I was sitting on the bus yesterday, making my way home from a night in my friend’s house. Due to certain circumstances, I was already thinking about the Irish justice system when I boarded. For the most part, I was lamenting internally its’ inefficiency and overall uselessness. It takes forever to get anything done, as I’m sure it does in most countries – but in Ireland it really seems as if the system is actively trying to screw those who are most dependent on its’ assistance, namely those who have been victimised, or abused and have no recourse to justice but to seek it in court as they cannot defend themselves. It takes forever for cases to reach court, evidence is frequently misplaced or neglected, sentences are farcically lenient, and the policework required to enable cases to reach court in the first place is substandard.
It was during this rather depressing internal monologue that I heard an announcement on local radio news, among the chatter and the noise, that genuinely scared the crap out of me. According to Garda (police) statistics, the number of reported rapes in Cork city area has increased by 500% in a one year period.
That’s not a typo with an extra zero there. Five hundred per cent, since this time last year. There is of course the question to be considered as to the cause – are more women being raped, or is it the case that a far greater proportion of them are reporting it? Given the treatment of sexual assault cases in Ireland, which I have touched on in previous posts, I find it rather difficult to believe the latter. This statistic leads me to a number of conclusions, all of which are deeply unsettling.
As I have said, I find it hard to believe that a 500% increase in number of rapes being reported during a one year period, isolated within one regional area, can be attributed to higher incidence of reporting by victims. As such, the increase must be reflective of a massive increase in the number of assaults. 500% is a terrifying figure. It would also suggest to me that we have at least one serial offender responsible – it’s not a difficult conclusion to draw. We have to consider the number of rapes historically committed per annum in Cork, and the kind of numbers represented by a 500% increase. Say for example, the increase represents 150 assaults. The possibility of an increase or decrease in crime levels by such an amount is proportionate to the size of the population of the area in question. An increase by 150 assaults could much more likely be coincidental in a major city – London, Paris, Berlin. In a population the size of Cork’s, though, the likelihood of such an increase consisting of purely isolated incidents is practically zero.
It led me to thinking about the likelihood of there being an appropriate response to this near certainty (of a serial rapist, or more than one) by an Garda Síochána. I have tremendous respect on an individual level for certain gardaí I know personally – and as a profession in general I consider it extremely worthy. But as a woman in Cork, I have little faith that major perpetrators of sexual assaults here will be apprehended before many, many more women are hurt. If ever. In what little dealings I have had with the police force here, I have found their response to even the most basic of crimes insufficient and sluggish. We are totally unprepared in Ireland for serial crime. There was an entire spate of female disappearances in the midlands in the 1990s, such as that of JoJo Dullard, which are widely believed to be related but remain unsolved. Our response to serial offenders – by understanding, and consequently being able to adequately predict or apprehend the various psychoses that drive their behaviour – is effectively nonexistent. It frustrates me, because there is no want of talent in Ireland for such things, the systems are just not in place to channel that talent and expertise into effective, specialised police subforces dedicated to such crime.
So, in the meantime, if you live in Cork and happen to be female – please don’t take any chances. I don’t want to cause undue alarm, but I think the aforementioned statistics speak for themselves. The piece mentioned two specific scenarios to be aware of – home invasion assaults, and assaults on women who were heavily inebriated. Double check that your windows and doors are locked before you go to bed. If you’re drinking, either try not to drink to excess or at least stick to a group. Be aware of your surroundings as much as you can, and trust your instincts. It strikes me as hypocritical how we are so averse to displays of assertiveness in women here, be it in the form of turning guys down flat or setting firm boundaries if someone is bothering you – and yet when a woman is attacked, we often blame her for not doing precisely these same things. Should anything happen to you, or even if it has happened in the past, it was unequivocally NOT your fault. We can only be responsible for that which we can control, and since rape is by its’ very nature the deprivation of control over what happens to one’s own body, the responsibility for rape lies irrevocably with the perpetrator. It doesn’t matter what preceded it, or how much he might have felt you “led him on”. But I would rather as few women (or indeed men) as at all possible be subject to the horror of being raped, so please, if you’re reading this – be careful. Don’t put yourself in situations you are unsure of, and if you find yourself in one anyway, it’s better some random guy think you’re acting like a complete freak than you get assaulted. Try to find the balance between being cautious and sensible, and accepting that rape is never the victim’s fault, and as such your preventative measures can only ever be a precaution against something outside of your control.
