In the final instalment of a special three-part series spotlighting violence against women, Niamh Devereux focuses on sexual violence
For survivors of sexual violence the trauma lingers long after the attack. It is something that unfolds silently, in the lonely spaces between court hearings and news headlines, or the quiet struggle fought in the private corners of the mind and heart.
Earlier this year in the Central Criminal Court, one of too many harrowing Irish rape cases took place. Kate (not her real name) was preyed upon by three men – total strangers to her – who, in 2019, “acted together” on a night out in Dublin to take advantage of her in the most depraved way while she was in a vulnerable state.
As she was questioned on the stand by each of the barristers for Anthony Hickey, Fabio Vicente and Matin Zolfaghari – just over five years after the attack took place – she had to deal with further dehumanisation, victim blaming and insulting speculation.
Already, she was processing new information that emerged during the trial, such as the fact she was unknowingly filmed during the rape, with Hickey later commenting in a WhatsApp chat: “listen to you laughing after she says no”. This was described by the men as “locker room chat” between “blokes”. At one stage during questioning, it was put to Kate that she hadn’t been subjected to violence on the night. Unflappable as she had been throughout, Kate replied with a steady voice: “I think rape is violence”.
The men were later sentenced to between 14 and 16 years for their abhorrent crimes, with the final year suspended for each – relatively high sentencing considering the usual low bar for sexual violence crimes in Ireland. Hickey was found guilty of rape, oral rape and sexual assault, Vicente of two counts of rape and Zolfaghari of oral rape.
“Everyone said, ‘You must be happy with the outcome’ but I don’t know if you can ever describe it as that,” Kate tells me. “I feel vindicated, sure, but no amount of time in prison will ever be enough in my eyes for what they did to me. But am I proud of myself every day for fighting? There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t feel proud to have come
through it.”
Ongoing battle
When the courtroom doors close and headlines fade, there’s an ongoing battle for survivors to rebuild their lives that people don’t see.
“It’s a really strange feeling when it’s all over,” Kate says. “You’re left reeling with an adrenaline crash. Your support system within the courts, with the guards and the amazing staff in the victim suites, everything, is immediately severed. It’s a really harsh time where you realise you now have to deal with all the re-traumatisation of the attack as well as everything from the whole court process.
“I felt almost back to square one and everyone around me kept saying, ‘Thank god it’s over.’ It leaves a lot of anger because you think, ‘Over for you – it’s never over for me’. But, of course, life moves on and you heal and grow and glue back these pieces to a new you. A stronger you, with lots of beautiful cracks.”
Using her voice
Kate decided to speak out about her experience in the days and weeks after the trial, but on her terms – by keeping her anonymity: “There have been so many amazing survivors speaking out over the past few years, who made me aware of just how traumatic the process would be and how I could be treated within the courtroom.
“At the time, this made me feel really stressed and so apprehensive, but in hindsight it did mentally prepare me to fight for those few weeks. I went in with all gloves off and I knew what to expect and I did have a layer of self-protection. Knowledge is power and I’m so grateful for all the courageous survivors who speak out.
“Sometimes, though, when you stay anonymous, you feel forgotten, or that you don’t have the right to speak out or voice your own story,” she continues. “When I was given the opportunity to speak on it in a way that my boundaries were also respected, I felt very lucky. I really still feel empowered to have been able to do that, including speaking with Orla O’Donnell for RTÉ News. We are very lucky in this country to have some incredible, empathetic female journalists who help survivors feel like they are in a safe space to tell their story. That was really important to me.”
Despite her best attempts, she hasn’t been given the space to fully move forward. “I’m in the midst of dealing with the convicted putting through appeals. It’s like you don’t even get a second to breathe – they had filed appeals within a week of the sentencing.
“With that process, there needs to be changes; it shouldn’t be such a drawn-out process. If there are no grounds for appeal then it should be scrapped, rather than having a date loom overhead for a year’s time. It’s like the perpetrators still manage to exercise some sort control over the schedule in my life, with court dates and potentially having to see them in a courtroom setting again. They shouldn’t be allowed to put through appeals on no grounds.”
Putting victims first
For those who do choose to report their attack, Kate feels passionately about the need for a victim-centred approach to better protect survivors. Firstly, she speaks on the urgent need to ban the use of counselling notes by the defence counsel (more on that later) as she says, “It’s like survivors are being punished if they’re trying to heal”.
She adds: “I also don’t think you should have to make a formal application for the decency of a screen – this can be rejected in some cases, which is shocking. And, if you are sitting in the courtroom for any of the remainder of the trial, the accused have full sight of you and vice versa. I felt that I experienced intimidation tactics from the convicted and their families throughout the trial and at the sentencing hearing; laughing, smirking at me and my husband. More needs to be done to protect survivors and their families as the whole process is so terrifying as is.”
As for her advice to others, she is clear on one thing: ask for help. “Lean on your supports: Dublin Rape Crisis Centre, therapy, other survivors. Every one of us has a voice and even if you choose not to use it right now, it doesn’t mean what happened wasn’t wrong and that you don’t need support.”
Therapy, journalling and going to the gym has also helped her to work through the trauma inflicted upon her, but she says, “The true saviours are the people I have in my life”.
“My amazing husband has been my rock, my best friend, my confidante and my cheerleader,” she says. “He has been the only one who has witnessed the moments where I have totally broken apart and thought I couldn’t do it anymore and he has put me back together, every time.
