THERE WERE MOMENTS as I was reading my friend Máiría Cahill’s shocking and enthralling memoir of growing up in a Belfast enclave run by totalitarian republicans who protected child abusers, when I felt almost sorry for Gerry Adams, whom I’ve found loathsome since in the 1970s he achieved prominence as the IRA’s most gifted apologist.
Although he has spent decades preposterously claiming he was never in the IRA, of which he was a ruthless leader, he, would turn into one of his most formidably intelligent and dangerous enemies? And one who would even have the temerity to locate and ridicule his weak spots.
