OPINION:We still have a very long way to go when it comes to dealing with the victims of child sex abuse, writes Neasa Ní Chianáin.
THE PUBLIC reaction to the Cloyne report shows our national moral paralysis when it comes to child sex abuse. The pundits have cranked up the blame game to record levels by targeting different agencies in turn, in a frantic attempt to ring-fence the blame. Schools are at fault, or the church, or maybe the State, and on and on . . .
None turned the spotlight on society at large: us, the community, the people who allowed these things to happen.
The making of my film on sex tourism, Fairytale of Kathmandu, screened on RTÉ last year, opened up a world I knew very little about, but one of the hardest lessons I learned was that society itself has to accept responsibility for the continuous abuse that happens around us.
Yes, we have the Declaration of Human Rights, we have child protection legislation, we have the police, but I know that there are still numerous cases of abuse unresolved. Some of these cases are probably in files in Garda stations without all the legal requirements necessary to bring prosecutions, some go unreported and some go undetected for many years, if not decades.
Why? Because we live in an environment where it's very difficult for victims to come forward and go on record for fear of persecution by society itself. Perpetrators of abuse are not just priests or swimming coaches - they can come from any walk of life. They are generally much loved and respected members of our communities and they often have significant power.
A sex abuse victim's fundamental trust in human nature has been destroyed, his or her dignity stolen, and he or she is left with an overwhelming sense of guilt, so it is miraculous that any of them do indeed find the courage to come forward. We know now that for some it can take decades before they finally find the courage to do so. And what happens to them then is what I find one of the most shocking factors: instead of being protected by society, at best they are excluded and avoided, and at worst they are branded as liars and gold-diggers.
Sexual abuse can be a life sentence for a victim who doesn't receive counselling. It affects every relationship they have, with their parents, their partners, their children and their friends. Many cannot cope with the darkness thrust upon them. They can never reclaim their stolen innocence, and many are condemned to a lifetime of depression, followed by addiction, and often suicide.
Martin Ridge, a retired Garda detective in Donegal, wrote about his experience in the book Breaking the Silence, published by Gill Macmillan in March 2008. He details an investigation in which he and his partner were responsible for convicting three paedophiles who had been operating in my area for four decades: a priest, a schoolteacher and a farmer. The priest, a Fr Eugene Greene, was released from prison on December 8th, 2008, having served nine years of a 12-year sentence for 30 years of violent sexual abuse.
The schoolteacher, a former teacher in my own daughter's school, served 18 months for 20 years of sexual abuse.
What's horrifying about the story is the length of time for which these perpetrators were abusing - and that people knew about it. The schoolteacher was abusing his pupils in the classroom and playground for 20 years, right up until 1993. Complaints had been made, graffiti was written on the walls of the school about the teacher, the national school pupils seemed to know, but still the teacher was allowed to remain in the school. He taught first and second class, so his victims had to endure two years of daily abuse.
The priest was moved around a little - the usual story - but in this particular case what is disturbing is how the community has dealt with it. When the priest was released from prison, there was a whip around and a substantial nest egg was collected for him. I suppose it was raised by those members of the community who just couldn't accept the truth. After 30 years of abuse, the violent rape of young altar boys, he served nine years.
The stories are endless: a guilt-ridden mother who remembers dragging her reluctant young son out of bed to serve Mass with the priest. She thought he was just being lazy when in fact he was being raped. When out and about in the street she notices people avoiding eye contact with her.
It's impossible to say how many perpetrators of sexual abuse are still within the community, and how many victims have suffered in silence or taken drastic steps to escape. I knew one man who was regularly taken to the beach for "driving lessons". He hanged himself a few years ago.
Another young woman lost her brother: he moved to England as soon as he was old enough but, years later, after a short holiday back home, he took his life. Soon after the tragedy, the woman saw the perpetrator on the street in her village and he smiled at her.
A victim who was brave enough to come forward and go on the record received a little financial compensation. He was in his local pub one night and went to the bar to buy a drink, only to be told by the barman that he didn't want any of the man's dirty money.
What kind of society are we when we treat our wounded like this, and protect the perpetrator? I had always considered us a people who stood up for human rights. Irish history is about struggle, overcoming prejudice and adversity. What is it that makes us incapable of criticising our own? A misplaced sense of solidarity perhaps?
Victims' chances of survival are completely dependent on a society that allows them to speak of their trauma, that acknowledges the failure to protect them, and supports them in their journey of recovery. There is no compensation for what they lost, but there would be solace in knowing that all of us were playing our part to ensure that we change our communities. Collectively we must refuse to tolerate abuse of the vulnerable.
When I was first considering whether to screen the film Fairytale of Kathmandu, a friend of mine who lives in the area and works in the media rang me. He'd heard of the story and urged me not to show the film: "However strongly you feel about it yourself, don't do it to your children." I know that his advice came from the heart and from genuine concern for a friend. I thanked him for caring but added that it was because I had children that I wanted to screen the film.
• Neasa Ní Chianáin is an independent documentary film-maker, and co-director of the Guth Gafa Documentary Film Festival in Donegal