International Women’s Day is now celebrated around the world but little is known about one of its key founders: Theresa Malkiel. I wrote this piece for Broadly and VICE about Theresa’s life and legacy.
Last week in Geneva, UN Rapporteur on Torture, Felice Gaer, suggested that the Irish government, “seems to be walking back from the famous apology by Enda Kenny.” It is not hard to see why Rapporteur Gaer would make such an observation. Despite Enda’s tears for the Magdalenes and the recent Tuam babies scandal, along with the myriad revelations stretching back to the 1990s, securing justice for citizens harmed by Ireland’s carceral-obsessed past continues at a glacial pace.
The public horror rightfully expressed whenever these histories are brought into the light is not matched at a governmental level by an urgency to address them. The danger is, of course, that longstanding inaction or insufficient action will lead to a ‘re-forgetting’ or a ‘re-silencing’, as victim’s voices slowly die away, public attention drifts elsewhere and the dark architecture of ‘homes’ and institutions is quietly erased from the landscape.
This point was poignantly and powerfully highlighted at Galway Arts Festival yesterday. In NUIG’s new O’Donoghue Centre, the all-female cast (save for one) from Punchbag Theatre’s original 1992 production performed a rehearsed reading of ‘Eclipsed’ by Patricia Burke Brogan. Set in 1963, ‘Eclipsed’ tells the story of Cathy, Brigit, Mandy and Nellie-Nora, who are imprisoned in a ‘penitent’ Laundry in the fictional Killmacha. The woman find joy in each other but they crave freedom and to be reunited with their children. Burke Brogan was moved to write the play by her experiences as a young novitiate. Disgusted by the Church’s treatment of so-called ‘fallen women’, she did not complete her training, becoming a writer instead.
When ‘Eclipsed’ debuted in 1992, Ireland was in the grip of the X case, skirting the brink of a series of revelations that would diminish the moral authority of the Catholic Church. In the after-show discussion, the cast recalled what it was like to perform the play at a liminal moment of social and political awakening, back when some Laundries were still operational. They spoke movingly of the audience reaction; how people waited to speak to them afterwards, to confide and share. They remembered the Magdalene women they had spoken to and the toll that institutionalization had on them.
Twenty-five years on, the points and reminiscences from the floor yesterday showed that the history ‘Eclipsed’ captures is a living one. Thousands of Irish citizens continue to be impacted by these events, struggling to uncover the truth, to process their experiences, to secure substantive justice. This is a problem that goes beyond our borders, as Rapporteur Gaer underscored last week, when, given the size of our diaspora, she queried how well the Magdalene laundries redress scheme has been promoted outside of Ireland.
Over the course of the twentieth century, many men and women who fell foul of Catholic orthodoxy and the suffocating conformity demanded by much-of Irish society, left the country. As one audience member put it, “People emigrated for economic reasons but also out of fear and rage.” Then there is the issue of the thousands of illegal out-of-country adoptions which continued to take place even after the introduction of the 1952 Adoption Act, alongside the extreme coercion faced by generations of vulnerable mothers to give up their babies.
One man in the audience, recalling his boyhood, described watching the women from the Magdalene Laundry on Galway city’s Forster Street being marched to mass every Sunday by the nuns, the only time they ever appeared in public. It made his father irate, he said, the way those women were ostracized. For all the advancements in Irish society, there remains far too many instances when outrage is a natural response – but it cannot be the only response. From Direct Provision to homelessness to the 8th Amendment and more besides, Irish state and society continues to fail those most in need of its protection. This is due, at least in part, to the legacy of a bleak past not fully confronted. Without facing our history we cannot contextualize our present, nor can we reckon with the future. Without accountability and redress, there can be no justice, no healing.
Bravo to the cast and crew of ‘Eclipsed’, and Patricia Burke Brogan, for helping to ensure we don’t dare to forget.
“If men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.” Gloria Steinem
Last week on a trip to London, I ended up covering the Repeal protests at the Irish and Polish embassies for VICE UK. As Irish women fight to remove their country’s abortion ban, Polish women are struggling to retain the limited abortion access they have in the face of mounting political threats. Speaking to activists, it was impossible not to be struck and inspired by the solidarity between both groups. You can read my VICE piece here. Wherever you are in the world, check out galsforgals.org and find out how you can support Polish women.
It has been a very interesting week in Irish women’s long-running quest for bodily autonomy. First we had the brave duo, Two Women Travel, using Twitter to document their journey to the UK to avail of abortion services there. The international news media paid attention but coverage in Ireland was patchy. Next we had Brianna Parkins, a contestant in the Rose of Tralee, who, when discussing women’s rights, expressed her desire for a referendum on the 8th Amendment.
