I THINK MOST of us have secrets – some may have a secret they will keep forever.
Such is the truth for many survivors of sexual abuse. Despite today’s open-hearted approach to revelations of abuse, and the influence of #MeToo, it is still an enormous decision to open that locked door within you and let your secret out.
It is not, as many may believe, a matter of courage – but rather a case of not wanting to remember or not wanting others to know.
So it was in my life.
I was 13 years old when the notorious swim coach George Gibney first abused me.
Over five years, he took my childhood; my joy for life; my laughter; and my friends. Somehow, he never managed to take all of me and in my late teens I broke free. Not long after, I married and had four children – quickly ‘forgetting’ what I’d endured.
However, memories hidden away re-emerged in flashbacks and nightmares after my first daughter was born.
Then, in December 1992, at the age of 26, my past caught up with me. Anyone who has read my memoir, Above Water, or listened to the podcast, Where is George Gibney?, will know the story.
On an international trip to Perth, Chalkie White disclosed to swimmer Gary O’Toole that George Gibney had abused him as a young swimmer. Convinced Chalkie was not the only one, Gary went looking for others. One of whom was me.
I can never forget the magnitude of pain, anger and despair I felt when I opened the well-thought-out letter he sent me – to discover I was not the only one.
Subsequently, some of my fellow survivors and I went to the guards.
His abuse had occurred over a period of 30 years, with some swimmers as young as nine years old. Each of us had to tell our secrets, break our families’ hearts and rip open old wounds. But we did it because we had to. We wanted him stopped.
Gibney fought all the way to the Supreme Court. After an almost two-year battle, we lost. On a point of law. A point dismissed just a few years later.
It was then, enraged by the judges’ decision, Johnny Watterson, a reporter with the Sunday Tribune, took over Gary’s mantle. Sickened, I gave Johnny permission to feature my story under a fictitious name, as did other survivors. As it was read and discussed widely on television, radio and newspapers, I hid in shame and struggled as many people didn’t believe us.
Gibney fled to Scotland and as the net closed around him, he disappeared. In time we heard he was living in the United States. We were left to pick up the pieces of our lives and recover. Some did, but sadly some did not. We must never forget that.
Fast forward 25 years. I was in a good place, happy and content with my life. We had not got justice, but our case had led to the conviction and jailing of two other swim coaches and the release of many swimmers from a past of secrets and shame. My own children were swimming and I had become a swim coach. Articles about Gibney regularly appeared in the paper but I was still holding tight to my anonymity, and I wished the day would come when the story would die forever.
Then, I got a phone call and immediately recognised Johnny Watterson’s voice. He was doing a 25-year follow up on his original story for the Irish Times. Would I like to contribute? “You can be anonymous,” he said. Without hesitation, I replied, “No. You can print my name.” As I spoke the words I realised another milestone on the road to recovery had been reached.
Soon after, a Mark Horgan from Second Captains emailed. I’d never heard of him. He was making a podcast on Gibney and wondered would I like to take part?
Really? Would I like my family, my children, my husband, my friends to hear all I had never told them? No. Thanks, but no thanks.
However, my decision brought me no peace. The idea of something being created about my life without my voice or input disturbed me. Was it not time to say I have more than survived? That Gibney no longer has a hold on me?
I decided to meet Mark with an open mind, although in reality, my plan was to take one look at him and if he didn’t pass my ‘gut instinct’ test, I would run him. He passed, with flying colours and I became part of the Where is George Gibney? podcast, something I am immensely proud of.
However, signing up, I was not privy to Mark’s vision. What if he told the story differently? What if he saw me as a victim, not a survivor?
Mark recorded my scenes out walking the hills and in my kitchen in Cork. Incredibly, such was his way, he managed to lower my guard and I told him stories I had never told anyone. When he left, I would be stunned at my lack of filter and determine to be less open the next time, only to forget within minutes when we met again.
In October 2020, Mark sent me my recordings in advance of the official release. So well did he know me, he pinpointed 9.15 on the audio to prepare me for hearing Gibney’s voice.
I put on my earphones and headed out for a countryside walk, determined to listen alone, not wanting Gibney’s voice to ‘infect’ my home. I feared I might cry or be mortified at what Mark had chosen to air, but it was infinitely better than the carnage I imagined.
Since the podcast’s release, it has been downloaded by millions and broadcast in over 160 countries. My fellow survivor Ber Carley and I have become particularly close and have often remarked on what a gamble it was to say yes, but how richly we have been rewarded: our voices heard, and our injustice acknowledged by millions worldwide.
I often think of the saying, ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’ Well in our case, it took an enormous number of extraordinary people to help get us to a mic and have our voices heard.
On 20 April, there is a special night of celebration in the National Concert Hall in which Sinead O’Carroll, Editor with The Journal, will discuss the making of the ‘Where is George Gibney?’ podcast with Mark Horgan. Guests such as Gary O’Toole, Johnny Watterson and Ber Carley will also be there. Appropriately all proceeds will go to One in Four, which does such excellent work for adult survivors of sexual abuse.
Why not come and see us? I too will be there, no longer ashamed or afraid, speaking out, loud and proud, and celebrating the creation of this incredible podcast, that allowed forgotten voices to be heard and, in a way, delivered us a different type of justice.
Tric Kearney is the author of Above Water, a memoir. Find more details and tickets for The Making of Where is George Gibney? here.
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