Please be safe, and be aware – not only for yourself, but for the women around you. No-one deserves the pain of being raped, save perhaps those who inflict it on others – who, for the record, I would gladly have skinned and rolled in salt. With any luck those responsible for the dramatic increase in the past year will end up with a bad dose of karma, and preferably floating face down in the Lee.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
S.S.S. (Sodding Social Services)
Please bear with me while I vent.
In February of this year, I reported my own parents to social services for their treatment of my younger brother. Abuse, in almost all of its conceivable manifestations, has been a part of our family life for some time now, and I really feel that my brother - we'll call him Paul - bears the brunt of this.
My mother has had issues with depression and overall mental health for some years now. Much as I love the woman - and I do - she is self-absorbed, insecure, spiteful, vicious and has a severe "martyr complex". She views herself as the eternal victim, and is entirely averse to so much as the mere concept of personal accountability. My father, while decidedly more mentally stable, is - to use a colloquialism - completely whipped. My mother has always been incredibly condescending towards him, especially in arguments. I think it's a part of her insecurity, but the effect of this on him is that I believe him to feel more or less entirely emasculated. He feels he gets no respect from my mother, but he can't punish her because that just wouldn't be appropriate, so he transfers his requirement for respect and authority(ish) onto his children. I think he is, deep down, a very good man, as I think in some ways a lesser man would just have taken this rage out on his partner, but this transference is dangerous. It is even more dangerous when you combine it with my mother's mental instability and lack of responsibility, and a complete inability on his part to stand up to her. I also think he feels incredibly isolated, and the thought of his marriage to mom actually breaking down terrifies him, so he's afraid to rock the boat too much.
Thing is, my sympathy for them kinda ends there. I love them, but they are seriously. fucked. up.
Since my teens, I myself have been shouted at, screamed at, hit, slapped, punched, choked and told that my family would be better off without me. Not all the time, just when my mother was in one of her "moods". These periods would be interspersed with relative affection and normality - whatever that is - so for adolescent me this was all rather confusing. I got on rather well with my dad, mainly because I didn't tend to try to get him involved in the conflicts between me and my mom, and I am by nature HIGHLY non-confrontational. I used to blame myself entirely for the abuse, and rationalise it by saying that my mom was just very stressed. My sister - let's call her Paula - is autistic and has numerous health issues, and this was a major stressor for my mom.
However, things have escalated since then, and now that I am in my 20s and no longer living at home, it is Paul who bears the brunt of - mainly my mother's - frustrations. He is more confrontational and a traditional "angry teenager" than I was, so he tends to get into confrontations with both of my parents. He talks back, he gives cheek, he doesn't do as he's told. Relatively standard fare, to be honest. Any of you who have, or have ever known, a teenage boy can probably testify to this. Teenagers are fucking annoying... But the response to his relatively minor transgressions is anything but normal. There have been increasinly numerous occasions where Michael is kicked, slapped, punched in the face and head, hit with objects like rods, screamed at, threatened and otherwise abused, and it makes me fucking sick. I am honestly disgusted at my own parents. I love them, but right now they disgust me.
So - I reported them. In February, initially. There was another incident that was quickly spiralling out of control, and something inside me just snapped. Paul is 9 years younger than me, and to be honest my feelings for him are somewhere smack-bang in the middle of sisterly and maternal. I'm very protective of him, and I knew that something had to break the cycle, and that furthermore it wasn't going to come from within the family, if at all. I went to the police station in town and filed a report. The police spoke to my parents, brought Michael home (I have no authority to remove him from the house, not being his legal guardian), and referred the case on to social services.
It was 12 weeks - twelve. fucking. weeks, before anyone contacted my family about the case. Never mind the fact that anything could have happened in my family during the course of 12 weeks, when they did contact the family, it was my parents they called. Reasonably enough, you may say, but they barely spoke to my brother about it, and they didn't speak to me at all. As both the one who initially filed the report, and an adult member of the immediate family, I would have imagined it would be only rational for them to inform me of any progress.
