person who's encountered this comment — oh, five or six million times in their life — I simply laugh it off and say I've heard that one before. Similarly, if some irrepressible wit asks a Derry person whether we're in the IRA, we'll tell them that's quite an offensive stereotype, while also peppering the rest of our conversation with vague, disconcerting comments designed to imply that we might indeed be members of a paramilitary organisation and that they should, therefore, stop talking to us. For the most part, I regard my British birth certificate and UK-system schooling as a mundane quirk of my fascinating personal biography. I am, in fact, confident enough in my identity that tabulating concrete differences between the North and South has simply become something of a hobby. The Leaving Cert is one such mystery. I gather that it involves every student in Ireland taking tests in about 760 subjects, crammed into the same time I was given to learn four. And that you must take Irish throughout the entirety of your schooling, so that you can emerge from 13 straight years of daily instruction in the language, cursing the fact you never got a chance to learn it. I know, vaguely, that some part of this learning involves a book about — by? — a woman named Peig, and that the very mention of her name inspires tens of thousands of Irish people my age to speak in tones of awe, nostalgia, mockery and reverence, always in English. Of course, almost all facets of the Irish school system are exotic to me. I feel that no finer term has ever been coined for small children than 'senior infants' but I've no idea what age it could possibly apply to. I know that there is such a thing as a transition year, but not what that means, precisely, still less what it's for. I know that summer holidays are different, namely that they're longer than what we get up North. I primarily know this because I grew up on the border and suffered the cruel indignity of marching off to school each June, in full sight of my friends eight feet away in Donegal, who seemed to have summer holidays that lasted about eight months of the year. I was told, perhaps erroneously, that this period of glorious leisure stems from the days when kids were expected to be at home on the farm, and the school calendar augmented so as to enable the nation-sustaining pyramid of child labour this demanded. I saw no sign of this in the few kids I'd spy from the bus window as I was conveyed to class, idling on deck chairs and inflating beach balls in the driving rain. Know that you have this glorious reward in your near future, if you're worried about the exams you've just begun. I hope the few you've started have already gone well. Take solace. Be unafraid. By my count, there's just 740 more to go. Read More Colm O'Regan: Cleaning the house can both spark joy and cause a panic
Irish Examiner
an hour ago
- Irish Examiner
MV Matthew: How crime gang's ill-prepared crew fell afoul of Ireland's largest cocaine seizure
When six men were interviewed from Dubai for jobs by a major drug cartel masquerading as a flash shipping company, they grabbed the lucrative contracts. They then flew to South America and boarded a very large and somewhat rusty bulk cargo ship, empty of cargo, in Curaçao, off the coast of Venezuela. On their third night at sea, many of the 21 crew were plied with alcohol 'as a distraction'. As they got drunk, a few men were ordered to load a cargo of 'spare parts' off a shadowy ship that pulled up alongside, manned by heavily armed crew. Fear permeated the MV Matthew from that point, said the six men who have pleaded guilty to involvement in a plot to smuggle 2.25 tonnes of cocaine in the Panamanian-registered 190-metre-long, 32-metre-wide bulk cargo ship, after the ship was seized by Irish authorities off the Cork coast. The Panamanian-registered MV Matthew being escorted into Cork Harbour. File picture: PA They were promised bonuses to 'keep their mouths shut' about the cargo, they said. As the giant ship tracked slowly across the Atlantic, the Maritime Analysis and Operation Centre, an international organisation that monitors maritime traffic to dismantle drug trafficking, alerted Irish authorities that they were suspicious of the ship. The MV Matthew's actual course and its stated course had diverged, since it left the waters off Venezuela, tracked through automatic identification system (AIS) technology. Meanwhile, gardaí monitored four men in Ireland as they travelled to Glengarriff and then Castletownbere in Co Cork to buy the fishing trawler, The Castlemore, and sail it up the coast. This boat was to be the 'daughter' ship to collect drugs from the MV Matthew's 'mother ship' and was arranging to collect the 2.25 tonne cocaine consignment, worth some €157m, from the larger vessel off the Irish coast. Vitaliy Lapa's warning ignored A retired Ukrainian fishing captain, Vitaliy Lapa, aged 62, had been in Ireland since July, staying in hotels in Dublin and Newry that were paid for by his employers, a major transnational organised crime group, waiting for instructions. Vitaliy Lapa. File picture: Brian Lawless/PA Russia's invasion of Ukraine had pushed Lapa, a retired fishing captain, back out to work at sea as the conflict had imposed great financial pressures on his family, his counsel Colman Cody said. Lapa said he was told he would be paid €5,000, which 'considering the largesse from this enterprise, was a very paltry sum' for the risks of involvement, Mr Cody said. His English had been 'non-existent' when he came to Ireland in 2023, the Special Criminal Court heard. He had been hired for