I grew up in
a small village in County Kildare. We were a close knit, happy and staunchly
Catholic family. My father was a businessman and my mother a housewife. One of
my earliest memories of family life is kneeling every evening to say the
Rosary, even visitors would join in. We would attend Mass each Sunday in our
local church where I was an altar boy. My mother would organise the annual
pilgrimage to Knock for the local area. My parents would often entertain
priests and counted some as their closest of friends. My mother in particular
had a very strong faith and would pray for hours after we went to bed. As a
child I was taught to have respect and reverence for priests and religious. I
was a happy boy and according to members of my family, always had a smile on my
face. I had quite a sheltered and cosseted childhood.
In 1975 I was sent to Newbridge College, an
all-boys boarding school, as my parents wanted to give me the best education
available at the time. My older brother also attended. When I started in
Newbridge my baby sister had just been born and I missed home desperately. My
sister is here today and her strength and courage have inspired me on many
occasions. My grades for my first year were very good, although there were
aspects of boarding school life I found ‘unusual’. The priests were surrogate
parents and some of them took their role very seriously indeed, particularly
when it came to ‘special’ boys. Just after
Christmas 1976 I returned to Newbridge College. On the afternoon of Saturday 15th January, Patrick McCabe changed the path of my life forever.
After the sexual assault I reported it to my Dean who in turn reported it to a priest, who had abused me during my first year. After giving this priest an account of what had happened to me, he again abused me in his office that same night.
For me it
was a turning point, initially I was shocked, confused and nervous. I didn’t
know who to trust. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I isolated myself from
the other boys and when I came home at weekends, I was quiet and shy. My
parents had been told by my Headmaster Vincent Mercer that if they “didn’t talk
about what happened, it would go away”. My parents could see the change taking
place within me and they were devastated. They had tried to give me a good
foundation for my future and instead they felt responsible for sending me into
a lion’s den.
Apart from
how I was feeling, I watched my mother with tears in her eyes almost every time
she looked at me. My father on the other hand could barely look at me at all. I
don’t doubt they both loved me. As young parents they were facing the total
betrayal of people that they deeply respected and trusted. How heart-breaking
must it be to watch your young, vulnerable child become the polar opposite of
what he was. They felt responsible, yet
powerless to help. They were told “not to talk about it” but on this occasion
it was not going to go away. My parents
silence was playing into the hands of an organisation that was supposed to be
the all-caring, all-Christian, and all-embracing but it turned out, the
Catholic Church, the very institution that formed my parents’ lives and indeed
formed all our lives, was the institution that brought our family life crashing
down and we would never as a family, be the same again.
I was taken
out of Newbridge College and then attended a co-educational day school in
Castledermot. I liked the company of girls but was always reluctant when it
came to forming relationships. I felt different. I was happy on the surface but
felt haunted by my experiences in Newbridge. I was popular with my school mates
but always felt dishonest because I carried a secret…a secret that no one
should speak of. I could not apply
myself at school and would often only take home a pencil case because I had
lost any real desire for learning. As a result my grades deteriorated and my
exam results were littered with E and F grades. These results were in stark
contrast to my grades in earlier years.
During this
time, my Mother had found her voice and embarked on her own personal crusade
for justice on my behalf. She visited many priests and Archbishops and started
telling anyone of importance about my experiences and the affect it was having
on the family. She was willing to speak out in the pursuit of acknowledgement
and perhaps healing. Unfortunately, Irish society at that time had no appetite
for the truth and she was dismissed by many for her inane ramblings. Not one so
called ‘Religious’ would give credence to her story but as the world now knows,
they did believe her, but they chose to handle it ‘in-house’.
I continued
to hide my secret, but as I got older the impact on me became greater. My
secret was shameful, thinking it was my fault and what did I do to make them
choose me? I brought shame on my family and I was struggling with my own
sexuality. For these reasons and more, I contemplated suicide at the age of 17.
I failed my Leaving Cert, failed all attempts at relationships but most
importantly, felt I had failed my family.
I was 21
when I left Ireland. I was on the run, but still unaware of what I was running
from. I arrived in London and drifted from one job to another and one address
to the next. I led a very promiscuous lifestyle with no regard for my own
health or that of others. At last I had escaped. I felt liberated, but I felt
very sad and lonely. After a while I realised that I hadn’t run away from my
problems, I had just relocated them. Even then,
nearly ten years after my abuse, it would be triggered each and every day by
the smallest of things. I was teaching myself to ‘file away’ the unwanted
images and memories and for the most part I was able to do so, at least enough to allow me to function
on a daily basis.
