In 2018, Tara brought her four-year-old son to the family GP. Timothy was having “night-terrors” says Tara, was wetting the bed and was describing “sexually concerning behaviours” by her former partner, from whom Tara had separated two years earlier. “He told me, ‘Mammy, Daddy sleeps in bed beside me with no jammies on’. He said he was touching him and he didn’t like it.”
The GP made a child protection referral to Tulsa, the State child and family agency, and referred Timothy for play therapy. Timothy’s creche also made child protection referrals after finding bruising on his legs, and Tara reported her concerns. “Three referrals were made to Tusla, and they were all closed without a social worker even meeting my child,” says Tara.
A social worker for Timothy was subsequently allocated.
The child continued making disclosures, and Tara kept reporting them to Tusla. She also brought Timothy to an emergency department, seeking to have him examined for signs of sexual abuse.
The hospital made a child protection referral and Timothy was referred on to St Louise’s unit in Crumlin and St Clare’s in Temple Street children’s hospitals – assessment and therapy centres for children where child sexual abuse is a concern. The St Clare’s assessors found the allegations “not credible”.
Such a finding is not unusual. Children Health Ireland (CHI), which manages children’s healthcare, has said that since 2016 “credible accounts [were] provided” in just 36 per cent of child sexual abuse allegations assessed at St Clare’s.
This does not mean in two-thirds of cases no abuse took place. There could be other reasons for a “credible account not provided” finding, CHI clarified, including the child’s non-engagement. Responsibility for concluding whether child sexual abuse has happened lies with Tusla, which “selects two categories of conclusion . . . founded or unfounded”.
In 2019 Timothy was interviewed by a social worker compiling a report on his welfare, for a family law court adjudicating on access arrangements.
That report notes Timothy talks about “bad things Daddy did to me” but says he was “unable to put any timeline or context” on events. It recommends play therapy and notes that Tara is “of the opinion that the social worker has become biased” against her. Tara was told, she says, to stop encouraging Timothy “to talk about the bad things”.
Instead, Tara says, her own mental health became the focus. Psychiatric assessments were requested, the first of which says Tara “did not evidence any signs of a mood or thought disorder”. In a final assessment the doctor says: “I cannot detect any psychiatric or psychological problems. She is of sound mind . . . She is a capable mother concerned for her son.”
Tusla, however, recommended Timothy be placed in his father’s custody, and earlier this year custody was transferred.
“I am beyond devastated,” says Tara, who believes she has “been painted as this woman who is mad and evil when I have done nothing but believe my son. Only that I have an amazing partner, who believes Timothy too and supports me, I would be above in the graveyard.”
Only that I have an amazing partner, who believes Timothy too and supports me, I would be above in the graveyard
Tara is one of seven mothers The Irish Times has met in recent months – all of whom have given detailed accounts of similarly “devastating” experiences with the childcare system – including the family law courts – from which they had expected support and protection.
Of the seven mothers, six had their children removed. Two have had their children returned. Six of them experienced domestic violence. Three alleged sexual abuse of their children. In two of these the alleged abusers won custody of the children while in the third case the alleged abuser, with Tusla’s support, won unsupervised access, which has since been revoked.
Six of the mothers were asked to undergo psychiatric assessments, with just one found to have had a serious mental-health challenge, namely depression requiring hospital treatment.
None can be identified due to the courts’ in-camera rule mandating absolute confidentiality by all parties to family law cases. The mothers could be held in contempt if identified as having spoken to a journalist about their cases. However, such is their anger and despair, they are among a growing number coming together for support and to raise their concerns.
Campaigning groups
A number of campaigning groups have emerged in recent years to support such women.
ABC (Alliance of Birth Mothers Campaigning for Justice),founded in summer 2019, describes itself as an “advocacy group for mothers affected by Tusla, the gardaí and the family law courts”. Its spokeswoman, Barbara Scanlon, says it is supporting more than 60 mothers who have lost custody of their children. Most have suffered domestic violence.
Sisi (Survivors Informing Services and Institutions) came together in late 2018. It runs weekly capacity-building meetings for mothers, in the hope that by sharing their experiences they will collectively be a force for change.
Founder Mary Louise Lynch says Sisi “wants to give voice to mothers’ connected experience as individually women are silenced”. It has funding from the Community Platform and is a member of the Irish Observatory on Violence Against Women. Its members have been affected by domestic violence or child sexual abuse, or both.