his seafaring experience. But when he viewed the fishing trawler, the Castlemore, in Castletownbere, West Cork, with a person of interest to gardaí, on September 21, 2023, he said he had concerns about the boat, believing its engine speed and capacity was insufficient, unable to go above 10 knots. However, his concerns were ignored and the boat was bought by a Dubai-based operative of the organised crime gang. Jamie Harbron had no maritime experience Meanwhile, Jamie Harbron, aged 31, had got the ferry from his home in the UK to Ireland. He bought a ticket on his own debit card just two days before departing on the Castlemore. Jamie Harbron. File picture: Brian Lawless/PA Harbron had suffered addiction issues and was 'the lowest rung' of the drug smuggling operation, his counsel Michael O'Higgins said. Harbron left school at age 14 with no GCSEs. He 'was a man without means', with no home or car, Mr O'Higgins said. He developed addiction issues, consuming cocaine, cannabis, and alcohol, and ran up a significant drug debt. His actions on the Castlemore were to pay off €10,000 of a €20,000 drug debt. He had no maritime experience. Trawler set sail on September 22 The Castlemore left West Cork on Friday, September 22, 2023. A message sent to Lapa and Harbron on encrypted messaging app Signal said: 'Ok lads, no need for luck, really, this couldn't be more straightforward — just relax and this will all be over soon.' A photo released by gardaí of what transpired to be the €157m cocaine haul seized from the MV Matthew. Picture: An Garda Síochána And it was. But not in the way they had hoped. From the time they set sail, Lapa and Harbron met only adversity. Harbron, intensely seasick and with no seafaring experience, was terrified and thought he was going to die when their boat got caught in a storm off the South-East coast. The boat's engine failed and it lost electricity and wifi — vital for their clandestine communications with the cartel and the MV Matthew. Defence barrister Michael O'Higgins said: Notwithstanding the very serious risk to their lives, they were specifically instructed not to contact the Coast Guard. The gang's treatment of the two men showed how 'expendable' they were, the court heard. Castlemore's crucial satellite system A reason the Castlemore fishing trawler had been chosen was because a Starlink satellite internet service was installed. This would allow online communications between people on the boat and off the boat through messaging apps Signal and Whatsapp. The contents of these messaging apps would prove central to the State's case. Messages spoke about the cocaine drop off and 'lowering the food' onto the boat. Positions were shared via messages and multiple attempts were made for the 'mother ship' and 'daughter ship' to meet. 'There will be four jumbo bags, it will be a lot but just go like fuck mate to truck away,' one message from someone named Padre in messages, who was directing the operation from off the boat, said. Another message said the 'parcel' would comprise of 'six big jumbo bags tied together […] total weight 2.2T.' As the weather became increasingly stormy, tensions were clearly rising on the MV Matthew as it tried to convene the drop off. Soheil Jelveh. File picture: Jim Campbell The captain, Soheil Jelveh, complained of how 'these idiots were late again'. He also expressed concern about the worsening weather, saying a drop-off would be impossible in the growing swell. 'Daughter ship' ran aground The Castlemore ran aground off the Wexford coast on September 24, 2023. Terrified, exhausted, and sick, the crew issued a distress call after 11pm. The two men were so exhausted and unwell they couldn't secure a tow rope being thrown to them by the coastguard and had to be winched to safety by a helicopter in rough seas. They were then arrested. When the MV Matthew heard that SOS call over the radio that night, a plan was devised to put the drugs in a lifeboat with Cumali Ozgen, who the court heard was the 'eyes and ears' of the cartel in Dubai, and lower the boat to sea. But this never happened. The 'Irish Examiner' front page report on September 26, 2023 notes that gardaí and the navy had already been tracking the trawler before it ran aground off the Wexford coast. Picture: Irish Examiner Voices from Dubai on the messaging apps also said they could get another boat to leave from Dublin to collect the drugs. The MV Matthew's captain, Iranian Soheil Jelveh, then called for a medical evacuation, being winched off the ship by the Irish Coast Guard and taken to hospital — bringing four phones, more than $52,000 in cash, and two suitcases. He was later arrested in hospital. MV Matthew's attempt to flee Meanwhile, the MV Matthew was trying to escape Irish territorial waters. They wrongly believed they could not be boarded by Irish authorities outside Irish territorial waters and planned to go to Sierra Leone for safety. The MV Matthew berthed at Marino Point, Cork Harbour, in September 2023 after it was seized in the multi-agency operation. File picture: Denis Minihane The crew had also been told to stay out of UK waters as Ireland only had VHF radio but the UK had more technology to communicate and track. The MV Matthew repeatedly tried to evade the naval vessel LÉ William Butler Yeats, even when it announced it was a warship and was in hot pursuit — a maritime law which enables a State to pursue a foreign vessel that has violated a law within its jurisdiction. That pursuit can extend beyond its territorial waters. But the MV Matthew, being directed from Dubai, ignored the LÉ William Butler Yeats' instructions, despite multiple warning shots. It repeatedly attempted to evade it and to burn the drugs aboard. Messaging the Irish naval service — and the gang bosses Harold Estoesta was on the bridge, communicating with the Irish warship via radio while asking for instructions from the shadowy paymaster in Dubai. Harold Estoesta. File picture Dan Linehan He told the navy that the MV Matthew wanted to co-operate, that the crew were crying, panicking, had family to think about. Meanwhile, he was asking the 'captain' in Dubai what he should do. That 'captain' told him to wait and he would call his 'lawyer friends'. 