Latest news with #Thompsons
New York Times
07-04-2025
- Sport
- New York Times
Celtic Boys Club abuse case settled: ‘A significant milestone' after 50 years of pain
'This is a significant milestone and each of our clients will no doubt have differing emotions at this stage,' Laura Connor, a partner at Thompsons Solicitors Scotland, tells The Athletic. Her firm last week agreed a seven-figure settlement with Scottish champions Celtic on behalf of 22 victims, who were sexually abused at Celtic Boys Club in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, in one of the first American-style class action group litigations of its kind in Scotland. There are a total of 28 claimants in the group, and Thompsons hope the remainder will be resolved by the end of the year. Advertisement The civil compensation process began in 2017 and Celtic repeatedly claimed that Celtic Boys Club — a prolific feeder team of the men's first team for several decades since its inception in 1966 — was a 'separate entity' and therefore they were not responsible for the abuse that happened. The settlement came with no admission of liability by the club, though in 2020 Celtic expressed their 'great sympathy' over allegations and said they 'take these extremely seriously because of the historic contacts between the two organisations'. 'It is difficult to quantify but the delays have likely caused the injuries to be worse, in my opinion, than they would have been had a swift settlement and apology been made, an admission and acceptance of what had happened,' says Connor. 'If that had all been done at an early stage, I don't think our clients would have experienced the same worsening of injuries as they have done.' A further eight cases are still outstanding which mainly relate to abuse by former coach Jim McCafferty. In 2019 he admitted 12 charges related to child sex abuse against 10 teenage boys between 1972 and 1996, before he died in prison in 2022, aged 76. Celtic issued a statement last week, which read: 'Celtic football club can confirm that a number of legal claims in the group proceedings against the club have been resolved. We are hopeful that settlement can be reached with the remaining group members shortly. 'For some time, we have sought to work with the group members' lawyers to reach a resolution. The club acknowledges the strength of the survivors of abuse who have come forward, and hope that this resolution may help to bring them some closure. 'Celtic football club is appalled by any form of historic abuse and has great sympathy for those who suffered abuse and for their families. The club is very sorry that these events took place at Celtic Boys Club.' Allegations of abuse at Celtic Boys Club stretch back more than 50 years. They mainly centre around James 'Jim' Torbett, who founded Celtic Boys Club in 1966 — the year before Celtic became the first British team to win the European Cup — and Frank Cairney, who joined in 1971 after being asked to run the youth side by legendary manager Jock Stein. Torbett was first jailed in 1998 but it was not until November 2016, when former Crewe player Andy Woodward waived his anonymity to reveal he was sexually abused as a child by former coach Barry Bennell, that the subject was brought out into the open. Advertisement The National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (NSPCC) set up a hotline with the English FA to help survivors across the country who had experienced sexual abuse. More than 860 calls were received in the first week. Greg Clarke, the FA chairman at the time, described it as a 'tidal wave' of allegations. The Scottish FA announced its own investigation into historical child abuse, which was published in 2021, although many of the related claims could not be included at the time due to ongoing legal issues. Torbett's first conviction came in 1998 when he was jailed for two years after being found guilty of acts of shameless indecency between 1968 and 1974. That related to three former Celtic Boys Club players, James McGrory, David Gordon and former Scotland international turned radio broadcaster, Alan Brazil. Brazil gave evidence against Torbett in court and recounted the abuse he suffered in an interview with The Times in 2020: 'I've only hated one person in my life and that's Jim Torbett. For as long as he's alive, there will be a shadow hanging over me.' Fresh allegations were made in a 2017 BBC Scotland documentary, which included testimony from survivors who waived their anonymity and became the first to allege that further abuse took place in Torbett's second spell at Celtic Boys Club. That sparked a new police inquiry, leading to Torbett being handed a six-year prison term in 2018 for abusing three children during his second spell at Celtic Boys Club during the 1980s. He was also sentenced to three years in prison in May 2023 for abusing Gordon Woods in 1967, who has been vocal about the need for Celtic to apologise publicly. Torbett was one of nine former coaches convicted for the abuse committed at Celtic Boys Club. Cairney was acquitted on similar charges in 1998 but two decades later, he was found guilty of abusing eight boys while running St Columba's Boys Guild in Lanarkshire and the under-16 team at Celtic Boys Club. Speaking in court in 2018, Cairney claimed it was ludicrous, denying his victims any form of closure. Advertisement Sheriff Daniel Kelly QC (now KC) paid tribute to the bravery shown by the survivors. 'I commend these men who had the courage to come to court and give evidence as to what happened to them when they were young footballers that you coached,' he told Cairney. 'What was striking about their evidence was it seemed as vivid to them as if it occurred yesterday and I recognise how difficult it must have been for them to relive that moment under public scrutiny.' It was in 2017 that the first survivor contacted Thompsons, the same time the allegations were intimated to Celtic. In October 2021, when the class action litigation was launched, Patrick McGuire, partner at Thompsons, hoped it would serve as a wake-up call to Celtic. 