Can a parent ever forgive the one who killed their child?
As the Dunns return from their White House ‘ambush’, others who have lost a loved one reveal how a face-to-face meeting can help – but only if done in the right way
When their son Harry was killed in a car accident in August, Tim Dunn and Charlotte Charles couldn’t have known that they would find themselves at the centre of a diplomatic war. They were grieving for their 19-year-old boy when the person responsible for his death, Anne Sacoolas, used diplomatic immunity to leave the country. The trauma of losing a child was exacerbated by the fear that his killer would escape justice.
Sacoolas has since apologised for the fatal crash in which Harry’s motorbike collided with her car outside an RAF base in Northamptonshire, but she has ignored repeated requests that she return to the UK. In an unprecedented move, the Dunn family went to the White House this week to beg President Trump to intervene – and were shocked to be told that Sacoolas was in a nearby room and wanted to meet them. They have said that felt “a little ambushed” by the “bombshell”, but refused to meet her and reiterated that all they want is for Sacoolas to face justice in the UK.
Here, we speak to people who understand the Dunn family’s struggle and know how important justice and forgiveness are, as well as how meetings such as the one Trump tried to orchestrate can bring closure – but only if they’re arranged correctly.
‘It might have been different if a stranger was responsible for killing Dominique ’ By David and Angela Wright
We lost our beautiful daughter, Dominique, in a car accident in 2016. She was 23 and had tremendous charisma. The weekend she died, she had come home to Lincoln from Leeds University, where she was studying for a Masters in corporate communications, marketing and PR, to watch her boyfriend, Benjamin Hughes, play rugby.
They had quite a lot to drink after the game – she loved prosecco – and missed the last bus home. If she had called us, I would have gladly picked them up. But, tragically, Benjamin, now 26, offered to drive them back to his house. They swerved off the road and crashed into a tree. Dominique died instantly. We woke to a knock on the door at 2am. We saw the police and knew immediately.
Benjamin visited us as soon as he could. He was devastated and took full responsibility for Dominique’s death. We knew he and Dominique loved one another. We forgave him right away. It was a terrible accident and we didn’t want two lives to be destroyed. Our forgiveness surprised the police, but we knew it was correct. If we hadn’t forgiven Benjamin, guilt and anger would have torn through our lives. The negative feelings would have made life intolerable.
It might have been different if a stranger was was responsible for killing Dominique – we’re
lucky that Benjamin expressed remorse and was completely open when he came to see us. The Dunn family haven’t been given the same opportunity. As a parent, you have questions about what happened and you need answers to feel a sense of closure. Getting those from Benjamin put our minds at rest.
Benjamin pleaded guilty to death by careless driving while under the influence of alcohol and was sentenced to two years in prison. We gave him our support in court and thought the result was fair – even though it’s not a lot compared to someone’s life. He served one year, during which we visited him every other week. We still see him regularly now he is out of prison, as we do with all of Dominique’s friends.
Dominique is always in my mind – she sits in a quiet part of my brain and we talk about her all the time. She knew she was loved – we all just wish she was here. Our son Christopher was brutally killed in 2001 by three gang members. It was a week before his 19th birthday and he was on his way to a youth leader’s house with his brother, Philip. They were singing Champagne
Supernova by Oasis when they passed a gang of 14 people, who were under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
Someone punched Philip so hard, his nose went into his cheek, then stamped on him like a rat. When Christopher tried to save his brother’s life, three of them turned on him and beat him until he was brain dead, then left him in the middle of a busy road. A car came over the hill and, not thinking he was a person, ran him over and dragged him 40 metres. He later died in hospital and we were devastated. We both cried in the arms of police officers.
Christopher was a happy-go-lucky delivery boy who brought brightness into a room. One December, he went missing on a shift delivering pizzas and the police found him at a customers’ house having a Christmas drink. He would talk to anybody.
We forgave the driver straight away – we knew it wasn’t her fault, and the coroner confirmed that. She came to Christopher’s memorial without telling us, because she couldn’t face us. We later wrote to her a letter saying we didn’t blame her.
It took us longer to forgive the three gang members [Stephen Andrews, 21, Ryan Seymour, 17, and another boy who has anonymity because he was 15] who were convicted of Christopher’s murder. Soon after his death, [Ray] suggested that God would want them to forgive; [Violet] thought of them as animals. The rage kept coming. But as time passed, we had to let the anger go and we wrote saying we forgave them.
Then, between 2011 and 2013, we agreed to meet the three murderers as they each left prison. It wasn’t easy for them; seeing your victim is worse than doing 20 years in prison. But they wanted to express remorse and we were desperate for the truth.
We opened our arms to the three of them, hugged them and told them we forgave them. It was like a weight was lifted from all of our shoulders.
We now run restorative justice programmes around the world through the Chris Donovan Trust and we know how delicate the process is. It takes months of preparation to make sure victims are ready, and you need mediators to set parameters for conversation. What the White House did was disgusting.
Forgiveness doesn’t change what happened to Christopher, but it means we can move on a little bit – for our grandchildren’s sake. On New Year’s Eve in 2015, I was driving through Norfolk when another driver flashed me. I returned the signal. But, in that moment, I hit Michael Rawson, a pensioner in his seventies who had been crossing the road after getting off a bus. He died of his injuries.
The inquest confirmed that I wasn’t responsible for Michael’s death. I had to wait 10 months for the coroner’s inquest to confirm I was not at fault. I wasn’t using my phone, talking to a passenger or speeding, hadn’t been drinking and my car was roadworthy. The experience was worse than anything you can imagine.
A year after the accident, I agreed to meet Michael’s close friends (he didn’t have any family). They were incredibly generous and understanding. Nobody tried to ease my distress by telling me they forgave me, but they told me he was a risk-taker who would wilfully walk on icy roads; that he should have been wearing his hi-vis jacket.
I learnt that Michael and I had a lot in common. He had gone to the same university as me and enjoyed music, travel and language. I would love to have talked to him, but the one conversation I need to have will never be possible. He’s the only person who can forgive me, and he is dead. For me, there’s no sense of resolution.
Speaking to his friends was healing for me. But I also understand Harry Dunn’s parents saying that they felt “railroaded” when White House officials told them Anne Sacoolas was in the next room. It took me more than a year to be ready to make contact with Michael’s friends. I couldn’t have done it any earlier; it had to be at my own pace, to give me just a tiny bit of control after the chaotic events of the accident.
I wouldn’t dream of suggesting what others should do, but going public with my story for a Radio 4 documentary helped me hugely. People were more understanding than I imagined.
I live with PTSD now and am easily moved to tears. This is who I am now. I shout at pedestrians using their phones – how can they be so careless with their lives? Last night I had a panic dream of driving down a dark road. It was horrendous. I don’t expect that will ever end. Not a day goes past that I don’t think about Michael. As told to Cara Mcgoogan
‘We met Christopher’s murderers as they each left prison’ By Ray and Violet Donovan
‘The only person who can forgive me now is dead’ By Jonathan Izard