In Ireland, the conversation around suicide prevention and mental health care is often draped in the warm, comforting cloak of charity. Organisations like Pieta House, known for their high-profile events like this weekend’s annual Darkness into Light campaigns, have become cultural fixtures—symbols of solidarity and hope.
But behind the powerful imagery of sunrise walks and social media hashtags lies a troubling paradox: the corporatisation of care, where six-figure CEO salaries and aggressive marketing budgets overshadow the urgent need for genuine, state-driven solutions.
Let me be clear: charities such as Pieta House provide critical services, and many lives have been saved through their work. But when a society chooses to outsource its most profound vulnerabilities—suicide, self-harm, mental despair—to the voluntary sector, it exposes a deeper moral and political failure. Ireland spends just 5.3% of its health budget on mental health, well below the EU average. This chronic underinvestment has created a vacuum, one filled by charities forced to operate like private businesses—competing for donations, investing in branding, and paying their executives corporate-level salaries. Pieta House’s former CEO earned €140,000 annually—a figure that stands in stark contrast to the overstretched counsellors and crisis volunteers struggling on the front lines.
This model thrives on the power of symbolism. Darkness into Light is an absolute masterpiece of emotional marketing: thousands walk at dawn, united by candlelight, Instagram feeds filled with images of hope. But what happens after the sunrise? For many, like my own mammy, in her darkest hour, the promised “light” never appeared. Despite desperate cries for help, the system—a patchwork of charity hotlines, underfunded services, and overworked volunteers—had nothing tangible to offer. The gap between performative empathy and meaningful care has never been wider.
When suicide prevention is commodified, it becomes easy to mistake awareness for action. Donors feel virtuous, politicians deflect accountability (“Look at all these generous people solving the problem!”), and the state continues to abdicate its responsibility. But suicide is not a fundraising challenge—it is a real and present public health crisis. Addressing it demands universal access to professional therapists, 24/7 state-funded crisis centres, and targeted policies tackling root causes: poverty, isolation, and an overwhelmed healthcare system.
I want to reiterate the charities are not villains. They are symptoms of a larger dysfunction—the reflexive Irish solution to social crises: hand them over to the third sector. From Magdalene Laundries to homelessness, we have a history of outsourcing state responsibilities to charitable organisations, allowing governments to appear compassionate without committing to systemic change. But mental health cannot hinge on the whims of philanthropy or the marketing prowess of nonprofits. It demands taxation, legislation and the political fucking will to declare: This is the state’s duty.
To all those who walk and swam for Darkness into Light: your compassion matters. But please ask harder questions. Why must we rely on charity to fund lifesaving care? Why are CEO salaries soaring while frontline staff juggle overwhelming caseloads? And when will Ireland treat mental health as a fundamental right, not a privilege earned through charity runs and swims?
The sun may rise on a thousand picturesque walks, but without systemic change, too many will still be left wandering in darkness.