Both my
parents died within 3 years of each other, they were in their mid 50’s and died
suddenly. To this day I shoulder the guilt of their premature passing, as they
saw themselves responsible for my aimless meandering through life, added to
their own lives becoming so stressful after my experiences at Newbridge
College.
In 1987 I
was arrested by the Gardaí and taken to Newbridge Garda Station for demanding
from Newbridge college that they pay for my psychiatric treatment. I made a
statement about what happened to me. 10 years ago I was contacted by the Gardaí
who uncovered this 1987 statement. Suddenly I
was a child again and found it more difficult than ever before to face my
demons. This started a legal process
which I thought would be over in a short time but unfortunately it has taken
until today.
I made my first written statement 37 years ago and made my first statement
to the Gardaí 27 years ago. I am grateful to the few I met along the way who
paid genuine attention to my family and had my best interests at heart.
I have been
in counselling now for nearly 10 years and it has enabled me to start ‘filing
away’ again. It has removed the need for anti-depressant medication and I have
reduced my alcohol intake. In 2005 I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress
disorder by Dr Ann Leader at the Bon Secours Clinic in Glasnevin.
I feel my
life has been blighted by the events of the mid-seventies. I have waited nearly
37 years for acknowledgement and justice. In that time I have had 25 jobs and
as many addresses, I have experienced every emotion associated with
self-loathing. I bite my nails until they bleed. I do not attend church because
of their sheer hypocrisy and willingness to silence those within it for
breaking ranks and speaking the truth. The Catholic Church as an institution
cares about itself and its revenue stream.
I have
alienated family, friends and relationships. I apologise to whoever I may have
affected through the years. I am angry,
disillusioned and bitter towards the Church and authorities. However I have
also been blessed with supportive family and friends, some of whom are here
today and I will be eternally grateful for their love and support. I am also proud and very lucky to have a
supportive partner for the past 16 years, who accepts my shortcomings and is
always there, unconditionally, to pick up the pieces.
I know I cannot carry these emotions around with me forever, nor do I want to.I have tried all available methods to reduce the anger, bitterness and resentment.The only thing I have not tried is forgiveness.
I realise
forgiveness is a difficult process, that is why today is so important for me
and for the others like me, who don’t have the strength or courage to speak
out. I may never be able to forgive completely but I at least want to begin
some kind of healing process. I feel
that anger and resentment will cut off the air supply to our future contentment
and therefore we can never move forward….. With our own lives, or as a
society.
Today my voice is being heard
after a long and painful journey and I am going to use today as a springboard
for change. I am now 50 years old and I need to resolve so many issues. If I
can forgive those involved through the years then I am optimistic for the
future.I am not here to apportion
blame or to maintain what happened to me was worse than to many others, but
this is my life and because of what happened, the opportunities of youth were
taken away from me and my formation as an adult was adversely affected. I
regularly think about what I could have been.
I am sure we
all need to be forgiven for something. Forgiving does not mean forgetting but
if it makes me function normally in society and makes up for lost years, then I
believe it will be a necessary and important exercise.
In conclusion I want to mention all the boys and girls that I
think of so often. The boys and girls that have been too afraid or too ashamed
to come forward and expose the contamination within the Catholic Church and for
those who, because of legal process must compromise the truth so justice can be
done. We are all survivors, except some have a louder voice. There have been too
many days like today, too many victim impact statements read, too much
heartbreak for victims and their families. For every court statement read and every court sentence
given, I really believe at least one child is given the opportunity to live a
normal life.
I cry each time I hear a song called “Bui Doi” from the
musical Miss Saigon. It’s about
children born to American soldiers during the Vietnam War. Bui Doi means “the dust of life”
and is intended to bring an image to mind, of a child moving around aimlessly…. Like dust. This is how I have seen
myself and other victims for so many years and why the words mean so much to
me.
"These
kids hit walls on every side, They don’t belong in any place
Their secret they cannot hide, It’s
printed in their face
They’re called Bui Doi, The dust of
life
They are the living reminders of all
the good we failed to do
We can’t forget
Must not forget
That they are all our children too."
This statement is dedicated to my loving parents
Larry and Teresa Moran. R.I.P