'I know of no other similar group actions, or involving such a large number of claimants, against any other club in Europe,' he said. There was a poignant line in the Scottish FA's harrowing 191-page report from February 2021, which heard 33 personal accounts from people aged between six and 16 across Scottish football at the time of the alleged offences. 'Apology should be made not just because the review recommends it but more importantly because it is the right thing to do,' it read. A number of clubs subsequently apologised but Celtic did not add to their earlier statement at the time, apart from in September 2023 when they confirmed they were in discussions with the lawyers representing those abused at Celtic Boys Club. The report stated it was not concerned with culpability or liability, that this was about accountability and responsibility. 'Who in Scottish football knew about these matters at the time? What did they know? What did they do?' Celtic have still not admitted liability, which puts their continued avoidance of liability in stark contrast to Manchester City's handling of Bennell's abuse in the 1970s and 1980s. City launched a 'survivors' scheme' which paid out mostly five-figure compensation sums to former players but, crucially, around 20 received personal, face-to-face apologies from the directors of the club. Advertisement The agreement is without an admission of liability from Celtic but Thompsons had always believed that there was compelling evidence to show that the boys' club and the football club were inextricably linked. 'That is what I would say the compensation reflects and what our clients can take from the compensation,' Connor says. 'They wanted an apology for what had happened. The apology that was also desired by the point of settlement related to how the cases had been defended and how long it had been defended for.' It has taken another three and a half years to get to this point before Celtic agreed an out-of-court settlement, which took the overall process to eight years — in addition to the decades of trauma they have lived with. A new proof/trial date to hear evidence had not been set as negotiations had been ongoing for 18 months. The previous proof was set to take place in October 2023 to deal with a preliminary point in relation to whether the defender could actually receive a fair trial, which is a common defence taken in historical abuse cases, as they claimed there were documents that they believed would show the distinction between Celtic Boys Club and Celtic Football Club were missing. That would have been an opportunity to lead evidence but the hearing was discharged because Celtic indicated shortly before it that they wished to explore settlement discussions and so the case moved to those considerations. 'It was always in the hands of the defender to settle the case at any time,' says Connor. 'They could have done it at any point since the claims were intimated to them. The part that they would have not had such control over was our valuation of the cases and gathering the evidence in relation to the injuries and the losses. That can take many months to do, or a year or more. Advertisement 'They wouldn't have had control over that part, but it certainly was within their control to admit at an early stage, engagement in settlement discussions, make that intention clear and put forward an offer. They didn't need to wait for us to value cases, they could have made that first move had they wanted to do so — although that last point would have been unusual.' It was only when the Childhood Abuse Limitation Act (CALA) 2017 was passed in the Scottish Parliament, removing the three-year time bar on abuse cases, that Thompsons could pursue a class action. CALA allows groups of two or more people with the same, or similar, claims to raise a single action in the court of session and was brought into law in Scotland in 2020. Two years later, Lord Arthurson ruled that the legal criteria for allowing the action to proceed had been met for 22 former Celtic Boys Club players to seek compensation for the abuse they experienced. 'From a legal perspective, it has been really interesting to be involved with,' says Connor, who also used the class action method when representing more than 700 former tea pickers in Kenya. 'The benefit it gave us is that the common issues of liability could be addressed for the period during which all the cases happened. If a case related to someone at the Boys Club being abused in the 1970s and another in the 1990s we could consider that entire period, whereas if we had raised each case individually, which was the only option prior to the group proceedings, it is very difficult to bring in any evidence into the case outwith the period specific to that case.' The criminal convictions of Torbett and Cairney in 2018 provided the foundations for the civil case, albeit there were not criminal convictions in all of the cases. 'As there were so many criminal convictions, they didn't have to prove the abuse happened as we claimed,' Connor says. 'It is taken as fact when there is a conviction. Advertisement 'That is part of the case we would normally have to prove but that had already been done so the main focus of this case was whether or not Celtic were responsible for that abuse.' The Scottish FA's report into historical child abuse, published in 2021, mentions 11 professional clubs including Celtic. Is there the possibility that more survivors from Celtic Boys Club could come forward and join the action, or that former youth players at other clubs could come together and pursue justice the same way? 'I'm afraid I don't have a straightforward answer,' Connor says, 'but I always welcome survivors contacting me from any type of background to discuss their individual case. Every case is so individual that I couldn't give a specific answer. 'There is always the possibility depending on evidence. One of the significant distinctions with the Celtic action as opposed to other clubs is that the perpetrators are still alive and have been convicted. Whereas that is absent with other clubs so the availability of wider evidence and the legal landscape has to be considered.'
