SHORTLY after he became Taoiseach, Albert Reynolds made it clear to his secretary, Sean Duignan, that he intended to break the unwritten convention that a Taoiseach did not risk the dignity of his office by taking libel actions.
"I can live with them questioning my competence," he said, "I will not abide an attack from any quarter on my personal integrity. I will fight that to the bitter end, even if it costs me this job." According to his book, One Spin On The Merry-Go-Round, Sean Duignan saw this as a disastrous policy, but his boss would "brook no argument on it and, to my consternation, had no compunction about having recourse to litigation in its pursuit".
In July 1992, this message was conveyed directly to the political correspondents of the national newspapers and RTE: "I have a simple, straightforward philosophy. Don't tell me lies or don't tell lies on me using twisted facts. Just tell the truth. This has nothing to do with me as Taoiseach, but it has everything to do with me as Albert Reynolds."
It was the same message that he repeated time and again in his evidence to the jury at the Old Bailey. "I have always made it clear to the media everywhere," he said. "Don't call me a liar unless you can stand it up. If you call me a liar, I'll go after you.
And the threat was followed up with action. Shortly after he became Taoiseach, Mr Reynolds sued The Irish Times and received an out-of-court settlement. According to Sean Duignan, Mr Reynolds "reared up" when it was suggested to him that the money should be given to charity: "They have a bloody cheek. That's their way of saying I should never have taken them on - that they're right and I'm wrong. Tell them I'll spend every shagging penny of the money.
He subsequently issued solicitor's letters or writs to many national and provincial newspapers and to RTE's Prime Time. Already this year he has received out-of-court settlements from Radio Tara and, again, from The Irish Times.
At the core of Albert Reynolds's relentless campaign against the media was the bitterness of a love affair gone sour. It is easy to forget, in deed, that he was once the most media-friendly of Irish politicians.
In 1973, before he entered politics, he bought his own newspaper, the Longford News, which once, famously, included 52 photographs of him in a single issue. In his early days as a minister, he went out of his way to impress journalists with his friendliness and accessibility. When, as minister for posts and telegraphs, he appeared on Mike Murphy's television show dressed in a cowboy suit and singing Put Your Sweet Lips A Little Closer To The Phone, he showed that he would do almost anything to keep the media happy.
ONE reason why that attitude changed when he became Taoiseach was suggested in his evidence in the Sunday Times case: he could not understand the failure of journalists to appreciate his willingness to accommodate them. He told the jury that "there was no more open prime minister in Ireland. When I came in, I gave the media an open forum every week to come and ask me and question me about any aspect or policy. No Taoiseach in the history of the State has ever done that . What is openness if it's not allowing the media to come in and give them their opportunity?"
But the media proved ungrateful, and insisted on raising awkward questions about a series of issues - the Masri passports affair, the beef scandal, the purchase of some of the Mespil Road flats from Irish Life by members of Mr Reynolds's family. Journalists, believing that open government was about more than the opportunity to ask questions of the Taoiseach once a week, were no longer so impressed by mere friendliness.
Yet Albert Reynolds himself, even after the debacle of the beef tribunal report, and even after his ignominious fall, continued to believe that he had an unrivalled reputation for truthfulness. He told the Old Bailey jury what he believed his reputation to be: "That's the way I'm known in Ireland - unvarnished truth, tell it as it is, whatever the consequences.
To this very high opinion of his own reputation, Albert Reynolds added an apparent ability to discount any evidence to the contrary. His performance in the 1992 general election, when he led Fianna Fail to its worst share of the first-preference vote since 1927, does not seem to have shaken his confidence. He claimed in the Old Bailey that he was "unlucky" in the 1992 general election and that but for the vagaries of the proportional representation system, would have won an extra eight or nine seats. In fact the PR system was notably kind to him in 1992, giving him 41 per cent of the seats for just 39 per cent of the votes.
To this unshakeable confidence in his own reputation, Albert Reynolds added the other key ingredient of the libel litigant - a willingness to take enormous risks. He had some experience as a litigant, having sued his own brother Jim in 1966 in a business dispute that was settled out of court. All of his libel cases before the Sunday Times trial were settled without a hearing.
But he was also willing, as he has shown in the Sunday Times case, to go all the way. According to Sean Duignan, "Albert is a born gambler - at the track, in business and politics."
That instinct has brought Mr Reynolds to where he is today.