These groups’ concerns are echoed by long-established women’s organisations, including Safe Ireland, the Rape Crisis Network of Ireland (RCNI) and Women’s Aid.
The majority of domestic-, gender- and sexual-violence support organisations – though not the campaign groups Sisi and ABC – are funded by Tusla.
‘Too many anecdotes to ignore’
“It’s complex. It’s shapeless and because of the in-camera rule it’s all anecdotal,” says Clíona Saidléar, executive director of the RCNI. “But there are too many anecdotes to ignore. Mothers who go to Tusla with domestic violence and child sexual abuse are finding themselves on the receiving end of the attention.”
Saidléar has been trying to “map what’s happening” for over two years, unsuccessfully seeking data from Tusla and other agencies, and now believes no such data exists. “It’s not that Tusla and services are not telling us. It’s worse – they don’t know themselves.”
The Irish Times asked Tusla: how many children were removed from mothers last year and why? How many cases involve domestic violence and child sexual abuse? How many allegations of child sexual abuse were deemed “unfounded” last year?
In all, 856 children were taken into care last year. “This figure accounts for all children who were taken into care from either a parent, parents or guardians. Of these, 26 were sexual-abuse cases,” says Tusla. The numbers removed from mothers are not specifically counted, while domestic violence may be one of a number of child-protection concerns and is not specifically counted.
“Tusla records referrals in four categories of abuse: emotional, physical, sexual and neglect. Tusla does not currently collate data relating to founded or unfounded outcomes.
What an overworked social worker needs to do is close the file. But the mother is not allowing Tusla close the file, and she becomes a problem
“There are many data metrics collected in Tusla and many that are not,” says the agency. “As part of the overall reform of Tusla, the chief executive, Bernard Gloster, is . . . revisiting the data we collect.
“Reform of Tusla is under way in structure, practice and culture. As we improve our approach we will improve and further streamline the type of information that we produce and publish.”
Asked what she is seeing in the anecdotal experiences, Saidléar says mothers bring allegations of child sexual abuse or sexual violence to Tusla. When centres such as St Clare’s return a “no credible account given” finding, the abuse is unproven.
“Somehow, Tusla has to handle this because a child is involved. So it turns away from the alleged perpetrator and to the protective parent who is, in the vast majority of cases, the mother.
“Now you have a mother who is convinced her children are at risk. She fights for her children. She gets distressed, difficult. Literally, what an overworked social worker needs to do is close the file. But the mother is not allowing Tusla close the file, and she becomes a problem.
“So she is investigated, sent for psychiatric assessments and told she’s imagining it. If she won’t co-operate she’s told a family assessment will be carried out and she could lose her children.” The effect is that the mother feels she has been silenced.
“Mothers I talk to think they are going crazy, that they are the only ones. We may not be putting mothers in asylums or laundries anymore but we are locking them into a bureaucratic system, punishing them if they don’t behave, questioning their sanity. We have taken down the walls but we haven’t closed the asylum.”
Emotional, physical and sexual abuse
Nora had a turbulent childhood involving emotional, physical and sexual abuse. The Health Service Executive, and later Tusla, have remained in her life since she was in care as a teenager.
In 2015, living in a council house outside Dublin with her young son, she was struggling financially. In early 2016 her social worker suggested she place her child in voluntary care while she got work and prepared for his return.
“The social worker sounded like he was making sense,” she says. “But they’ll say things that sound professional, make mothers question our own ability. You wonder, ‘Why would they say that about me?’”
Nora agreed to a voluntary-care placement for six months, got work and during that time she found out she was pregnant. The father was violent and she got a barring order. Tusla suggested reducing her access to her son. She refused and asked for her child to be returned, which he was.
After her ex, the baby’s father, broke the barring order, arriving at the home late at night, her son was placed in the care of her sister, while Nora stayed with friends with the baby girl. This was unsustainable, however, and she returned home. The following day Tusla removed the baby from her care, deeming the home unsafe.
About the same time her sister, with whom she has a difficult relationship, surrendered her son into care. On the advice of Tusla, Nora says, she surrendered her council house and moved county to be close to her childhood foster family “for support”. She is now homeless and staying in a B&B.
Tusla told my barrister they don't believe I will be emotionally available, that my choice of partner endangers my kids. I have been single three years now
Concerned about Nora’s mental health, Tusla referred her to a clinical psychologist. The report, seen by The Irish Times, recommends the children be returned to Nora’s care with 12 months’ supervision.
