Small Things Like These is a story of darkness. It is a tale of trauma which hides in plain sight. Particularly in Ireland, much of what governs our society remains unspoken. The power of the unsaid, the space between the actual words being iterated, is something that Cillian Murphy brings to the fore with his acting in the film adaptation of Claire Keegan’s novel. Small Things Like These tells one snippet of the story of the Magdalene Laundries, one of the darkest chapters in Ireland’s history. Sanctioned by the state and enacted by the Catholic Church, this was a human rights abuse that was perpetrated with the knowledge of much of Irish society, with the ordinary person being forced to turn a blind eye due to the Church’s power.
In the novel and film, the humble coal seller Bill Furlong is faced with a choice between being a bystander to the suffering of the young women incarcerated in the village Laundry, thereby staying on the good side of the Sisters, and doing something to act upon that which he knows is transpiring in spite of the personal consequences which it will certainly reap for him and his family. It is when the film ends – when Furlong acts and then has to deal with the consequences of his actions – that the conversation really begins. It is precisely because this conversation is one that the Church would prefer not have that it is one that we must repeatedly engage in.
“The last Magdalene Laundry did not close in Ireland until 1996″
Right from the inception of the Irish Free State in 1922, the Catholic Church and Irish state were indecipherably intertwined. The Magdalene Laundries were set up at the state’s inception as centres of “penance and rehabilitation” for unmarried pregnant women. These so-called “fallen women” were imprisoned in the Laundries against their will and forced to work for no pay. Sometimes their babies were taken off them and sold. Sometimes their babies were buried. The last Magdalene Laundry did not close in Ireland until 1996.
Commissions have been set up to deal with the aftermath of these state funded and state sanctioned human rights abuses. In 2013, then Taoiseach Enda Kenny apologised on behalf of the Irish state for the suffering foisted upon the women who spent time in the Laundries. A statement of apology has yet to be offered by the Sisters, with the Good Shepherd Sisters saying only that the Laundries were “part of the system and the culture of the time,” and the Sisters of Our Lady of Charity admitting only that “there are women who did not experience our refuge as a place of protection and care.” To this day there remains no acknowledgment that any women were held in the Laundries against their will.
In 2024, the Mother and Baby Institutions Payment Scheme was established as a means through which women and babies who spent time in the Laundries might apply for financial compensation. The payout can range from €5,000 to €125,000 depending on how long an individual spent in the Laundry, with the minimum required time for a payout being 6 months. Aside from the question of how someone is expected to prove that they spent time in a Laundry, there remains the problematic implication of attempting to redress trauma with financial compensation. Monetary redresses are better than nothing, but they cannot undo the damage of a ruined life. Furthermore, no comparable compensation has been offered by the Church. This is in spite of efforts made by the Minister for Finance and expert negotiators from trade unions who have been attempting to reach an agreement with the Church.
Not only has the church failed to financially compensate victims from its own pocket, but its land assets and control of education remain unchallenged. 88.4% of schools in Ireland are still under the Patronage of the Catholic Church, with only 5.4% of all schools being non denominational. Whilst the Department of Education funds the education system, the Church owns the land that the schools sit on and are the patrons in control of the schools’ running. In 2016, the United Nations called for 400 additional non denominational schools to be opened in Ireland by 2030. In the cases of any schools that have transitioned to be nondenominational, the Church continues to own school land, with the State merely leasing the land from the Church. This retention of assets and educational authority by the Church makes any slap on the wrist seemingly levied at the Church just that, for with wealth and jurisdiction over learning comes power and the ability to enact the sort of abuses that proliferated 20th century Ireland.
“But on a wider societal level we must refuse silence”
Stories like Small Things Like These allow us to feel for a moment the all encompassing authority that the Church had in Irish society, how it was that people knew what was happening but were powerless to stop it. Commissions that uncover truths are important, but they do not always pave the way for making things better for victims. Claire Keegan’s story offers space for a conversation that should never cease. As Judith Butler highlights, the act of mourning and grieving with others offers us the chance to foster social connections rather than forced separation. It has been shown that trauma stems not only from the trauma inducing event but also from the act of keeping that event repressed. We all cope with our pasts in the ways that we can, and if the only way for someone to cope with their own trauma is through not talking about it, then that is more than okay. But on a wider societal level we must refuse silence. There is no perfect way to deal with a nationwide darkness – although I would suggest that a separation of church and state in education and assets would be a step in the right direction. Small Things Like These refuses a neat story ending. We must too. We must remember the abuses of human rights that proliferated in this country in the past; so that congruent monstrosities do not reoccur in the future; so that we support as best we can the survivors among us; and so that the memories of those who did not make it out of the Laundries are honoured, with grace.
