I don’t think it is right to call them schools. This was my reaction to watching the RTÉ documentary Leathered, exploring the brutal corporal punishment inflicted on Irish children, especially young boys, in Irish schools during mostly the 60s and 70s.
Even ‘corporal punishment’ might not be the right term as it implies at least some sense of proportionality, some sense that it was done for the children’s own good. What Leathered really documented was a reign of terror in Irish ‘schools’ – holding pens for boys and teenagers who lived in fear every single day that they would be next. That they would be the ones punched across the face or hit so hard with a leather strap that their bodies bruised and blood ran down their uniform.
Maybe some of the boys learned something, I mean that must have been the case. But this was all in constant terror and fear that pervaded the classroom in knowing that you could be next. That is the thing about terror, even if you are not the regular target, every child sitting their lives in dread. Their young body is put under continuous stress, cortisol levels always unnaturally high, for days and years on end. This is ruinous to the human body, as bad as any physical blow, worse perhaps as it is all buried so deep down inside. The trauma goes deep and long lasting.
So, sure, call them schools if you want. But you are being generous. As the Irish Times states, and for once I’m in agreement with, “Leathered is grim viewing, an unflinching indictment of Irish society – the secrets kept, the glances averted, the moral cowardice percolating through the collective psyche.”
Not everyone went along with it though, mothers objected, one running down the road after a Christian Brothers who had inflicted a particularly sadistic beating on her son with a pot of boiling water. And veteran campaigner and Reform co-founder Frank Crummey is one of those who tried to shout stop throughout the 1960’s and 70’s. They stood up while most stayed seated.
“In Cork, the poet and author Theo Dorgan and Mick Hannigan, talk about the abuse they experienced and witnessed at the North Monastery boys’ school. Hannigan describes seeing a Christian Brother land a blow to the side of Dorgan’s face that sent him sprawling. “It’s predator on prey,” Hannigan says. “You looked at a teacher the wrong way and you got a slap.”
Yes, I know Ireland was poor and it was tough, but the abuse that went on far exceeded what was legally permissible even at the time. As early as 1932, the Department of Education’s own rules on discipline stated that “only the principal teacher” or another person authorised for the purpose, should inflict Corporal Punishment. They knew it was inherently and legally wrong, but they did it anyway.
The Christian Brothers, who on earth can figure them out? I know it wasn’t all of them, but without proper research I’d wager to say it was quite a lot of them, perhaps even the majority who knew exactly what they were doing. Prowling the corridors looking for transgressors to terrorise, the absolute power they enjoyed over the terrified young boys. The sheer sadistic joy they took in beating them, the weak ones, maybe ones from very poor families. The intoxicating happiness they got from humiliating those they were supposed to be educating. It’s frightening to think about, chilling to behold.
Was this a legacy from the brutal British colonial rule – all the centuries of humiliation, the Penal laws, the genocidal famine, the military failures and sheer abuse that had been meted out, did that turn these people into monsters? Now, after Independence it was their time. Finally, they were the ones in charge, their authority total and unquestionable. The British made me do it, is hardly a defence. But others out there such as Gabor Mate for instance do talk about what intergenerational trauma such as slavery can do to a person. One can only speculate, and it doesn’t excuse the State bodies for letting these sadistic men operate this cycle of abuse.
What makes it so difficult, so bitter, is how the Christian Brothers utterly inverted the values of Christianity they should have been living. Brother evokes a sense of togetherness, caring and fraternity. A Christian is one who follows Christ. And what of Christ, The One the brothers claimed to follow.
If He was anything He was The One who took on the bullies. One of the most loved stories is where Jesus saves the woman caught in adultery. She has been brought before Jesus by the Pharisees. You can imagine again their sense of power, see them dripping with moral self-righteousness. Not only have they caught this woman in flagrante delicto where the punishment is clear and swift but even better, they can use her to ensnare Jesus, this upstart, this challenger, just who the hell does He think He is? So, they ask Jesus what should we do with her – you know the punishment in Jewish law, stoning. A terrible death.
Jesus took his time. He stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger. Go ahead and punish her He says. But let the one who has never sinned cast the first stone. Well, not even a Pharisee can claim this, those who spend their days pouring over Mosaic law to dream up ever more rules to annoy people with. So, they leave one by one but the woman stays. Of course, Jesus has not sinned and could have cast a stone but He doesn’t. He tells her go and sin no more.
His actions towards children were telling. At one point Jesus is with a large crowd once again, people desperate for his healing touch. Some parents bring their children, wanting them to be blessed. But the disciples, being the minders that they were, tell the parents to keep the children back. They rebuke the parents. Jesus intervenes, telling the disciples, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” We are then told, And He laid his hands on them and went away. You sense the gentleness.
It’s a long way from leathering.