In the office at St Agatha’s Hall beside the canal at the North Strand in Dublin, the Swan Youth Service’s Detached Youth Work Team (or “street team”) is preparing to hit the street. Sinéad Ní Bhrolcháin has brought a backpack full of ponchos. “I think it’s going to be raining,” she says.
“It’s always nice to have something to give them,” says Noel Smith. “Engagement tools.”
“You don’t want to walk up to people with nothing to offer,” says Ní Bhrolcháin. “Sometimes we bring a load of flat footballs and we play games, and whoever scores the most goals gets to keep the footballs.”
Smith is part of Swan’s regular Detached Youth Work Team. His job is to engage young people who could benefit from the youth service. Ní Bhrolcháin is part of its Youth Diversion Project, which specifically targets young people at risk of becoming involved in crime. They’re both wearing distinctive blue jackets with “Swan Regional Youth Service” printed on the breast. It’s important, they say, to be visible in the community.
Their colleague, Kelly Caffrey, explains the importance of street work: “[In a youth centre] you might not see what’s going on for the young person until a couple of weeks in, but out on the streets you’re going to see what’s happening for them. There’s no hiding it on the streets.”
Swan’s catchment area is the northeast inner city and East Wall. The Detached Youth Work Team’s remit is young people aged 10-24, while the diversion service works with kids from 12 to 17. “But if you don’t have a relationship with the parents and the grandparents, you’re doomed,” says Smith, who’s been with Swan for nine years. “It’s about building relationships. People talk about what’s going on with them, mental health, education, addiction, whatever it might be... The parents will say we can’t get him to go to school. Or the grandparents come to us and say ‘he’s been arrested’… Having good relationships with the little brothers and sisters, with the aunties, with the grandparents, all the people around the young person helps them to see you as a support.”
Ní Bhrolcháin, Smith and I walk across over the cycleway that links the North Strand to the Docklands. It’s a hotspot for drug dealing, but it’s Halloween night, so the area has been requisitioned for a small ghost train for families. In this area, children and young teenagers are often used to transport drugs on scooters or bikes. “One of them caught last week was 11,” says Ní Bhrolcháin. “He was caught with a lot of stuff on him… We have an early intervention worker who works with eight to 11 year olds.”
Do they approach groups of young people who might be dealing? Yes, says Smith. “One day they won’t talk to you when they’re with their friends, but the next they come up to you asking about a course.”
“It’s important not to take it personally,” says Ní Bhrolcháin.
At the end of the cycleway across from the convention centre, there’s a stage and a carousel, filled with families and costumed children celebrating Halloween. Swan has a second office on the corner. Smith and Ní Bhrolcháin wander into the crowd, and a lot of people greet them by name.
Jade Delaney, a former youth leader at Swan, comes over and talks about her time there. “We’d go into Swan to get cups of tea and hot chocolate every week… If I ever had any problems, they were always there to help us. I think at the start of it, I was a villain.” She laughs. “But then I did the young leaders training programme [and] we were allowed bring the kids on trips as their leader… I felt really responsible then.” She ended up speaking at an event at the US ambassador’s residence. “I loved it… I still do some volunteering with Swan. It changed my perspective. Don’t be a messer. Don’t hang around the streets; there’s more to life than that… And [our group] got very close. I’m still friends with most of them.”
As we wander through the crowd, Ní Bhrolcháin stops to talk to a boy who has somehow attached a scooter electric engine to the back wheel of his bike. On the stage, a magician is escaping from a straitjacket. Another girl comes over, 18-year-old Billie O’Brien. “You did so much for me when I was in school,” she says. “I always felt so welcome. There was never a dull atmosphere. I got a lot of help with college work. I loved going.”
“She’s also a talented musician,” says Smith.
“Don’t talk about that,” she says. “That was an experiment.” She’s currently studying event management.
When did she first start going to Swan? “I was probably 13.” She points towards the canal. “I live up there. I was always walking past them.”
“I’d be at my computer and I’d give her a wave,” says Ní Bhrolcháin.
“It was great to have someone you could trust to talk to,” says Billie. “I could always talk to them.”
I had PTSD and stuff... I’m a completely different person. It’s a safe space. They listen
— Aoife and Amy, service users
When young people engage with the service, they can have a series of one-to-one meetings with a youth worker and, if they want, they can join or help form a youth group that meets every week. In a comfortable room at St Agatha’s Hall, Kelly Caffrey introduces me to the Wednesday night group.
Aoife and Amy met Smith and Caffrey on the street a year ago, and were persuaded to give it a shot. “I wasn’t going to go,” says Amy. “I was in such a bad place.”
They were a bit aimless before then. “I was down to here,” says Amy, pointing to the floor. “My whole life is changed in the year. Kelly found me a counsellor and we gelled and she has helped me so much. I had PTSD and stuff... I’m a completely different person.”
“It’s a safe space,” says Aoife.
“They listen,” says Amy.