Parkins’ statement was met with applause from the crowd. The seventh circle of hell did not open, nor did the Dome spontaneously combust. Two Women Travel was the focus of much sympathy and solidarity in Ireland and right around the world. Critics have been quick to argue that there is, apparently, a time and a place for such ‘political’ conversations. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t on one of the country’s most viewed television shows or on social media. They maintain that using such platforms for ‘outbursts’ and ‘stunts’ is sensationalist and trivializing. Faced with the question of what the right time and place might be for such a long overdue discussion, the sound of a can being booted down the road is so deafening it would split an eardrum.
Activism has always meant being creative and opportunistic enough to capture the attention required to win hearts and minds. And, note to successive Irish governments, there is surely nothing more trivializing of an issue (and its lived experiences) than ignoring it. How interesting it is that an event like the Rose of Tralee which professes to be a celebration of Irish womanhood should be seen as the last place on the island to discuss, never mind mention, that which harms women. Perhaps the issue isn’t so much the talking about the difficult realities of women’s lives as having to listen to them, to acknowledge them, to act.
What did take a battering in the past few days, and has been under attack for some time, is a uniquely Irish myth of femininity which is one part Lovely Girl, one part Irish Mammy and three parts Virgin Mary. ‘A lovely mammy named Mary,’ if you will. The kind of chimerical comely maiden so beloved of de Valera and his ilk. A cailín álainn with a twinkle in her eye and rosary beads in her handbag, who doesn’t backchat to her husband or (God forbid) the priest, bears suffering like a stoic and births nine children before her fortieth birthday.
As the scars on Irish landscapes and psyches show, silence never saved the comely maiden who became a fallen woman. It never won her a single right. Instead it exiled her to Magdalene laundries, mother and baby homes, on early morning flights to Britain. It condemned, and still condemns, generations of Irish women to live in its shadow, its cold fingers clamped over their mouths.
There is never a ‘right’ or pleasant time to talk about that which has been rendered unsayable for so long. Such conversations are necessarily emotive, frustrating, heartbreaking and uncomfortable. But the mark of maturity, of a society, of a person, is to face what must be done. In the words of the poet Audre Lorde who wrote so movingly, so precisely about ‘the tyrannies of silence’, ‘My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you.’
For Irish women, it’s time to live the truth of our lives out loud.
I recently read Dawn Foster’s excellent Lean Out, a badly needed and critically sharp take-down of the corporate and choice feminisms that have come to define mainstream feminism in recent years. That a certain strain of feminism has become fashionable and highly marketable is undeniable but will it result in meaningful change in the majority of women’s lives or just a few? I consider this crucial question and review Foster’s book in a piece for The Coven entitled ‘Feminism Inc’, which you can read here.
The latest edition of Irish Tatler is on shelves now and I have a piece in there exploring how Ireland’s homelessness crisis is impacting women and children. Focus Ireland were a big help to me in putting the piece together and if you would like to support the great work they do, click here.
I’d like to begin this piece with something of a caveat: I have always liked Cameron Diaz. From her interviews and performances, she comes across as warm, smart and aware of her own worth, while also having the ability to laugh at herself, which is a perilous tightrope to walk in any profession but especially so in the egomaniac world of cinema.
So, you can imagine my disappointment when I read the comments from her recent interview with the Sunday Times, in which she says, “I think every woman does want to be objectified. There’s a little part of you at all times that hopes to be somewhat objectified, and I think it’s healthy… ”
Oh, Cameron. To begin with, the minute you try to speak for ‘every’ of anything, you’re trodding on dangerous ground. Throw the objectification of women into the mix, a process that reduces half the human race from the status of a person to that of dead-eyed objects, then you’re royally in the soup.
The simple truth is this: objectification hurts women. It silences our voices, paints over our thoughts, stamps out our souls, leaving a mute, blank canvas onto which our culture can project some of its darkest stereotypes and myths. When we raise women to see themselves only as things to be desired by men and to judge themselves accordingly, as if nothing else about them truly matters, we are committing a terrible wrong.
In the interview, Cameron claims she feels “empowered” by photoshoots and isn’t bothered about stripping off. She says, “I’m not some young girl with the photographer going, ‘Will you take your clothes off?’ I’m like [mimes stripping], ‘How does this look?’ They’re like, ‘Today we’re not going to put anything other than bras and heels on you,’ and I’m like, ‘These heels are not high enough.'”
What of that hypothetical young girl Cameron mentions and the countless young girls who read or will read these quotes? Being objectified is not a compliment. No one ever changed the world because they learned to walk in heels that require a pilot’s licence. Jumping up and down to participate in your own objectivation is generally not a good look.
As a woman who has achieved so much and generated enormous revenues for her chosen industry, Cameron Diaz should have nothing to prove. At 40, she is among the last remaining box office super stars and is one of the best comedic actresses of her generation, which makes her remarks all the more depressing. Despite all our advances, for women in the public eye and beyond, it still comes back to our bodies and what men think of them, a fact that is as tragic as it tedious.
This article originally appeared in the Huffington Post