Washington Post
22-03-2025
- General
- Washington Post
Who gets housing, and who is ‘disposable'?
Celeste Walker's housing crisis began in the spring of 2018, when the two-bedroom house she was renting for $850 a month in East Point, a suburb of Atlanta, went up in flames. After she and her three children spent a few nights in a hotel paid for by the Red Cross, Celeste struggled to find an affordable place to rent on her income as a warehouse worker. When she applied for a smaller apartment that would cost $1,025 a month, she was swiftly rejected. Celeste discovered that the private-equity real estate firm that owned her now-uninhabitable rental had served an eviction notice after she refused to pay two months' rent to break the lease after the fire. Kara Thompson, an EKG technician at an Atlanta hospital, was pushed into crisis after complaining about the broken water heater in her two-bedroom rental. After a month of struggling to keep herself and her four young children clean without hot water, she threatened to withhold rent until her landlord fixed the problem. But landlord-friendly Georgia didn't require property owners to guarantee habitability or forbid them from 'retaliatory evictions.' Soon Kara, too, would have an eviction on her record that made it next to impossible to rent another apartment. The Walkers and the Thompsons — both families led by single Black working mothers — quickly found themselves in a downward spiral of housing precarity, one step away from sleeping on the street. The Walkers spent 18 months in a room at an extended-stay hotel that cost more per month than their burned-down house, before falling one rung further down, to a dilapidated rooming house. The Thompsons regularly slept in Kara's Toyota Avalon when they couldn't afford even the cheapest hotel rooms. Despite their lack of stable housing, neither the Walkers nor the Thompsons would be considered officially homeless under the federal government's current definition. Only people living on the street or in shelters fall into this narrow category. Research suggests that the total population of people experiencing homelessness in the United States — including people living in cars or hotel rooms, or doubled-up with friends or family — is several times larger than the official figure, which was 770,000 in 2024. 'There Is No Place for Us: Working and Homeless in America,' by journalist and anthropologist Brian Goldstone, shines a light on what the author calls the 'shadow realm' of working people who are not considered officially homeless but lack a fixed place to sleep at night. As Goldstone writes, in the popular imagination homelessness is linked to 'individual pathology' — primarily mental illness and substance use disorders, but also 'laziness' or an unwillingness to hold down a job. Americans cling to the idea that if we work hard enough, not only will we avoid homelessness, but we will one day become homeowners. Indeed, the myth of the American Dream depends on a decoupling of homelessness and employment. But Goldstone exposes how working families like the Walkers and the Thompsons, 'besieged by a combination of skyrocketing rents, low wages, and inadequate tenant protections … are becoming the new face of homelessness in the United States.' The five Atlanta-area families he follows sleep in their cars, on the floors and couches of relatives' and friends' crowded apartments, or in exorbitantly priced extended-stay hotels and rooming houses riddled with vermin and mold. They tell themselves that these arrangements are temporary, but with their eviction records and bad credit scores — as well as low wages that don't keep up with rents in a rapidly gentrifying Atlanta — true housing security is beyond their reach. By compassionately telling these families' stories and excavating the systemic forces behind their housing insecurity, 'There Is No Place for Us' shifts the paradigm on homelessness, revealing how America's disinvestment in public housing and relentless pursuit of free-market growth has come at the terrible expense of poor working families. To report 'There Is No Place for Us,' Goldstone drew on his background in anthropology, spending more than two years immersed in the lives of five families. He observed them in their hotel rooms and the apartments they managed to rent for stretches of time. He accompanied them to work, family gatherings and visits to the Gateway Center, the 'coordinated entry' hub for accessing the woefully limited assistance that public agencies and nonprofits are able to offer to homeless people in Atlanta. Goldstone stitches together a textured and extraordinarily detailed narrative of each family's multiyear struggle to keep a roof over their heads. The effect is reminiscent of 'Random Family' (2003), Adrian Nicole LeBlanc's much-acclaimed portrait of life in a poor neighborhood in the Bronx overtaken by the drug trade. Like the Walkers and the Thompsons — and 93 percent of homeless families in Atlanta — the three other families Goldstone profiles are Black. The adults range in age from their early 20s to their mid-40s, and are all low-wage workers; they support children ranging from infancy to teenage years. Three of the families have deep roots in Atlanta, a city that was 67 percent Black in the early 1990s and is now 47 percent Black. As Goldstone recounts each family's trials, he seamlessly weaves in explanations of the systemic reasons behind them. He explains, for instance, how Britt Wilkinson, born and raised in Atlanta, faces a far more difficult housing market than the one her family knew for decades. Wilkinson, a mother of two who works in food service, spent the early years of her 1990s childhood in the East Lake Meadows public housing complex, where five generations of her family lived. By the end of that decade, the complex was demolished to make way for the redevelopment of an adjacent golf course. Housing has been an issue for Wilkinson and her mother ever since. As Goldstone explains, this family was experiencing the consequences of the end of the federal government's relatively brief experiment in subsidizing low-income housing at scale. Complexes that had been erected in the New Deal era to provide affordable housing for White working-class people had, by the 1970s, become majority-Black and highly stigmatized. The federal government began to cut funding, leading to the deterioration of complexes and eventually their demolition. 