“I was in the Liberties college doing youth and community [studies] and I dropped out with five weeks to go, nearly two years ago,” says Aoife. “I came in here one day and Noel had the laptop open and he said, ‘Send the college an email now to go back.’ He said, ‘Just chance it,’ I sent the email, went back and I completed [that course] and now I’m in Maynooth. If he hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be where I am. I brought him to my graduation.”
“Tell him what you’re doing Amy,” says Caffrey.
“I’m just doing a course in hair and beauty. It’s nothing major. Just an everyday thing.”
“No it’s not!” says Aoife.
“I couldn’t do it,” says Caffrey.
Another of the young people here, Fabrice, is from the Congo. He found out about Swan three years ago and came because he wanted to meet people. He’s studying computer engineering. “This man is a genius,” says Aoife.
He smiles. “I’m not a genius. I’m just trying my best.”
And then there’s Aaron and Luke. “Aaron’s part of the furniture,” says Amy. “An OG.”
“I always wanted to be an actor,” says Aaron. “[Swan] came into the school and had a chat with us all and they mentioned drama. That jumped out to me. [Then] I started getting into the music.”
“[The street team] would be standing outside the gates,” says Luke, who is now studying history and philosophy in Trinity. “We’d see them wearing the blue and one day I turned up here with a friend.”
What kept him coming? “Learning the drums, piano. A few of us had a bit of a band going for a while. It’s not so much music now. I’ve drifted more to community stuff.”
They’ve helped with pop-up craft workshops for kids and events for the elderly. “We volunteered at the Big Scream [a Halloween community festival for the area] face painting for kids,” says Aoife.
Aaron got to use his acting talent. “They dress you up to be scary and then you frighten the bejaysus out of them.”
“We were here four nights last week,” says Aoife. “We went to a play over in East Wall. It was really good. It was called Bully.”
This group started with a writing workshop in Cavan. “An American author called Michael Patrick organised a writing workshop,” says Luke. “We made this group and stayed in contact with Michael Patrick. And we had an event in here and he brought over his American students.”
“Damien Dempsey played,” says Aaron.
They’re planning a reciprocal trip to Boston where they’re hoping to visit and research youth work programmes.
Music teacher John White emerges strumming happy birthday on guitar, and someone carries a cake. It was Fabrice’s birthday a few weeks ago and he never told anyone. “I forgot it myself,” says Fabrice.
“Without this,” says Amy. “I don’t know what I’d be doing.”
They’ve been trafficked, been groomed. Their families are trapped in debt and they’re trapped in addiction
— Sinéad Ní Bhrolcháin, Youth Diversion Project
Not everyone becomes that engaged with the service. Back on the streets, a young man on an electric scooter pulls up by Ní Bhrolcháin and Smith as we’re walking near Sheriff Street. “You look well,” asks Ní Bhrolcháin.
“I’m very good,” says the young man. “Any jobs?”
“Are you looking for a job?” says Smith.
“Can you get that for us?”
“I can help with that. Can you give me your number?”
“I still don’t have a number. I’ll drop into you tomorrow.”
“Or get my number from one of the lads and give us a shout.”
“Nice one,” he says and scoots away.
Smith gazes after him with wonder. “That’s the most positive engagement I’ve ever had with him. He’s only out of the nick.” He laughs. “That young fella had that much trauma you wouldn’t believe it. I’m delighted he’s looking for that. If I saw him with the others and I went over and said ‘Howiya’ he wouldn’t respond.”
“That’s why we never take it personally,” says Ní Bhrolcháin.
Smith recalls recently approaching a group who were drug dealing. One of them said, “We don’t need anything from Swan.”
“Three days later he came up to the office. ‘You told me you could help me.’ He couldn’t say it in front of the other lads.”
“I remember you said to me, Noel, that it’s like taking someone’s foot soldiers off the street by offering them a job,” says Ní Bhrolcháin. “They’ve been trafficked, been groomed. Their families are trapped in debt and they’re trapped in addiction.”
Swan’s youth workers don’t feel unsafe for the most part (though recently someone deployed a firework at Smith). They carefully risk assess each scenario. They have a code word they use with their colleagues on the street or over the phone if things start feeling unsafe. And they check in with one another before and after each shift.
What helps engage the less-engaged young people? Sometimes people are interested in the Safe Pass safety training offered by Swan’s employment workers, says Ní Bhrolcháin. At one point they started a driving theory test group and “six really hard-to-reach young people wanted to come in to get their tests and their provisionals”.
Getting them in the door is a big deal. Having an interest goes a long way, says Smith. He notes that John White, Swan’s music teacher, “is the best youth worker”, even though he has no qualifications in the field.
On the way to Sheriff Street we bump into a father, Anthony, and his 12-year-old son, JJ.
JJ is a regular. “We go on trips and all that,” he says. “We make DIY pizzas.”
“They’re very good at what they do,” says Anthony of Swan. “They’re well known in the area and help a lot of people and a lot of kids. Keep a lot of people out of mischief.”
