Dear Ireland,
We should not be voting on this. This should not be up for debate.
Having the same rights as the next person is a human rights issue. Look at our abysmal recent track record. The last Magdalene laundry closed in 1996 – and not down the darkest country lane, in Dublin. The Ryan report was published in 2009. Last year we found 800 babies in a mass grave outside an orphanage.
Don’t tell me children “deserve a mother and a father” after all that’s gone down in the name of faith and government in our country. Children deserve to not be abused, not to be sold to America, not have their bodies dumped in a pit.
The Yes campaign on this issue has been wonderfully positive, wonderfully patient, wonderfully rational against obtuse roundabout arguments and bare-faced lies.
I have nothing like that to offer. I’m so beyond angry I could froth at the mouth like a rabid rhinoceros. I want to go into full-on hulk mode. I want to smash things. Faces. Institutes. I don’t want to listen to it, I want to rip out tongues and swallow them whole. Yeah it’s not big, it accomplishes nothing and it definitely doesn’t help but it’s exactly how I feel.
The only person I will excuse voting No in the marriage referendum, is an 80 year old lady I met at my nephew’s First Communion on Saturday. Her family sat her down at the table I was sitting at and proceeded to ignore her for about half an hour. My heart went out to her and with a promise to my own mother that I would never let that happen to her in the future I engaged her into a conversation about my own recent holiday to Malta, where she had emigrated from 50 or 60 years ago.
Later, when I went to find my nephew she sang my praises to my mum – I was so handsome, so slim. This isn’t a humble brag and this isn’t a story about me being a good Samaritan.
What she didn’t know is that I have been out and proud since I was about 20 and have zero intention of not having children. Would this undo all the lovely things she had said about me? She had mentioned about how worried she was about how much the world had changed, and how she just didn’t know about men marrying men. I said nothing. Reduced to the closeted little teenager who was so ashamed of what he was, who was so afraid of not being accepted for something he couldn’t help.
She was born 80 years ago. Before Harvey Milk, before Matthew Shepard, before Leo Varadkar. Fair enough. Things are very different and change is acceptably difficult. I respect my elders. She can vote No. But - the legally superior heterosexual children left her alone at her grandchild’s first communion. I did not.
As we walked back to my brother’s house for my nephew’s party (a seven year-old bastion of empathy) who knows what the referendum is, and that is his uncle is gay, and almost properly understands what that means, but definitely doesn’t properly understand why I couldn’t get married to someone I love – I pretended to my mum that it was no big deal, that I wasn’t really affected by the few words of a little old lady I almost certainly would never see again.
But I was livid, about so many things. That I hadn’t been brave, and spoken up for myself, for the others. I am so grateful that there are others I know who are campaigning with dignity, canvassing courageously, meeting No-voters and calmly and patiently explaining to them how important this referendum is to so many people, of all ages, and are able to engage in theses discussions without screaming at people. Please don’t be disparaging, or worse, apathetic about what will happen this on Friday just because you that “won” a genetic lottery.
That 80-year old Maltese lady - she can vote no. She might have voted yes, if I were braver. But I’d forgive her a no vote. Anyone else, I can’t forgive you.
Sorry, I was supposed to write something funny. But what is there really to laugh about?
Karl Watson.
