Reflecting on Ireland's Institutional Past: Culture, Class and Marginalisation
For this issue, Rupture’s Patrick Flynn was pleased to interview Dr Sarah-Anne Buckley, an internationally recognised expert in modern Irish social history, gender history, feminist history, the history of childhood and youth and child welfare, on the Mother and Baby homes and the legacy of institutionalisation of twentieth-century Ireland.
Patrick Flynn: What were the origins of the Mother and Baby homes and industrial schools in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries?
Sarah Anne Buckley: “Mother and baby institutions were set up from 1921 as both private and public institutions. Women often entered them whilst pregnant and remained there until the birth of their child and for some, months or years afterwards. Often their child was forcibly removed and there is an interconnected history involving boarding out of children and adoption practices. Single women had long been stigmatised for becoming pregnant and although these institutions were new in terms of targeting pregnant women specifically, they are part of a longer history of institutionalisation in Ireland. The histories of mother and baby institutions are interwoven and connected to those of other institutions including the foundling institutions, the Magdalen Laundries/Asylums and County Institutions. One of the earliest institutions was the City of Dublin Workhouse which began to receive children aged between five and sixteen years from 1703 ostensibly to educate them in the Protestant faith and to apprentice them to Protestant masters. In 1725 the institution was reorganised as the Dublin Foundling Hospital and Workhouse, and in 1730 it began admitting children of all ages, with infants usually delegated to the care of wet-nurses in the community. On the direction of Archbishop Boulter, Protestant Primate of Ireland, a ‘revolving basket was placed on the gate of the hospital into which unwanted children could be put anonymously by day or by night’. During the first seven years of the hospital’s existence 4,025 children were received, 3,235 of which died. Even given the high infant mortality rate at the time, a mortality of almost 83% is indicative of gross neglect and overcrowding. In 1747, a foundling hospital was opened in Cork City, and another opened in Galway in the early nineteenth century. Later in the nineteenth century we see the increasing development of what Jim Smith terms the ‘architecture of containment’ with industrial schools, reformatory schools, an increasing number of Magdalene institutions and of course the workhouses all catering for the poor, the stigmatised and historically marginalised groups. By the time the mother and baby institutions began to operate the range of individuals and groups associated with incarceration had certainly expanded.
Patrick: What sections of society were most impacted by these institutions, and why did the Irish state favour children entering into them during the period instead of remaining with families in some cases?
Sarah-Anne: The short answer is all sections of society were engaged in some manner, but certainly marginalised groups suffered disproportionately as inmates and social class, race, ethnicity, and gender affected both the individuals who were sent and their treatment both in the institution and afterwards. Disabled, mixed-race, Mincéir (Traveller), and poor women experienced more severe discrimination. Certain institutions we can see from the entry books were predominantly occupied with daughters or labourers/unskilled workers and thousands of children were sent to industrial schools for petty crimes or most worryingly, for school non-attendance as they worked to support the family income. For those in the middle classes or establishment, there was a sense that these institutions were considered by many to be ‘charitable’ and part of the broader welfare system. Much of this understanding emerged from their establishment and connections with the Poor Law system, as well as through the involvement of religious orders and attitudes to the work of these orders. While conditions varied in different institutions, all institutions were regulated by the State, and all received some State funding. Family separation remained a feature of all mother and baby institutions throughout their operation, as did the stigma and shame often attached to being placed in the institutions. Those historically marginalised were further marginalised as were members of their family. The power and social control operated at many levels but the State (particularly at a local level in the case of mother and baby institutions) and various religious organisations appear to have been beyond reproach.
Patrick: How did the defeat of Minister of Health Noël Browne’s Mother and Child scheme in 1951, which would have provided a far greater role in state supports for children and their families, impact the Irish state’s role in childcare in twentieth-century Ireland?
Sarah-Anne: I think the debacle was reflective of the power structures at the time, both the influence culturally and socially of the Catholic Church, but also the power and influence of the Irish Medical profession, both of whose interests intersected in regard to controlling women’s reproductive lives, ideological and practical concerns over providing free healthcare to poor families; and an eye as always on what was happening across the water in the aftermath of the Beveridge Report and the founding of the National Health Service in Britain. For those unaware, the scheme had proposed free healthcare for mothers and children up to the age of sixteen, which would have marked a major expansion of state responsibility for child welfare. However, opposition from the Church—who feared excessive state intrusion into the family—and from doctors—who were concerned about professional autonomy and state medicine—ultimately led to its collapse. And the defeat had long-term consequences. It reinforced a model in which childcare and child welfare remained primarily located within the family and voluntary or religious institutions rather than the state. In practical terms, this meant that many children, particularly those from poorer or marginalised communities, continued to face significant barriers to accessing healthcare. In contrast to developments in Britain after the Beveridge Report and the creation of the NHS, the Irish welfare state developed more cautiously, and the state’s role in child health and childcare remained limited for decades.