'The federal government had created the very conditions that were later pointed to as evidence of the 'failure' of public housing,' Goldstone writes. In place of publicly owned housing projects came the Housing Choice Voucher Program, popularly known as Section 8, which left housing for the poor up to private landlords. As Wilkinson found when she was miraculously selected for a voucher after years of waiting, they are increasingly difficult to use in Atlanta, where gentrification has pushed up rental prices. Since Wilkinson's childhood, Atlanta has successfully employed tax incentives and other public subsidies to spur private investment and development. This 'engineered renewal,' Goldstone explains, has displaced lower-income Atlantans farther and farther from the city's core, which is now studded with luxury housing units that make up 94 percent of the new apartments built in the city over the past decade. Wilkinson's much-awaited Section 8 voucher expired before she could find a landlord who would accept it, and her family was back to couch-hopping. Throughout 'There Is No Place for Us,' Goldstone makes clear that the Reagan era's 'neoliberal revolution — marked by large-scale privatization, massive tax cuts for the wealthy, and major reductions in social spending' — laid the groundwork for the conditions that push families like Wilkinson's into homelessness. Predatory industries have cropped up to maximize profit on vulnerable people once they fall into crisis. Worst are the extended-stay hotels relied on by four of the five families Goldstone followed. One double-income family with bad credit and an eviction on their record came to see their room at an Extended Stay America as an 'expensive prison.' The eight months they lived there in 2020, as they tried and failed to be approved for an apartment, cost them $17,000. That year, Extended Stay America raked in $96 million in profits; it was soon purchased by Blackstone for $6 billion. The extended-stay hotel business is booming in 'places where working people are most likely to be deprived of housing,' Goldstone writes. The people who end up languishing in these places are at the bottom of a 'housing caste system,' and the hotels cash in on their desperation and lack of other options, often charging twice as much as the apartments in the area that won't rent to their customers. Sarah Jones, a senior writer at New York magazine, says this class of people is seen as 'disposable.' In 'Disposable: America's Contempt for the Underclass,' Jones grapples with how the covid-19 pandemic exposed preexisting societal conditions that leave certain groups of people especially vulnerable. This includes those experiencing 'official' homelessness — Jones notes that New York City's shelter system, for instance, had an age-adjusted covid mortality rate that was 50 percent higher than the city's cumulative rate by February 2021. But even before the pandemic, officially homeless people were dying prematurely — their life expectancy is just 48. Indeed, as Jones writes, 'trends in COVID mortality were built on long-standing social inequalities,' meaning the virus caused disproportionate harm not just to people experiencing homelessness but also to seniors, people with disabilities, poor people, 'essential' low-wage workers, Black and Indigenous communities, and incarcerated people. Jones forcefully argues that our country's capitalist system deems the deaths of such people acceptable. Throughout the book, she draws on Friedrich Engels's theory of 'social murder' — which posits that society is guilty of murder when a worker dies a premature and unnatural death — as well as the theory of social Darwinism, to lay the blame for covid deaths on our economy's relentless quest for profit. 'Disposable' lacks the deep, sustained reporting and detailed narratives that drive 'There Is No Place for Us.' But five years after the World Health Organization declared covid a pandemic, Jones's book stands as a reminder of the lessons our country has willfully ignored — an especially stark one with Donald Trump back in the White House and further shredding the social safety net. Both 'Disposable' and 'There Is No Place for Us' force readers to reckon with how American society has drawn lines that assume certain people are undeserving of security, in health and in housing. Our calculus rests on a capitalistic system that pushes profits to those at the very top while inflicting suffering and even death on those at the bottom. 'We have taken it for granted that housing is a commodity, a vehicle for accumulating wealth, and that the few who own it will invariably profit at the expense of the many who need it,' Goldstone writes toward the end of his book. We could just as easily, he and Jones argue, take for granted that housing and health are human rights and public goods, and that all levels of government should invest in them as such. We could take for granted that none of us is disposable. Kristen Martin is a cultural critic based in Philadelphia and the author of 'The Sun Won't Come Out Tomorrow: The Dark History of American Orphanhood.' Working and Homeless in America By Brian Goldstone. Crown. 420 pp. $30 America's Contempt for the Underclass By Sarah Jones. Avid Reader. 287 pp. $30