“My ray of sunshine and source of pure joy has been my daughter. I truly believe she was sent to me when I needed her most and she has reminded me of the purity and hope that exists in life. Then my parents, my siblings, the wall of impenetrable female friends I have, the Garda team. In the aftermath of a life-altering event, I’m actually faced with gratitude for the unconditional love and support in my life: a true reminder that there’s more good than bad in this world.”
The aftermath
Another woman speaking out on her deeply layered trauma, in the hope that it will make some positive change for survivors – even to help them feel seen and empowered – is Bláthnaid Raleigh. Her new book Aftermath is required reading; it is her unflinching, deeply powerful telling of how Jonathan Moran, also from her hometown Mullingar, viciously set upon her on a night out in Galway. Like Kate, her rape also took place in 2019, and it took five years for her day in court, where Moran was eventually jailed for nine years with the final year suspended.
In her memoir, she details the years of living with the effects of the attack leading up to the trial, while sharing a hometown with the man who raped her; the loneliness, the fear, the PTSD, the crippling ripple effects his actions had within her inner circle and community. Unable to be identified for legal reasons, he continued his life working, socialising and playing rugby.
“Meanwhile, my life was in limbo,” she says. The endless waiting corroded her plans to study for a Master’s and left her feeling like a “puppet on a string”. Writing it all down was a hugely cathartic process for Bláthnaid, she says.
“There’s stuff in the book that I never got to say out loud, that I had never confronted. In being able to voice that, I found it really freeing. It gave me a license to be angry. I would sit down with my co-writer Niall Kelly and just vent, which was so therapeutic. As time moves on, you have less and less space and time to talk about it and, sometimes, you just want to talk about it.”
Through her story, Bláthnaid wants to raise awareness for how much more empathy is needed in the Irish system. “You’re told you’re a witness in your own case. Not a victim, not a participant – just a witness. The perpetrator has a lawyer, you don’t. When I had to give evidence, I had to walk past the man who raped me to get to the stand. I was told I could apply for the screen but that juries ‘don’t like it’ as it somehow makes you less credible. It was humiliating, a form of torture.”
Then came what she calls “the most dangerous part of all”. “When he was convicted, they sent him home. For two months. He was found guilty of rape, but was free to live his life for six weeks until the sentencing hearing. He went back to work; nobody checked if he’d told his workplace.” Bláthnaid was living in the same town as a man who knew he was going to prison because of her.
Since Moran was imprisoned, she says knowing she no longer has to fear bumping into him has allowed her to “breathe again”. While she admits healing is far from a linear journey, one that has been helped by the support of her loved ones and “her source of calm”, her beloved horses, she is finally feeling hopeful for the future.
“For the first time in years, I have a positive outlook and can plan ahead. I don’t see the worst in situations or constantly feel panic when I go out; I don’t look over my shoulder.
“I’m at the stage now where I am ready to meet somebody. It’s hard, because my story is publicly out there, so that choice of when to tell someone is gone. But it’s also so nice to be navigating that stage, of being open to a new relationship – it’s such a natural thing for a 27-year-old. I know this isn’t going to just go away and will always be with me, but I now see myself living a happy life – a free life.”
Turning pain into purpose
Also based in Co Westmeath is a band of indomitable women who have created a new support and advocacy organisation for victims of sexual and gender-based violence.
‘Éist – Saying No To Silence’ was set up by rape survivor Hazel Behan, survivor and legal advocate Sandra Daly and counsellor and psychotherapist Bairbre Kelly, to fulfil a need for a service like it in the Midlands. Local data and frontline experience showed a huge number of people in the region facing barriers when seeking help or speaking out. A not-for-profit organisation, every euro raised through its initiatives goes towards its potentially life-saving services, including free-of-charge legal information and crisis therapy.
As well as caring for those who need it, the women are devoted to challenging systemic failures and are vocal about policy reform. Hazel recently spoke before the Oireachtas to advocate for a ban on using victims’ private counselling notes during criminal trials.
“It’s an abuse of your human rights,” she says. “These are private thoughts trying to process extreme pain. The counsellor’s interpretations of your thoughts and feelings are cherry picked and used against you in court to discredit you. The counsellor isn’t even brought into the court to give the notes context.
“For me, I wasn’t the same person the day after I was raped. I had to grieve the person I lost and navigate this new person I had become, and for me – and most people who go through this – counselling is an essential tool in doing that. There are so many people, not just me, who wouldn’t exist without that counselling; they’ve endured and fought through and survived the worst imaginable crimes, they should be allowed to freely access what they need care-wise.”
Sandra continues: “In all other trials, there’s a rule where no evidence can be admitted on hearsay. Yet, only for sexual violence trials, we allow these notes in. The whole process is another way of silencing survivors; it prevents people from pursuing justice. If I’m honest, I think we will have to go to the European Courts of Justice to resolve this. And we will.”
Throughout our conversation, Hazel and Sandra discussed Gravio, the damning European human rights report that highlighted Ireland’s deficiencies in supporting victims, including lenient sentencing and insufficient services. They also outlined another important part of their mission: impactful education.
Éist offers programmes for both teenagers – addressing issues like consent and giving a safe space to have conversations they may not feel comfortable having with parents and teachers – and workplaces, to challenge silent biases and equip people with tools to respond appropriately if a colleague discloses abuse. They are also running talks for the LGBTQ+ community, which they say has a huge amount of underreported sexually violent crimes.
In November, they introduced Zero Tolerance campaign in the Midlands, encouraging businesses, organisations and sports teams to take a pledge that they will not accept violence, particularly towards women and girls. Find out more on notosilence.ie