Patrick: Was there any opposition to this carceralisation from wider civil society, or left or women’s groups in the period?
Sarah-Anne: Opposition to mother and baby institutions and other carceral systems did exist across the twentieth century, although it was often fragmented and struggled to challenge the powerful alliance of Church, State, and prevailing social attitudes. Within the state itself, inspectors such as Alice Litster raised concerns about conditions in official reports, particularly high mortality rates in mother and baby institutions like Sean Ross. In the political sphere, figures including [Labour Party leader] William Norton criticised the state’s reliance on institutionalisation and called for stronger welfare provision, and of course, Noël Browne exposed the resistance to expanding state support for mothers and children. Journalists played a key role from the 1960s, articles by Michael Viney, Nell McCafferty and of course the pioneering work of Mary Raftery, whose investigative work brought survivor experiences into the public sphere. Crucially, survivors themselves have been central to challenging institutional silence in their writings, their words and their actions - people like Christine Buckley, Derek Leinster, Michael O’Brien, Paddy Doyle, Peter Tyrell, so many individuals challenging the State and society to face up to the trauma they experienced in the ‘care’ of the Catholic Church, Protestant churches and the State.
Patrick: What factors led to the exposure and decline of these institutions in the late twentieth century?
Sarah-Anne: The decline of these institutions began before their eventual public exposure and was driven by several overlapping social changes. One important factor was the expansion of welfare supports, particularly the introduction of the “Unmarried Mothers’ Allowance”, which increased the visibility of single mothers and began a slow process of reducing the stigma attached to them. At the same time, activism from feminist groups intensified from the 1970s onwards. Second-wave feminists were increasingly raising issues around contraception and women’s autonomy, which helped shift public conversations about pregnancy and women’s rights more broadly. However, institutional change was slow. While the last industrial school closed in 1984 and the final Magdalene institution in 1996, the last mother-and-baby institution ‘The Castle’ in Co Donegal did not close until 2006, as research by Caelainn Hogan has shown. This illustrates how deeply embedded these systems were, and how long it can take for societies to dismantle discriminatory structures.
From the 1990s onwards, public awareness increased significantly as scandals involving the Catholic Church began to emerge. Globally over the past twenty-five years, in Ireland, the UK, Australia and Canada, as well as in parts of Northern, Western and Central Europe, there have been an increasing number of commissions of inquiry investigating ‘historical’ institutional child abuse and gender-based violence. Reports such as Ferns and Cloyne, as well as media investigations and documentaries like Dear Daughter and Suffer the Little Children, helped expose patterns of institutional abuse. The media played an important role, but crucially it was survivors themselves who began to speak publicly and challenge both Church and State authority. Even as late as 2014, when Catherine Corless uncovered evidence of infant burials at the Tuam mother-and-baby home, there was resistance from those in power. Ultimately, it was the persistence of researchers, journalists, and survivors sharing their experiences that forced broader recognition of this history. Yet there remains much more to do. 228 institutions are listed in Chapter 2 of the Mother and Baby Homes Commission of Investigation Final Report which included industrial and reformatory schools, hostels, Magdalene asylums and other small and sometimes short-lived institutions that require further investigation.
Patrick: What significance do you believe the ongoing excavations in Tuam will have on our understanding of the legacy of these institutions?
Sarah-Anne: I think that in many ways the act of excavating is hugely significant, both for addressing claims that neglect and improper burial practices did not occur, but of course most significantly for the families of those who know and those who did not know that their relative is buried in some part of that site. Any way that justice can be achieved for survivors and those affected should be undertaken, and the Office of the Director of Authorised Intervention in Tuam (ODAIT) does appear to be engaging in an ethical manner with survivors and their families. Looking to other parts of the country, to sites such as Bessborough and Sean Ross in particular, you would hope that similar emphasis will be placed and that transitional justice is at the heart of future engagements. One very positive development remains around the teaching of this history at Junior Certificate level in many secondary schools which remains a very important step in memorialising and acknowledging.
Dr Sarah-Anne Buckley is Associate Professor in History at the University of Galway and Vice-Dean for Equality, Diversity and Inclusion in CASSCS. With Dr John Cunningham she is Co-Principal Investigator of the Tuam Oral History Project. Co-author of the award-winning Old Ireland in Colour Series, she is Vice-President Elect of the Society for the History of Childhood and Youth and co-Director of the Irish Centre for the Histories of Labour and Class.