5 days ago
Teenage rape sentencing: Why it did not shock me
The sentencing of three boys, aged just 13, 15, and 18, for the rape and degradation of a 16-year-old girl at Limerick Racecourse stunned the country. But I wasn't shocked.
Horrified? Yes. Heartbroken? Absolutely. But shocked? No.
I'm not numb to this kind of violence. Because, as a young Irish woman and a youth justice worker, I've seen what leads to this. I've seen the misogyny, the silence, the denial. This wasn't a random act of evil. It was the inevitable result of a culture we keep excusing.
If you've watched Adolescence on Netflix, you've seen a dramatized version of the world many young people live in, and for those of us working with teens every day, it's not a TV show. It's daily life.
When I read the headline, I thought first of the girl. A child herself. Her words in court were devastating:
They not only took away the rest of my childhood, they took away the rest of my life.
Her words brought me back to my own experiences. Every woman has stories of when they were made uncomfortably conscious of their gender. Mine began at 17 years old when I stepped into national politics through a youth role. It was my first time in rooms full of powerful men. I'd gone to an all-girls school in Monaghan, and I wasn't prepared for the power dynamics I walked into.
My presence in politics wasn't about contribution; it was about optics. Often forced to the front of photos. My ambition made me a target for rumours and condescension. I wasn't alone. Many other young women were treated the same.
It would be wrong to suggest this behaviour was universal; it wasn't confined to one party, nor was it exclusive to men. In fact, some of the most entrenched gatekeeping I witnessed came from women who, consciously or not, upheld the very systems that marginalised others, often to safeguard their own position. My point is that this toxic culture has poisoned every level of society.
And now, I see that same power imbalance mirrored in the boys I work with. They didn't invent this culture, they absorbed it. In schools, sports, and online spaces. In silence. In jokes. In porn. In politicians. In the public figures who get caught abusing women and somehow end up with more followers.
Let the numbers speak because, according to the EU Fundamental Rights Agency, 35% of women in Ireland - more than one in three - have experienced abuse from an intimate partner. And that's just the ones who felt safe enough to speak up. This isn't rare. It's systemic. It's happening in homes, classrooms, group chats, sports clubs. It's not someone else's problem. It's ours.
After grieving for the girl, I thought about the boys. Not just those three but all of them.
The boys across the country who are growing up with no real understanding of sex, power, or consent. Boys who trade explicit images like they're memes. Boys who see girls as trophies, not people. And no, they're not monsters. They're kids. Sons. Brothers. Friends. Raised in a society that never taught them otherwise.
During the trial, it came out that the boys showed no remorse. No understanding of what they'd done. That's not just a moral failing. That's a societal failing. Of education. Of parenting. Of culture.
Many of the boys I work with come from homes where anger is the only emotion that gets attention. Some were exposed to porn before they ever had a conversation about respect or boundaries. Others carry trauma they don't have words for. This doesn't excuse what they do — but it helps explain how we stop it.
And it's not just home life anymore. Screens are raising our kids. Phones, tablets, TikTok, Telegram. The internet has become the loudest voice in their lives and it's saying the worst things.
As a 23-year-old, I fight my phone addiction. But for 12-year-olds? It's rewiring their brains. Social skills are stunted. Violence is normalised. Porn is education.
Méabh Cusack: 'Every woman has stories of when they were made uncomfortably conscious of their gender. Mine began at 17 years old when I stepped into national politics through a youth role.'
The grooming of children is happening in plain sight, and they're using slang and codes most adults can't decipher.
And then there's the influencers. A loud, toxic few are flooding boys' feeds with a gospel of dominance and emotional numbness. They preach that empathy is weakness, that women are objects, that status is everything. And thanks to algorithms, their poison is everywhere.
To many boys I meet, these men are role models. Their ideas are warping a generation. Warping what it means to be a man. Warping how boys see sex, love, and strength.
But no matter how vigilant parents are, they can't do it alone. And too many still cling to the myth: 'Not my child.' That mindset has cost too much already.
So what now?
We act. Shatter the 'not my child' myth. Your son might be kind, smart, polite, and still capable of causing harm if no one teaches him otherwise. Just because your son or daughter doesn't speak to you about these things, doesn't mean they are clueless. Don't wait for a headline. Teach consent early.
Not in secondary school. In primary. Before the internet does. Before porn does. The updated SPHE (Social, Personal and Health Education) curriculum is a start, but it must go further. We need structured, age-appropriate, compulsory lessons that go beyond vague messages about 'respect'.
Children deserve blunt, honest education on boundaries, body autonomy, and emotional literacy. If we don't teach the truth early, the internet will teach a lie louder.
Fund youth support and early intervention. Youth diversion programmes are lifelines. Right now, we're only catching kids after they hit the justice system. That's too late.
Introduce legislation like France's SRENS law. We need strict legal frameworks that hold platforms accountable for allowing toxic influencers to radicalise boys online.
France's SRENS law gives authorities the power to shut down websites promoting hate, and protect minors from being exposed to pornographic content. Ireland needs similar tools to protect young minds from digital harm.
Because if we don't change course, more of our daughters will be hurt and more of our sons will become headlines. The Limerick case should break our hearts.
But more importantly, it should ignite us. If we want to raise boys who don't harm, we must protect our kids and raise boys who understand care, consent, and emotional strength.
That work begins now, in our homes, schools, clubs, and communities. It begins with us.
And no, I wasn't shocked by that headline. That's exactly why we should all be terrified.
Méabh Cusack is a youth justice worker
