Why the whole sorry story needs to be told

Speaking to people deeply involved in the issue of institutional child abuse, including one man who has spent several decades campaigning for the rights of survivors, it is clear that there is frustration and near despair at Ms Justice Mary Laffoy's resignation. Yet there is not much surprise.

The Laffoy Commission was faced with severe difficulties right from the start. The first problem was that it was hastily conceived in response to public outrage in the wake of the States of Fear programme.

No-one had thought through the complexity of the task properly. Over 2,000 people wanted to be heard, though not all were alleging sexual or even physical abuse.

As a result of the atmosphere generated by States of Fear, people had a subconscious impression that these were open-and-shut cases that could be dealt with swiftly. Some are, but many are not.

People also did not realise that so many of those who had allegations made against them were alive and determined to defend themselves.

As Pat Rabbitte pointed out on the Tonight with Vincent Browne show during the week, he could not think of a "more heinous crime of which to be accused, and given those circumstances, it's not that surprising that they [religious orders] would resort to a vigorous defence".

If you were accused of raping a defenceless child, and you were not guilty, would you meekly accept the charge, or would you reach for the best lawyer you could afford? The way in which the issue was framed in 1999 made it appear as if every allegation was accurate in every respect, and every person accused was automatically guilty.

There are traces of that simplistic analysis to be found even in Minister Dempsey's pronouncements this past week.

He spoke of people being adversarial, and insisting on vindicating their full rights to constitutional protection. That's not being adversarial. That's being grateful for the fact that we live in a democracy and not a gulag. That is not to say that the religious orders did not sometimes play hardball to the detriment of survivors, because at times, in the style of their questioning, they, or their representatives, did.

Yet it might be surprising to some people that there are religious and ex-religious who are distraught that the investigative process is now undermined.

They were certain that when their story was investigated they would be exonerated. It is horrific to be a victim of abuse; but some people are enduring a living hell because they have been wrongly accused of abuse.

In that respect, Ms Justice Laffoy's decision to publish the names of the dead, who could have no opportunity to defend themselves, was wrong. It sets a precedent where anyone who ever worked with children, be they doctors, social workers, nurses, teachers or counsellors, would be vulnerable in the same way.

What happens now? The Residential Redress Bill is working smoothly, and despite claims that it would cost up to €2 billion, most of the compensation paid out appears to be relatively modest. For many of the survivors, this was never about money. It was about a platform where their story could be told, a story of pain, and loneliness, a story which in many instances we are unwilling still to hear.

Some time ago I was approached by a former resident of Artane. He wanted to tell me that it was not so bad. As I listened to his stories of how everything he did, from marching in to eat, to standing at the table, to eating, was done at the blast of a whistle, and woe betide the boy who was not quick enough, the picture which emerged was painfully bleak.

Yet I have also heard the stories of those who as idealistic young men were nearly broken by the experience of being a Christian Brother in Artane.

They were often on duty 24 hours a day, trying to do their best for children, many of whom were deeply traumatised ever before they came to Artane. And I have also heard the stories of those - more often in the institutions run by nuns, I have to say - for whom the industrial school or orphanage was a refuge, the only place in which they received any mothering.

One Church of Ireland woman, Florence Horsman Hunter, told me that when she left the orphanage she wanted to go back, and it was nuns in another order, unconnected with the orphanage, who made her life bearable afterwards.

The whole, sorry heartbreaking story needs to be told, and to be told in full, the good and the bad, the sickening evil and the saintly sacrifice, the dramatic and the mundane, the love and the pain.

Where are people to turn to now, if the investigative process collapses? One thing is certain: that the idea of sampling, of taking a small number of cases as being representative and just looking at those, is a mad one. What happens if the sample allegations in relation to a specific institution turn out to be easily refuted?

Perhaps the accused religious or lay person in question was not even in the institution at the same period of time as their accuser. Perhaps the alleged perpetrator does not have the readily identifiable physical characteristic which the accuser says that he or she has - are we then to conclude that there was no abuse in that institution? (These examples are based on real allegations.)

And if the allegations turn out to be verifiable, perhaps because of a confession of guilt - are we then to conclude that every member of a religious order at that time was a child abuser, or complicit in child abuse?

A truly independent investigation has much to be said for it, funded by the Government but outside its influence. Nor should money dictate the shape of an investigation. The time is long overdue to tackle the greed of certain legal firms.

Until we really look at this terrible time, honestly and completely, no-one can move on, including those who now stand accused of delaying if not obstructing justice. Such an investigation cannot be done quickly or cheaply.

Most importantly, until they receive a platform in which they have confidence, those who were most harmed will not experience the healing for which they long.