What's it like to grow up in Ireland today? UN officials visited this week to ask young people that question, writes Carl O'Brien
Bullying. Peer pressure. Boredom. Nowhere to hang out. Sex. Binge drinking and drug-taking. Exam stress and high expectations. Being ignored by adults. Token attempts at "youth consultation".
We may have the best educated young people in our history, with more money, more freedom and more possibilities than any previous generation. Yet there's no getting away from the fact that sometimes - and maybe increasingly so - it's hard to be a child.
But that's just part of the picture. More vulnerable groups such as young people who are separated from their families and seeking asylum, children with disabilities, and young people in State care face a whole series of other obstacles in their daily lives.
Members of a UN committee that oversees implementation of the Convention on the Rights of the Child got a flavour of what it's like to grow up in Ireland this week as they met a number of groups of young people.
The convention, ratified by almost every country in the world - except the US and Somalia - is a legally binding instrument which acknowledges that every child has a range of basic rights (see panel).
The Irish Government - which ratified the convention in 1992 - is due to be cross-examined this September on its progress in implementing the treaty. A final report, in which the UN will critically examine the State's performance, will be issued next year.
At the brightly-coloured Dublin headquarters of the Office of the Ombudsman for Children, UN officials Brent Parfitt, a Canadian with expertise in children's rights, and Lucy Smith, a Norwegian professor of law, are meeting different groups of children over the course of the day.
"Facilities for young people, it's the big issue," says Aoife May (14) from Kildare, a member of a panel of young people who helped to appoint the first Ombudsman for Children, Emily Logan.
"We're constantly being slated for anti-social behaviour or binge-drinking," adds Saoirse Reynolds, a graphic design student from Lucan, Co Dublin, who has just turned 20. "We've nothing in the area. There's no playground, no community centre. They're just putting up house after house after house." Despite being a generation more grown-up and sexually aware than ever before, they say there is still widespread ignorance about sex, especially among younger people.
Token efforts by adults, especially decision-makers, aimed at giving the impression of consultation with young people, are another major bugbear.
"We don't want to be just smiling faces in pictures - that drives us nuts," says Louise-Marie Byrne (19), a student from Walkinstown, of young people being asked to contribute their ideas for the development of a youth facility in that part of Dublin.
"There were brilliant plans for a whole floor, with smart cards, reversible sections, games rooms," she says. "In the end, it turned out as two tiny rooms, which you have to pay to use. And the developer was using the fact that young people were being consulted as a big thing."
If the atmosphere is bubbly and energetic with the Irish teenagers, it suddenly turns quiet and sombre in the UN committee's next meeting. Officials are meeting unaccompanied young people seeking asylum from Africa and Asia.
The 10 young people, who range in age from around 15 to 18, have been living here for several years. All are still waiting for a final decision on their applications. Most have perfect English - some even have broad Irish accents - and wear the same trendy clothes as any other Irish teenager.
"I'm sleeping in the same room as five others," says one young male asylum seeker, who says he has turned 18 recently. "I only got one hour's sleep last night. There's fighting, drinking, all sorts of things going on." He is sharing with adults because authorities didn't believe he was a teenager when he arrived a few years ago. As a result, he says, he has been refused entry into the school system. "I'm spending my time, eating, drinking, sleeping . . . it's all you can do," he says.
For most of those who complete their Leaving Cert, going on to university isn't an option regardless of their results. Because they don't have leave to remain here, they have no entitlement to third-level education, they say.
Reaching the age of 18 is another worry. Secondary school has been the single source of stability for a large number of them who live their lives in huge uncertainty. Yet when they finish school they are plunged into an adult world with little or no support.
There are some positives. The clothes provided for them are great, they say, and many say they have Irish friends. But the loneliness of not being able to socialise properly is a major issue.
"You can't go bowling, or go to the cinema. Everything is expensive. We get an allowance of €19 a week. It goes very quickly," says a 17-year-old boy.
Later in the day, the UN officials meet a larger group of teenagers in State care. The atmosphere is raucous and giddy as they talk across each other, against a background of rapid-fire wisecracks.
The majority are in residential care and have been living apart from their parents for several years, although most maintain regular contact with them. Their experiences differ. Some are relentlessly negative about their State care and complain about the attitude of care staff, flaws in complaints procedures and the difficulties of not being able to have friends stay over for the night. Others are more positive, paying tribute to care staff and expressing appreciation for the safety and security of the care system.
One thing, however, is common to almost all: the lack of any regular contact with a social worker.
"My social worker's always sick," says one 16-year-old girl. "Or else you're lucky if they see you once every four months," chimes another.
"The last time I tried to contact my social worker, I was told they were in Australia," says a 17-year-old boy, with a scowl.
They are hopeful, for the most part, about the future. Some of the boys say they want to become electricians or plumbers. The girls are shyer about what they want to do. But there is a spirit and optimism among them all, despite the difficulties of living in residential care away from their families.
UN officials, faced with the task of assessing the performance of countries in implementing their obligations contained in the convention, take all these comments on board.
Ombudsman for Children Emily Logan, who invited the UN committee to Ireland, says the visit is a chance for officials to hear first-hand from children with diverse backgrounds about their day-to-day lives.
For people such as Brent Parfitt, who will sit on the UN committee assessing Ireland's progress on respecting children's rights later in the year, the various articles of the convention are much more than abstract branches of human rights law. They are important principles which will have a profound influence on helping children reach their full potential.
He gives the example of a "democratic school" in Denmark, where children are involved in decision-making over everything from how the curriculum is taught to what teachers are appointed.
"What amazed me about that school was that the children really enjoyed learning, they were excited about being involved in these decisions. There were broad goals, such as achieving the national standard through the exams, but how they got there was in their hands. The children didn't want to go home in the evenings. And there are waiting lists to get into the school. That's what learning should be like."
Children's rights are sometimes portrayed as pitting young people's rights against adult's, or eroding the traditional authority of parental figures. Parfitt rebuts these points and insists that respect for children's rights ultimately benefits everyone.
"Children get to learn that not only do we all have rights, but we need to ensure others' rights are respected; that in society, we all have mutual obligations," he says. "The more respect we show for children, the more respect we show for our colleagues. It's like a huge snowball that builds and builds. The lessons they learn at this age last a lifetime."