“I am satisfied Nora can parent if given enough support,” it says. On her children: “The potential risk of harm of being returned home under supervision while the support package kicks in is significantly lower than the very real risk and evident early manifestation of trauma already experienced [by the children] in foster care.”
They have not been returned to her. Tusla, she says, is seeking full-care orders – the taking into care of both children until they are 18 – before the district court in the new year.
“Tusla told my barrister they don’t believe I will be emotionally available, that my choice of partner endangers my kids. I have been single three years now. They said my traumatic childhood has adversely affected me.”
Removing a child from mother’s care
Why does Tusla remove children from the care of their mothers? Dr Stephanie Holt, head of the school of social studies in Trinity College Dublin and an expert on domestic violence and child protection, says: “It takes a lot for Tusla to remove a child from either parent’s care.
“If anything Tusla could be criticised for not acting quickly enough. They will try everything from Meitheal, to family supports, to case conferences before they get to the point that they have to remove the child.” Meitheal is a multi-agency approach, led by Tusla, to support children who may have additional needs but where there is no child-protection concern.
Mothers become the inevitable focus, she says, as they are the protective parent. “At the same time it is a huge responsibility on someone if they cannot protect themselves. And if they can’t, if they don’t call the guards where there is domestic violence, then the perpetrator’s behaviour becomes their responsibility, which is really difficult.”
Though Tusla has the power to seek a barring order on behalf of women, this is “rarely used”, says Holt, as Tusla would have to enforce it.
Describing Tusla as “very well intentioned” she believes the entire childcare system “has struggled to understand how children experience domestic violence” and families’ need for ongoing support after perpetrators leave.
From a social-work perspective, when the perpetrator is out of the home the case may be closed. This is “a problem . . . because this in fact becomes the most vulnerable and risky time for her and her child, and when perhaps she needs the most support,” says Dr Holt.
This absence of critical support when a mother may be at her lowest ebb is often experienced by a mother as punitive, says Mary McDermott, co-chief executive of Safe Ireland, an umbrella group of refuges and domestic-violence services.
“A mother may be extremely vulnerable, chaotic even, as a result of violent trauma. She – and her children – need full acknowledgement that they are not to blame and [to be] assured of wrap-around specialist supports so they can regain their lives and fully recover.”
Where the mother is seen to “fail”, and children are seen to be at risk, there is “further punishment”, says McDermott. “This pattern is a repeat of a long-standing practice in this country: mother-blaming.”
Tusla insists care is considered only as a last resort and “only where it is in the best interests of the child”.
Mothers are held to a vastly higher standard than fathers, held accountable for all the difficulties within the families. Perpetrators thrive on that
“The primary goal in respect of reported harm or abuse of a child is to protect and safeguard that child from any future danger or harm,” the agency says. “We maximise every effort to keep that child safe while they continue to live with their family. In some cases, for a range of reasons, parents are not able to provide appropriate care and protection for their children, and assistance is needed to keep the children safe.
“There are many issues that can make it more difficult to protect a child, including worrying behaviour of the parent(s), and these can arise due to a multitude of factors.”
In the experience of Denise Dunne, assistant director of Adapt domestic-abuse services in Limerick, social workers’ responses to mothers experiencing domestic violence are mixed. “You can get some who really understand the impact of domestic violence and coercive control. They will work in a trauma-informed way to empower her to rebuild [the mother’s] and her children’s lives.
“Then there can be social workers asking us to monitor [the mother]. Our job is not to monitor her but to support her.”
Don Hennessy, relationship counsellor, author and director of the National Domestic Violence Intervention Agency, speaks for many in calling for greater focus on perpetrators of domestic violence and child sexual abuse, than on demanding that traumatised women pass a social worker’s or judge’s test of “good enough” mothering. “The women need protection,” he says.
“Mothers are held to a vastly higher standard than fathers, held accountable for all the difficulties within the families. Perpetrators thrive on that. They are kept out of the frame and all the problems and responsibility for solving them come back on the mother.”
Saidléar has “a lot of sympathy for Tusla and the position they are in”. She points to the well-rehearsed issues around funding, difficulties retaining social workers, high numbers of children without social workers as well as highly siloed structures. And it works within a culture that remains “hugely patriarchal”.
“Tusla do incredibly important work. When it comes to child protection they are the only show in town, literally saving lives.”
How representative the experiences of the mothers who spoke to The Irish Times are is unknown. “And that is the problem,” says Saidléar. “We know it is happening, but not how much – we won’t until we start opening this up and looking at it.”