No, no - I actually had to ring the HSE, ring my brother to ask HIM what the social worker's name was, track down her number myself, ring her and REQUEST an interview in order to give my side of the story... only to be told that for me to do so, she would require my parents' consent.
Well - that's fucking bright, isn't it? Because as the ones actually being accused of child abuse here, it's not like my parents have anything to HIDE that they might not want me to say to the social worker, what with me being the only non-abusive adult involved in the whole scenario and all. There's no way they could have any illegitimate reason to withdraw their consent for me to give my side of the story. Fortunately, though, they DID give their consent, but the fact that it was necessary at all seems superfluous and illogical. It's not even like I was looking for confidential information. I was a member of the family and a witness, trying to give my perspective. Jesus Christ on a bike Ireland drives me insane sometimes.
Since then, things have gone from bad to slightly worse. Social Services are just epically unhelpful in this country. It's breathtaking. The social worker in question has gone from unhelpful, to rude, to victim-blaming, to justifying my parents, to just fucking useless to unhelpful again. There was another incident about 2 weeks ago and when I rang maybe 4 days later to report it to her, she gave out to me for not acting fast enough, saying that it sounded like a serious incident.
First off, you thick bitch - it was a serious incident the last time, too, and you took 12 fucking WEEKS to do anything about it, so hey - I guess I figured 4 days wouldn't offend you. Secondly, I was doing things in those 4 days that involved getting my only income from a charity, since I've been kicked out of home and am basically destitue, and ensuring that my brother was in no immediate danger. Thirdly, how fucking easy do you think this is for me exactly? I've basically made myself a social pariah in my own family. The only people who appreciate what I'm trying to do is Paul and Paula - everybody else thinks I'm a neurotic oversensitive bitch who just doesn't appreciate how hard her parents have it, sob sob! So you can take that attitude and shove it right up your fucking ass. This same woman told my brother in her initial interview with him that she saw no problem with a ibt of corporal punishment. There's a reassuring sentiment from a child protection worker if ever there was one.
Right now, I'm at my wit's end, basically. I reported my parents to authorities as a last resort, and they've helped about as much as a chocolate fireman would have with the Towering Inferno. Hooray, another victory for Mary Harney and her team of incompentent gobshites!!
In February of this year, I reported my own parents to social services for their treatment of my younger brother. Abuse, in almost all of its conceivable manifestations, has been a part of our family life for some time now, and I really feel that my brother - we'll call him Paul - bears the brunt of this.
My mother has had issues with depression and overall mental health for some years now. Much as I love the woman - and I do - she is self-absorbed, insecure, spiteful, vicious and has a severe "martyr complex". She views herself as the eternal victim, and is entirely averse to so much as the mere concept of personal accountability. My father, while decidedly more mentally stable, is - to use a colloquialism - completely whipped. My mother has always been incredibly condescending towards him, especially in arguments. I think it's a part of her insecurity, but the effect of this on him is that I believe him to feel more or less entirely emasculated. He feels he gets no respect from my mother, but he can't punish her because that just wouldn't be appropriate, so he transfers his requirement for respect and authority(ish) onto his children. I think he is, deep down, a very good man, as I think in some ways a lesser man would just have taken this rage out on his partner, but this transference is dangerous. It is even more dangerous when you combine it with my mother's mental instability and lack of responsibility, and a complete inability on his part to stand up to her. I also think he feels incredibly isolated, and the thought of his marriage to mom actually breaking down terrifies him, so he's afraid to rock the boat too much.
Thing is, my sympathy for them kinda ends there. I love them, but they are seriously. fucked. up.
Since my teens, I myself have been shouted at, screamed at, hit, slapped, punched, choked and told that my family would be better off without me. Not all the time, just when my mother was in one of her "moods". These periods would be interspersed with relative affection and normality - whatever that is - so for adolescent me this was all rather confusing. I got on rather well with my dad, mainly because I didn't tend to try to get him involved in the conflicts between me and my mom, and I am by nature HIGHLY non-confrontational. I used to blame myself entirely for the abuse, and rationalise it by saying that my mom was just very stressed. My sister - let's call her Paula - is autistic and has numerous health issues, and this was a major stressor for my mom.
