There were no big surprises in the speeches by the "Colombia Three", writesDeaglán de Bréadún, Foreign Affairs Correspondent, from Bogota
It was like a scene from the movies.
Martin McCauley, accused of being an IRA bomb-maker, kissed his wife Cristin (pronounced as in "Christine"), in open court yesterday before being handcuffed and whisked away to his cell in La Modelo prison outside Bogota.
The television cameras homed in on the loving couple. This was the "money shot" all the networks would want to use.
It was also an unexpectedly human touch, a moment of passion and longing in the stern and unforgiving environment of a trial for alleged international terrorism.
On her way into court, Cristin McCauley and other relatives spent about 10 minutes jammed up against the shields of the Bogota riot police, who were preventing access to the building until word came down from the judge, Dr Jairo Acosta, that the doors could be opened.
Watching the hapless Ms McCauley caught in a media and police scrum many thousands of miles from her home and from her three young children added further to the sense of unreality surrounding the whole affair.
This feeling was compounded by the incongruous sound of McCauley's Armagh accent in the Bogota courtroom, barely audible as he read his prepared speech. The Colombian media listened intently although they had to wait for a translation to understand it.
James Monaghan's accent is a cross between Donegal and Belfast whereas Niall Connolly's tones are unmistakably south Dublin, but closer to plebeian Sallynoggin than patrician Dalkey.
As one listened, the question again posed itself: how did we get here?
What combination of circumstances brought these three men to a foreign land, 10 times more troubled than Northern Ireland ever was?
They were sticking to their story: we were tourists, we were studying the Colombian peace process, we have a long-standing interest in Latin American politics.
Not so, booms the prosecution: Monaghan and McCauley were experts in bomb-making, passing on their deadly secrets to the FARC guerrillas, while Connolly was the fixer-cum-interpreter.
Whatever the truth of the matter, it is certainly a human tragedy.
Perhaps some deity was looking down on yesterday's proceedings with a wry smile.
On the one hand, the Colombian administrative system is trying to cope with the endemic and probably incurable disease of terrorism that afflicts the country. On the other, Connolly, Monaghan and McCauley are facing up to 24 years in prison if convicted. They have eight children between them, some of whom would be middle-aged adults by the time their fathers were set free.
Judge Acosta listened to the speeches with courteous attention. This quietly dignified man showed no sign of the pressure he must be feeling.
The day before, Colombia's highest-ranking military officer, General Mora, was reported to have pronounced the three men guilty.
Such a declaration from a chief of staff in Ireland would be unthinkable, but Colombia is a very long way from home.
There will be miles of television footage and hundreds of photographs from yesterday's proceedings.
In years to come someone will probably give numbers to the participants to identify them, because it was an emblematic and even historic moment as two societies coping with the same problem briefly met and mingled in the same courtroom.
There was the Irish Ambassador, Mr Art Agnew, conscientiously taking notes for his report to anxious officials and politicians back home. Such was the level of security that even this senior diplomat was frisked on his way into court.
There were the observers: Mr Niall Andrews MEP, sporting a tie in the Armagh team colours; Ms Natalie Kabasakalian, a clued-in, sophisticated New York lawyer deeply concerned about civil liberties; Mr Paul Lynch, an Australian Labour MP from Sydney whose interest was sparked by the fact that he is the grandson of an Irish immigrant.
Then there was the Colombian prosecutor, Mr Carlos Sanchez, scribbling furiously as the defendant Connolly criticised him from the stand; the heavily armed members of the local SWAT team, propped against the walls of the tiny courtroom and ready to deal definitively with any nefarious intruder.
And of course there was Ms Caitríona Ruane, who has conducted a tireless, bilingual campaign for this cause which she believes is right.
The media, meanwhile, both local and international, squatted in the well of the court, their microphones stretched out towards the defendants as though in longing.
There were no big surprises in the speeches from the Colombia Three.
There was a good deal of traditional nationalism and a few swipes at the British and US embassies in Bogota.
The men looked pale but trim: the prison barber had done his job well. Each had his 15 minutes of fame and then it was back to La Modelo to await the verdict, which could take up to two months to emerge.