THERE is a sickening rhythm to Irish scandals. The exposé. The hand-wringing. The solemn promises of reform. And then with depressing predictability the great forgetting.

The Shannon Review’s revelations about St John Ambulance Ireland (SJAI) should have shattered this cycle. Here was an organisation that styled itself as a pillar of civic virtue, while behind closed doors it harboured abusers, silenced whistleblowers, and prioritised its own reputation over the safety of children. The report laid bare not just institutional failure, but something more sinister: a culture that enabled harm to flourish under the cover of respectability.

And how did Ireland respond? With a pantomime of concern so transparent it would be laughable if the stakes weren’t so dire.

Survivors, those brave enough to endure the glare of public scrutiny, staged a protest outside SJAI’s headquarters. They stood in the rain, holding signs with trembling hands, reliving their trauma in the hope that someone, anyone in power would truly listen. What they got instead was a parade of political opportunists.

Politicians descended for their five-minute photo ops, their expressions carefully arranged into masks of concern. They clasped survivors’ hands just long enough for their social media teams to snap the perfect shot — proof, they hoped, that they cared. Then they vanished, retreating to their offices to draft empty statements about “justice” and “accountability,” words they clearly understood only as abstract concepts.

Most of those performative allies haven’t been re-elected, a small mercy. Others now languish in the Seanad, conveniently out of reach, ignoring the phone calls of survivors they once promised to help. Their silence speaks volumes.

Meanwhile, SJAI continues to operate with impunity, still entrusted with the care of young volunteers, still enjoying public funding, still shielded by the same deference that has protected abusive institutions in this country for generations. The Charities Regulator remains a paper tiger, the government’s “action plan” is a masterclass in box-ticking, and the media has long since moved on to fresher outrage.

The survivors? They’re still waiting. For justice. For acknowledgement. For even a fraction of the energy this country expends on pretending to care.

We like to tell ourselves we’ve changed. That the Ireland of hidden abuses and institutional cover-ups is gone. But the truth is written in our inaction. The same forces that shielded the church, that turned a blind eye to the mother and baby homes, that allowed industrial schools to flourish, simply transferred their allegiance to Leinster House, where real accountability is always sacrificed at the altar of political convenience.

There will be another scandal. There’s always another scandal. And when it comes, we’ll clutch our pearls and demand to know how this could happen.

The answer is simple — because our politicians of all parties, of all genders keep allowing it. Because performative concern costs nothing, but real action might cost votes. Because in Ireland, it’s always easier to commission a report than to act on its findings.

We know this dance by now. The question is when will we finally refuse to take another step?