However, things have escalated since then, and now that I am in my 20s and no longer living at home, it is Paul who bears the brunt of - mainly my mother's - frustrations. He is more confrontational and a traditional "angry teenager" than I was, so he tends to get into confrontations with both of my parents. He talks back, he gives cheek, he doesn't do as he's told. Relatively standard fare, to be honest. Any of you who have, or have ever known, a teenage boy can probably testify to this. Teenagers are fucking annoying... But the response to his relatively minor transgressions is anything but normal. There have been increasinly numerous occasions where Michael is kicked, slapped, punched in the face and head, hit with objects like rods, screamed at, threatened and otherwise abused, and it makes me fucking sick. I am honestly disgusted at my own parents. I love them, but right now they disgust me.
So - I reported them. In February, initially. There was another incident that was quickly spiralling out of control, and something inside me just snapped. Paul is 9 years younger than me, and to be honest my feelings for him are somewhere smack-bang in the middle of sisterly and maternal. I'm very protective of him, and I knew that something had to break the cycle, and that furthermore it wasn't going to come from within the family, if at all. I went to the police station in town and filed a report. The police spoke to my parents, brought Michael home (I have no authority to remove him from the house, not being his legal guardian), and referred the case on to social services.
It was 12 weeks - twelve. fucking. weeks, before anyone contacted my family about the case. Never mind the fact that anything could have happened in my family during the course of 12 weeks, when they did contact the family, it was my parents they called. Reasonably enough, you may say, but they barely spoke to my brother about it, and they didn't speak to me at all. As both the one who initially filed the report, and an adult member of the immediate family, I would have imagined it would be only rational for them to inform me of any progress.
No, no - I actually had to ring the HSE, ring my brother to ask HIM what the social worker's name was, track down her number myself, ring her and REQUEST an interview in order to give my side of the story... only to be told that for me to do so, she would require my parents' consent.
Well - that's fucking bright, isn't it? Because as the ones actually being accused of child abuse here, it's not like my parents have anything to HIDE that they might not want me to say to the social worker, what with me being the only non-abusive adult involved in the whole scenario and all. There's no way they could have any illegitimate reason to withdraw their consent for me to give my side of the story. Fortunately, though, they DID give their consent, but the fact that it was necessary at all seems superfluous and illogical. It's not even like I was looking for confidential information. I was a member of the family and a witness, trying to give my perspective. Jesus Christ on a bike Ireland drives me insane sometimes.
Since then, things have gone from bad to slightly worse. Social Services are just epically unhelpful in this country. It's breathtaking. The social worker in question has gone from unhelpful, to rude, to victim-blaming, to justifying my parents, to just fucking useless to unhelpful again. There was another incident about 2 weeks ago and when I rang maybe 4 days later to report it to her, she gave out to me for not acting fast enough, saying that it sounded like a serious incident.
First off, you thick bitch - it was a serious incident the last time, too, and you took 12 fucking WEEKS to do anything about it, so hey - I guess I figured 4 days wouldn't offend you. Secondly, I was doing things in those 4 days that involved getting my only income from a charity, since I've been kicked out of home and am basically destitue, and ensuring that my brother was in no immediate danger. Thirdly, how fucking easy do you think this is for me exactly? I've basically made myself a social pariah in my own family. The only people who appreciate what I'm trying to do is Paul and Paula - everybody else thinks I'm a neurotic oversensitive bitch who just doesn't appreciate how hard her parents have it, sob sob! So you can take that attitude and shove it right up your fucking ass. This same woman told my brother in her initial interview with him that she saw no problem with a ibt of corporal punishment. There's a reassuring sentiment from a child protection worker if ever there was one.
Right now, I'm at my wit's end, basically. I reported my parents to authorities as a last resort, and they've helped about as much as a chocolate fireman would have with the Towering Inferno. Hooray, another victory for Mary Harney and her team of incompentent gobshites!!
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