Everybody needs a safe and secure place of refuge – and for the vast majority of us, that safe place should be home. As American writer Maya Angelou said: “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”
When I finally made the decision, amid difficult personal circumstances, to flee my home with my children for our safety and enter a women’s refuge in mid-March 2025, I told my landlord about the situation. I informed the property management company that I would be staying in the refuge – but only on a temporary basis. All of our belongings remained in our home, and our plan was that we would return immediately it was safe for us to do so.
Within a couple of weeks, in early April 2025, I was able to inform the management company that the children and I had returned home. Finally, or so I hoped, we would have a time to rest and heal, after all the distress and trauma of the past weeks.
Except that’s not what happened.
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I had lived in that home with my family since 2018. Like so many people trying to survive in today’s housing and cost-of-living crises, I received a regular housing assistance payment (Hap). But while I was in the refuge, the local authority had – for some unfathomable reason – terminated my Hap payment.
That was unfortunate, but not a deal-breaker, I thought. I would just get the management company to sign new Hap papers.
However, they refused. They said they “had sympathy” with my situation, but had already signed my forms, had too many properties with Hap payments, and were not prepared to do so again – among other excuses.
And so began months and months of financial stress and desperate battles, during which I was constantly worried and anxious. The management company repeatedly refused to sign the Hap form, saying that I had “cancelled the Hap payment and moved out of the house”. Later, in a submission to the Workplace Relations Commission (WRC), they described my moving back into my home after a couple of weeks in the women’s refuge as “unauthorised occupation”.
Technically, everybody is entitled to access to justice. But being entitled to access justice means more than being able to get through a courtroom door
As I couldn’t receive my Hap payment – to which the local authority had confirmed I was completely entitled – my rent fell into arrears. Again and again, I explained to the management company that without them signing my forms, I was not in a position to pay my rent. It was a vicious circle, and one that they seemed determined to ensure I would not be able to escape from. The stress caused by this situation became so bad that my physical and mental health were severely affected, and I had to take about a month off work with illness.
I was aware that what was happening to me was wrong. I have a legal background, and I knew that once a request has been made to a landlord to complete a Hap application form, they are legally obliged to take steps to comply with it.
But what could I do? I was on my own, with no influential contacts or the money to pay for an expensive legal team. Technically, everybody is entitled to access to justice. But being entitled to access justice means more than being able to get through a courtroom door. It is also about being able to properly and effectively engage with the legal system on an equal footing, regardless of your age, gender, ethnicity, language or your immigration status.
I was eventually made aware that the Irish Human Rights and Equality Commission (IHREC) can provide legal advice, representation and practical assistance to people if they feel they are facing discrimination from their landlords or prospective landlords. It was a last hope for me and my family. I have since learned that research commissioned by IHREC in 2022 showed that tenants face multiple types of discrimination in accessing, or maintaining, a rented home in Ireland because of their use of Haps.
IHREC took on my case and represented me at the WRC. Having heard all the facts, the WRC ruled that not only had I suffered a “prima facie case of discrimination under the ESA [Equal Status Acts]”, but that “the circumstances were at the extreme of the spectrum of gravity” and were “particularly stark”, given the personal turmoil I was experiencing at the time.
The WRC also ruled that “an extremely worrying aspect of the narrative... was the action of the local authority in terminating the Hap”, causing what turned out to be “catastrophic consequences for a family already in distress”.
I was awarded €14,750, close to the maximum amount.
But I never wanted to have to go before such an authority. I just wanted to be treated fairly. I wanted to create a safe home with my children.
The WRC officer in my case endorsed findings that Hap recipients are particularly vulnerable and that refusal to facilitate Hap can have significant financial and personal consequences, as it did for me and my children. And that is the reason I am telling my story - so that others in situations similar to mine know that there is help out there, and that access to justice is a right, not just a concept. And all of us – not just the lucky few – are entitled to live with dignity and be treated equally, no matter what our circumstances.
As Angelou said: “Either everyone has equal rights and justice, or no one does.”
