When the Court of Appeal in Northern Ireland handed down a revised sentence to Oliver James MacCormack this week, the verdict sent ripples through the community and offered a sliver of vindication for his victims. But for Rebecca Whyte, one of nine women preyed upon by MacCormack, the new sentence does little to balance the scales of justice. "It's a life sentence for us regardless and personally I think it should be for him," she told the BBC, her words echoing the ongoing trauma experienced by survivors of human trafficking.
MacCormack, a 72-year-old former car salesman from the Lisburn area, had previously been sentenced in April 2025 to seven years for a string of offences, including multiple counts of human trafficking, supplying Class A drugs, controlling prostitution for gain, intimidation, and perverting the course of justice. The sentence, with half to be served in custody and half on licence, meant he was due for release by November 2025, having already spent nearly three years in jail. That prospect—of a man described as a "calculated abuser" soon walking free—sparked outrage among victims and prosecutors alike.
On September 23, 2025, a panel of senior judges ruled that the original sentence was "unduly lenient." The Public Prosecution Service (PPS) had challenged the term, arguing it failed to reflect the gravity of MacCormack’s crimes and the profound impact on his victims. Charles MacCreanor KC, representing the PPS, told the court: "Ultimately he used them like commodities to be sold in order to be of financial benefit. It was the most serious case seen in Northern Ireland to date." The appeal judges agreed, increasing MacCormack’s sentence to nine years, split equally between custody and licence.
The details of the case are harrowing. According to reporting from the BBC, UTV, and other outlets, MacCormack’s crimes spanned seven years, from 2015 to 2022, and targeted vulnerable young women across Greater Belfast. Some of his victims were just 17 when the offences occurred. He supplied them with heroin, ensuring dependency, and then groomed them into sex work and prostitution. As Lady Chief Justice Dame Siobhan Keegan put it, "He portrayed himself as some sort of saviour, rather than a calculated abuser of vulnerable young women."
Rebecca Whyte, who has bravely waived her right to anonymity, described her ordeal in searing detail. She met MacCormack through a then-boyfriend who dealt drugs, and quickly found herself ensnared in his web. "I will never forget the first time getting in his car, I can smell it sitting here. He made it very clear what he liked and didn't like and that's how he wormed himself in," she recalled to the BBC. Within weeks, Whyte—who had never used drugs before—was "absolutely hooked on heroin" and, in her words, "lost everything." She explained that MacCormack used drugs as a tool for control, manipulating her sense of self-worth and isolating her from her family.
"If you didn't have sex with him and the other men – you weren't getting your hit and it wasn't a hit to get off your head, it's to function. If we didn't do what he wanted our life wasn't worth living," Whyte said. She described MacCormack as "calculative, manipulative, he is a very smart man. He knows exactly what he is doing." The physical and psychological scars remain. "I have problems as a woman now. That's a hard pill to swallow," she admitted. For Whyte and the other victims, the pain is enduring. "He is a predator, a paedophile as well. He instilled so much fear in us. I haven't just been left with mental scars, I have physical scars."
MacCormack was not acting alone. Three other men—Kenneth David Harvey (74), Derek Brown (71), and Robert Albert Rogers (77)—were also convicted in connection with the case, following a major investigation by the Police Service of Northern Ireland’s modern slavery and human trafficking unit. Harvey and Brown are currently serving jail time. The court heard that MacCormack and his accomplices preyed on women suffering from addiction, homelessness, or mental health issues, driving them to meet paying customers even when they were high or in withdrawal. One of the nine victims later died from sepsis related to her drug use, a tragic testament to the devastating consequences of MacCormack’s actions.
The prosecution’s challenge to the original sentence was rooted in the belief that the courts needed to send a clear message. As MacCreanor KC argued, the case involved "a suite of offending against vulnerable women which requires appropriate punishment to deter this type of behaviour in our community and to soundly rebut the attitude of the defendant. Such attitudes have no place in our society." The three appeal judges agreed, and Lady Chief Justice Keegan confirmed, "We will replace the sentence of seven years originally imposed for one of nine years, split equally between custody and licence."
Yet for Whyte and others, the increased sentence is bittersweet. "It's a life sentence for us regardless and personally I think it should be for him. But unfortunately our justice system doesn't work like that," she lamented. Her words highlight a tension at the heart of the criminal justice system: the gap between legal punishment and the lived reality of survivors. While the revised sentence is seen as a step toward justice, it cannot erase the years of exploitation or the scars left behind.
Lady Chief Justice Keegan’s remarks in court underscored the seriousness of the case and the need for robust deterrence. "This was a case involving a suite of offending against vulnerable women which requires appropriate punishment to deter this type of behaviour in our community and to soundly rebut the attitude of the defendant. Such attitudes have no place in our society." The judgment, widely reported by the BBC and UTV, was welcomed by advocates for victims of trafficking, who hope it will serve as a warning to others who might seek to exploit the vulnerable.
Still, the case has exposed the ongoing challenges in addressing human trafficking and exploitation in Northern Ireland and beyond. The PPS described it as the most serious case of its kind in the region’s history, and the details are a grim reminder of the lengths to which traffickers will go to maintain control over their victims. For many, the hope is that the publicity surrounding the case, combined with the tougher sentence, will help drive reforms and improve support for survivors.
As the dust settles on the courtroom drama, the voices of victims like Rebecca Whyte remain a vital reminder of the human cost of these crimes. Their courage in speaking out—despite the risks and the pain—has brought a measure of accountability, and perhaps, in time, will help others find a path to recovery.