There’s a particularly loud barrage of fireworks. Anthony laughs. “The older lads chipped together and got fireworks.”
At the top of Sheriff Street, watching the fireworks, is 18-year-old Kyle (not his real name). “This is the main man on the street,” says Smith. “He’s a good lad, he does one-to-one with me every week. Who’s the best youth worker, me or Sinéad?”
“Billy,” says Kyle.
Smith and Ní Bhrolcháin pretend to be hurt. Another woman and her teenage son come over to say hello. “You’re like the mayor walking around here,” says the mother to Smith. She turns to me and says: “They have great connections with the families... My son wouldn’t be out on the street much… going to Swan he gets to interact with people.”
Kyle tells me about the course he’s doing. It’s called L.I.F.E – Learning in football environments.
How did he get into that? “Noel,” he says.
“They have their meetings next to my office,” says Sinéad, “and every two minutes I get a knock on the door and he’s like ‘Sinéad, if I hit this on the dartboard does that not mean I win?’”
“He thinks coddle is brown and I know it’s white,” says Smith. “Down here a lot of people say coddle is brown but I think that’s stew.”
“Coddle is brown,” says Kyle.
“Coddle is white,” says Smith.
As we walk down the street, Smith tells me that young people like Kyle often fall through the cracks. “He hadn’t come out of the house for years. Just sat there playing PlayStation. His nanny had come down to us about him. We called in. He’s doing fine now.”
We walk by the lads setting off fireworks. The street is filled with smoke. Smith does a quick risk analysis and decides his manager would kill him if he went over to talk to them due to the potentially dangerous fireworks.
An older woman walks alongside us. “Howiya Ann,” says Smith.
“Beautiful,” says Ann. “Back from work. Want to put my feet up. I hope there’s no kids in my house.”
We walk towards Seán McDermott Street, where there’s another well-organised street party in progress. At the start of the street, three gardaí are searching a young man. Smith watches closely as we pass to ensure that they’re not being too aggressive. This has been an issue in the past. “I did my thesis for my masters on building positive relationships between young people and guards,” says Ní Bhrolcháin. “The JLO [juvenile liaison officer] and community guards have good relationships with young people, but there are only six community guards in Store Street to cover this huge area.”
On Seán McDermott Street, there are more amusements set up. Ní Bhrolcháin goes to talk to a teenager she recognises. He doesn’t want to talk to her. She rolls her eyes and laughs. “He’s skipping the queue.”
When I think of the systems it wears me down and burns me out, so I focus on the individual in front of me
— Noel Smith, member of Swan’s regular Detached Youth Work Team
Two 15-year-olds, Richie and Tadhg, are also queuing but they proceed to fist bump us. They are very engaged with Swan. “They’re legends,” says Richie.
“You were in the Zoom groups during Covid,” says Ní Bhrolcháin.
“That was class,” says Richie.
What do they do in Swan these days? “Cook, mess, play games, play football,” says Tadhg.
And is it helpful? “It is yeah,” says Richie. “If something is going on with school, they can help you out. They can talk to the teachers.”
Kids fall in and out of contact. “There was a person who was 15 when they worked with us,” says Ní Bhrolcháin. “And then years later he contacted me at 21 to say he was trying to get out of drug dealing. I’d say a time and place and he’d come and we’d apply for things. He knew me from working with me at 15 and he had no problem ringing five years later to say, ‘I need to get my education.’”
Smith talks a little about how gangland feuds have led to more funding for youth work, but he fears that has been very narrowly focused on crime prevention. “I can’t think of the politics,” he says. “When I think of the systems it wears me down and burns me out, so I focus on the individual in front of me.”
Being a youth worker is not highly paid and, as things stand, many youth workers do not receive pensions (though youth diversion workers like Ní Bhrolcháin have pensions funded by the Department of Justice). There’s frequently a high turnover of staff with few people in one place as long as Smith. “Longevity is important,” says Ní Bhrolcháin, “to build those relationships with hard-to-reach young people.”
Ní Bhrolcháin would love some “quantitative longitudinal study” to be done on the work they do. “It’s very hard to measure,” she says. “I don’t think you can measure the value of it in short six-week programmes… Some people want youth work to be very rigid. ‘Do this programme’, ‘Fill in these worksheets’. Some of the young people we’d be meeting might not even be in school. They’re not going to sit down to fill out a worksheet.”
They love their work. Ultimately, she says, it’s about meeting the young person where they’re at. “I remember when I started there was a really challenging young person I had to work with who had been coerced into hiding a gun.” Ní Bhrolcháin was really nervous and wondered if they should deal with it at all. “I was fresh off the boat from Roscommon. [My manager] said, ‘That’s a young person with an issue and you’re a youth worker.’”
Smith laughs. “[The manager] gave you a whack.”
“One hundred per cent,” says Ní Bhrolcháin. “She didn’t let me shirk away from it. At the end of the day I bring it back to that. ‘That’s a young person who needs support and I’m a youth worker.’”
