There’s no way I would ever have become an MP if it wasn’t for my dad, Dermot. Warm, funny and a 60s radical, he was the son of Irish immigrants who was inspired into a life of public service by John F Kennedy’s quote that you should “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country”. He paid my Labour party subs when I joined at the age of 15. But he struggled with alcohol for much of his life and, nearly two years ago, that chronic dependency killed him.
In a heartbreaking moment on a cold, grey dawn on St Joseph’s day – the patron saint of fathers – the nurses folded down his blankets so I could hold his hand as he slipped away. In the weeks that followed, I knew I had to start speaking out about the plight of children of alcoholics. All two million of them.
For a long time I wrestled with the inner turmoil of speaking out. Was I breaking the commandment to honour my mother and father? What about the shame? The stigma? But my dad was also the child of an alcoholic. And there was nothing to help that little boy who became the man who was my dad. And so I spoke, and was knocked backwards by the avalanche of messages I got.
This week is international Children of Alcoholics week, and our All-Party Group for Children of Alcoholics in parliament, which includes courageous MPs such as Caroline Flint and Jon Ashworth, has published some shocking insights.
The research that we requested from the Parliamentary Office of Science and Technology revealed that 37% of child deaths and serious injuries through neglect were linked to parental alcohol misuse. More than 60% of care applications in England involved misuse of alcohol and/or drugs, and nearly a fifth of children reported feeling embarrassed by seeing their parent drunk. Also, 15% said their bedtime routine had been disrupted as a result of their parents’ drinking. Children living with alcohol-dependent parents reported feeling socially isolated and, just as bad, they were reluctant to seek help due to feelings of stigma, shame and guilt about not wanting to betray parents.
I found the strength to speak out by listening to Flint tell the harrowing story of life with her mum, Wendy. And since our campaign in parliament kicked off two years ago, some progress has been made. The government has admitted that action is needed. Money has been found to support helplines. Nearly 48% of councils now have a plan to help children of alcoholics – up from zero two years ago. Ashworth, whose story of his alcoholic father transfixed the Commons last year, has made campaigning for change a major Labour issue.
But our research – a freedom of information request to every council in England – also found cause for alarm. Almost all local authorities have cut their budgets for alcohol and drug treatment services. And in more than half of councils, referrals to alcohol treatment services are falling. In other words, when parents reach out for help with their drinking, there is less help available. That is not good enough.
Children of alcoholics are more likely to develop eating disorders, struggle with mental health and attempt suicide. They are also more likely to become alcoholics themselves. And so this terrible disease cascades down the generations. It’s time we broke the silence, the stigma and the shame, and ended the cycle of this vicious disease.
For more than 20 years, brilliant charities such as the National Association for Children of Alcoholics have been campaigning for change, and I hope we’re on the cusp of a breakthrough. Last year, I called for children of alcoholics to help us write our first manifesto for change. Hundreds helped out. In a few weeks’ time, we will take our 10-point plan to the health secretary, Jeremy Hunt, as our agenda for action. I pray that he listens.
Many children of alcoholics move on in life by blocking out the pain of the past. That’s what I did: I filtered out so many memories of childhood – the good along with the bad. Sifting through the shards now to make sense of them is painful. I wanted to create a picture of the past but it felt like piecing back together splinters of glass that kept cutting. For the first time, though, I feel change is coming. And for me, that’s how I honour the father I loved so much and lost.