“Is it more difficult to prove because a lot of it takes place behind closed doors?” Newstalk presenter Seán Moncrieff asked the chief executive of Dublin Rape Crisis Centre in a live radio interview on February 10th, 2026.
Rachel Morrow was on the show in the wake of a new report from the Law Society which highlights that detection rates for sexual offences in Ireland averages at just 20 per cent. Morrow emphasised the stark reality that survivors, who have taken the difficult step of reporting the crime to gardaí, often face being retraumatised when it emerges their perpetrator remains free of any consequences.
Morrow’s interview was broadcast on the same day I received an update from the detective who had been investigating my historical case of childhood sexual abuse for almost five years. Usually, it was me calling to request an update, so, on the rare occasion she rang me, I answered immediately. As always, she opened the conversation by gently asking, “Are you okay to take a call?”
Then, 10 words came out of her mouth that broke me all over again.
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“The DPP has decided not to proceed with your case.”
I was suddenly not okay.
According to the Central Statistics Office, there were 3,709 sexual offences recorded by An Garda Síochána in 2024, an increase from 3,423 in 2023. April 23rd, 2021 was the day I picked up the phone and reported that I had been sexually abused as a child. That year, mine was one of a total of 3,306 sexual offences reported to gardaí – an increase of 9.5 per cent on the previous year.
In the radio interview, Morrow referenced an increasing number of “survivors standing on the court steps, encouraging others to go the justice route”.
Two years ago, I was three years into the judicial process and losing faith when I saw an interview with one of those survivors. Hannah Irish spoke strongly and confidently to the media on the steps of the court. Hannah’s cousin, Bill Irish, was convicted by a jury of sexual assault and oral rape of his young cousin on dates between 2004 and 2010. Hannah’s resilience and bravery encouraged me to stay the course.
The past five years have been a rollercoaster ride of processing many difficult emotions
At the time, I wrote my first anonymous article for The Irish Times: 1,000 days since I picked up the phone to report I’d been sexually abused
During this lengthy investigation, there have been moments of hope which have provided me with some comfort that I was doing the right thing. These positive milestones are so important to mark because, in a society where there is still so much stigma around reporting childhood sexual abuse, I have often doubted my decision, and have repeatedly asked myself: “Was it my fault?”
There is also ongoing immense guilt over the fallout within my origin family because I’ve reported this crime. Thanks to the support of the detective, my husband, close friends and professional counselling, I have the resources to banish these negative thoughts and remind myself why I began this long and arduous process.
In April 2021, the primary school where my then 10-year-old daughter was a pupil, sent an email home to parents, highlighting that the class teacher would be educating the students on how to practise safety, including personal safety of their own bodies. In that moment, I felt immense gratitude to the school that they were doing their best to protect my daughter.
I was six years old when I was first molested, and my last memory of being sexually assaulted was when I was just weeks away from my 10th birthday. That’s the same age at which my daughter was now being educated on how to better protect herself and her body. It was the catalyst I needed to call gardaí and try to do my best to protect myself, retrospectively.
Two months after writing the 2024 article in The Irish Times, I received another update call from the detective. I was standing in Dunnes Stores in Blanchardstown on a shopping spree with my then 14-year-old daughter, following a brilliant night at the Olivia Rodrigo concert in the 3Arena. I was already in positive spirits, so when the detective told me the DPP had given direction to proceed with interviewing my abuser, I cried with happiness. I didn’t care that I was surrounded by strangers. This moment had to be marked.
That directive may seem like a small step to outsiders, but for me it was huge. My abuser is based abroad, so this meant additional resources involving Interpol would have to be deployed. The sense of relief was enormous. The DPP had analysed all the documents and concluded there was sufficient evidence for An Garda Síochána to initiate more formal proceedings with police forces in other jurisdictions.
The past five years have been a rollercoaster ride of processing many difficult emotions, so that positive step mattered very much to me. Now that I know the eventual outcome, this step matters even more.
The day I learned my abuser would not be prosecuted was a dark one. The necessary psychological work I had invested in, over many years, equipped me sufficiently to feel that darkness while also being aware that the light would eventually shine through again.
Over the last few days, I have felt the weight of failure, of being let down and frustrated by the system. Firstly, the DPP has not initially been forthcoming with reasons why the case will not proceed. The detective explained that within the next 28 days, I can download a form from dppireland.ie and fill out the details to request an explanation.
Secondly, there will be no official correspondence issued to me, in black and white, that documents this outcome.
After pursuing this case for five years, the justice system, in its current format, requires me to further advocate for myself. Right now, I feel drained and overwhelmed at the prospect. When we’re being encouraged to report, the least I deserve at this point, to further support some sense of closure, is official written communication from the DPP.
I am proud that I have done all within my means to pursue justice for myself
The Dublin Rape Crisis Centre report of 2005 requested “an ending of the DPP’s current ‘no reasons for decisions’ policy and the replacement of same with a mechanism that is both accountable and seen to be accountable”.
That was more than 20 years ago. Why can’t the reason be communicated to the survivor on the same day they are told the case will not proceed?
After reading the DPP’s address on the website, I noted the institution’s core values are listed as: Integrity, Independence, Excellence, Respect, Collegiality. To me, a notable absence is the word “trust”.
Survivors need to be able to trust the system.
I am proud that I have done all within my means to pursue justice for myself and, in doing so, am trying to be a good role model for both my daughter and my son.
One final remark from Rachel Morrow in the radio interview has resonated: “There are thousands of perpetrators living free from the consequences of what they did because they haven’t felt the arm of justice in their case, and I think that is really demoralising for survivors of sexual violence. They’re the ones who seem to carry the weight of what happened to them and they had, of course, nothing to do with it. They never deserved what happened to them and yet they’re the ones who carry this burden with them for the rest of their lives.”
I agree with Morrow that I will carry this burden, but I will not allow it to define me into my future.
- Garda Confidential Line – 1800 555 222
- One in Four – (01) 66 24070, oneinfour.ie
- CARI – 0818 924 567, cari.ie
- Tusla – 0818 776 315, tusla.ie
- Dublin Rape Crisis Centre – 1800 77 8888, drcc.ie