'Please make sure everything is deleted from phones,' a message from Dubai to the MV Matthew crew then said. 'Please don't lose your confidence,' another message from Dubai said. Another message said: We don't want single dollar from this operation. We don't want you to go to jail for nothing. Another message from the 'captain' in Dubai said: 'they've talked too much, show them some real action. 'Be confident, there is law stopping them from boarding the ship.' Incorrect information But the information sent on what constituted Irish territorial waters and their legal rights seemed to be AI-generated and was wrong. The boat headed out towards the high seas after repeatedly saying it would comply with the navy's order to proceed to the Port of Cork. In rough seas, the MV Matthew manoeuvred to try to escape the Irish Defence Forces helicopter as elite army rangers fired a warning shot and abseiled down onto the boat on September 26. Great bravery was shown by the Army Ranger Wing in climbing down that rope from a helicopter in rolling seas to seize the ship, Detective Superintendent Keith Halley told the Special Criminal Court. And the MV Matthew's manoeuvring to evade capture put those elite soldiers in danger, he said. Once on board, the soldiers saw smoke from a life raft on the starboard side, found the drugs alight, and quickly extinguished the fire to preserve the evidence before seizing the ship. Of the 21 crew who left from Curaçao off the Venezuelan coast in August, 2023, on the MV Matthew, six would later plead guilty to involvement in drug trafficking. Crewmen claimed not to know about cargo Ukrainians Mykhailo Gavryk, aged 32, and Vitaliy Vlasoi, aged 33, said in mitigation that they were forced to flee their homes in Odessa by Russia's invasion of their country. Both experienced seamen, they claimed not to know about the ship's illegal cargo until it was brought aboard and they were then at sea with nowhere to escape to. Mykhalio Gavryk. File picture: Dan Linehan Likewise, Harold Estoesta, aged 31, was a qualified seaman and second officer and had been a government scholar in the Philippines. One of the few crew with excellent English — the language of communication on the messaging apps — once he was aboard the ship he said he was 'terrified' and 'alone at sea' so felt he must comply with orders. Vitaliy Vlasoi. File picture: Dan Linehan Iranian Soheil Jelveh, aged 51, the captain, was highly qualified and had no known previous links to organsied crime. He had largely retired to coach football and said he had been lured to Dubai by people offering a better education for his son there, a better life for his family, and help establishing a football foundation. Fellow Iranian Saied Hassani, 40, had worked at sea almost consistently since graduating from maritime college, which he started in 2005, so much so that he missed all of his six-year-old daughter's birthdays, the court heard. Saeid Hassani. File picture: Dan Linehan He has two sisters who need medical care — one is in a wheelchair and one has cancer — and he has worked to provide for his wider family since his father died, defence barrister Mark Lynam SC said in mitigation. However, messages did show him suggesting to the person in Dubai directing the ship remotely that that they should carry guns for the next operation. Cumali Ozgen, aged 49, originally from Turkey but living in the Netherlands for most of his life, was described as the 'eyes and ears' of the cartel on the ship. But his barrister Brendan Grehan said there was no suggestion he had an organising role. Cumali Ozgen. File picture: Dan Linehan He was the only one of the accused with no seafaring experience and his role seemed to be to communicate with Dubai and to mind the drugs. The court heard he had a son who had required brain surgery and he was trying to provide for his future. 'Immense capabilities, unlimited resources, global reach' A transnational organised crime group with 'immense capabilities, unlimited resources and a global reach,' directed the MV Matthew drug smuggling operation, Det Supt Keith Halley told the sentencing hearing for the eight men charged in connection with the seizure at the Special Criminal Court this week. And the crew aboard the MV Matthew were very much directed from voices in Dubai. But the technology they communicated through would ultimately reveal the second-by-second unfolding of the biggest drug seizure in the history of the State. Voice messages, text messages, photos, and videos, mostly captured from phones, showed the entire operation unfold. Guilty pleas All six men arrested onboard the MV Matthew have pleaded guilty to possession of cocaine for sale or supply on the ship between September 24 and 26, 2023. Lapa and Harbron have pleaded guilty to attempting to possess cocaine for sale or supply between September 21 and 25, 2023. The eight men will be sentenced on July 4, in the Special Criminal Court by Justice Melanie Grealy, Judge Sarah Berkeley, and Judge Gráinne Malone.
