It’s incredible that the children’s act still prevents you and people who suffered the same indignity from serving on jury or being in politics. The fact that a child of four can be tried and convicted of a crime in the first place beggars belief. I hope that with the help of high profile people such as yourself, the future children of Ireland are taught about this(important piece of) history of abuse as a part of the school curriculum.

Chris

I am another real victim of Artane, that’s still ashamed to name myself by my real name. The following is a verse I wrote of how even after (counselling & in my case, bullied & hurried redress) this abuse still makes me feel as if I was beheaded by jihad’s, because believe me, since I was eleven I have felt “Dead”.

My verse in poetry would probably represent every single one of the victim’s & I dedicate it to each one of them.

“The Story of me and Many More, A Child after the before”

I am the sky- whose cloak will not blue

I am the sea- whose tide will not turn

I am the moon- whose silver will not hue

I am the sun- whose orange will not burn

I am the day- whose light will not bright

I am the night- whose darkness will not light

I am the tree- whose root is dead

I am the flower- without a head

I am the fish- whose fins will not breathe

I am the bird- who will not eat seed

I am the scab- that just will not heal

I am the neural- that just cannot feel

I am a smile – that remains frozen

I am a choice- that was never chosen

I am a year – without a season

I am a reason – without a reason

I am a whisper – that cannot vibrate

I am a scream – that cannot migrate

I am a prison – whose cell will not open

I am the cell – where space is so choking

I am a house – that has no foundation

I am a country – without a nation

I am the hell – that is in my centre

I am the heaven – that has no banter

I am Christmas – without its infant

I am a gift box – without its present

I am the present – that is now past

I am the past – that is now present

I am a heart – without a soul

I am the secret – never told

I was lost – and still not found

I was frightened – no solace around

I am a curse – no man can swear

I am the abused – no one was there

I done no crime -1 served a dictum

I done no wrong – I am a victim

I was the wrong – that was never right

I was defenceless -1 could not fight

I was that child – who was un-nurtured

I am the man- that still is tortured

A child abused- a man confused

Just one of many- that were used

To those of you -who escaped this ordeal?

If you were I -this is how it would feel?

To be a CHILD ABUSED.

I was a happy child once before

Then someone came and closed that door

Since then I just gave up hoping

That it would ever again open

You SEE I am a CHILD ABUSED.

& that’s a title I didn’t choose,

& the MAN I walk around as today

Is still clouded by the “ABUSE” that just won’t go AWAY…!!!

Can I point out just about here, that I died in my ELEVENTH year! (RIP)

Written by an abuse victim with the pseudonym, Jaker?

Jaker Ray. Dundalk, Ireland.