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    Vulnerable Monsters

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    Emma Gilleece reviews ‘SOS Brutalism: a Global Survey’; published by Park Books, 2017 (RRP €68) ‘SOS Brutalism; A Global Survey’ is the first-ever international survey of Brutalist architecture from the 1950s to the 1970s, a collaboration by the Deutsches Architekturmuseum DAM and the Wüstenrot Foundation. It is an understatement to say that this book is a colossal contribution to architectural discourse and twentieth-century conservation. As explored in its essays, even the process of defining this enigmatic genre, still muscular and enthralling after almost 65 years is like grasping wet soap. Each contributor eagerly tries to grip it with the same enthusiasm and excitement that these Brutalist pioneers must have felt when their concrete ‘monsters’ were taking shape. Nevertheless, the debates and divisions are all part and of Brutalism’s contrary appeal. Cult Status The godfather of modern architectural criticism, Kenneth Frampton, contextualises Brutalism in the foreword to the book, incisively distinguishing it for example from the“people’s detailing” of the shallow-pitched, tile roofs, cavity brick walls, invariably white “amiable, unchallenging, anti-street, garden-city aesthetic” which “came under therubric of contemporary architecture asopposed to the pre-war notion of a severelyabstract modern architecture”. The scope of the database of brutalist constructions, contained in an accompanying tome, is staggering: more than 750 pages. It was an important basis for the selection of the book’s 120 case-studies from twelveregions extending to Africa, the Middle Eastand Oceania. Accompanying the survey are essays from its editors and contributors exploring questions such as whether a building is now Brutalist, or merely a late-modern, exposed-concrete, edifice; the discrepancy between the terms New Brutalism and Brutalism; contemporary efforts to preserve Brutalist buildings across the globe and theassumed continuity debate. The goal of the book is to spotlight the evaluation and preservation of the heritage value of Brutalist works. This is no small task for Brutalism is divisive. Popular Culture The compiling of the database sosbrutalism.org by architectural crowd-sourcing, reflects the egalitarian nature of Brutalism mirrored by the role social media has played in Brutalism’s renaissance. For example, think of the international reach to thePreston Bus Station campaign in 2012 which swung its fate from razing to Grade II listing. In recent years Brutalist architecture has achieved a second flowering (cementing?)on social media where its images bulge and captivate. However, there is also a renewed interest in Brutalism in scientific journals, symposia and exhibitions. It appears it’s position in the cycle of fashion and derision is upwardly bound. Perhaps not uncoincidentally, too late for many exemplars. The database was launched in October 2015 with 250 entries. By September 2017, ithad grown to 1,100 Brutalist buildings, many formerly undercelebrated, of which 120 are endangered through neglect or intended demolition. Experts, architectural buffs and photographers contributed to the survey either by contacting them directly, or by adopting the #SOSBrutalism hashtag. The Irish Contribution The only Irish case study is Stephenson, Gibney and Associates’ practice head-quarters Molyneaux House, Dublin (1971- 73)written by Erika Hanna. Hanna describes the now anachronistic attitudes not only of that firm but also of Irish planning at that time: “They also publicly delighted in confounding the conservation lobby and were at the center of the most high-profle controversies…demolishing a Georgian streetscape to construct offices for the Electricity Supply Board; building the bunkerish Civic offices on the remains of Viking Dublin;and erecting the Central Bank building higher than its planning permission permitted”. In the endangered list for Ireland they include; the IDA Small Business Centre(1983), by Scott Tallon Walker, highlighted inred as under threat; Stephenson and Gibney’s Fitzwilliam Lawn Tennis Club (1973); and the Ulster Museum Extension by Francis Pym (1962-64). Sadly Fitzwilton House (1964-1969) by Shoolheifer and Burley is in red but will soon be crossed out by demolition. With the refurbishment of the former Central Bank on Dame Street, this book and the publication later this year of ‘More Than Concrete Blocks: Dublin City’s Twentieth-century buildings and their stories, 1940 – 73 Vol. II’ (Dublin, Four Courts Press), no doubt Brutalism will attract new fans overcoming the visceral aesthetic contempt always evident from those with unimaginative good taste.   Design This hardback is accompanied by a bonus paperback supplement of contributions made to the international symposium on Brutalism that took place in Berlin in May 2012. The retro, voguishly-burlap-bound book perfectlycaptures its scintillating subject era. Many will recognisethe book’s nod to the design of Reyner Banham’s seminal book The New ‘Brutalism: Ethic or aesthetic?’ (1966), the bible of Brutalism which knew, as times were changing, heralded its death. The photographs, both colourand atmospheric black-and-white; sketches; plans andsections make it a joy to turn each page and the list in the Appendix counterpoints the easy joy with evocations of the arresting magnitude of the speed and scaleof loss. The Appendix lists 986 buildings as of September 2017. Threatened/endangered buildings are markedred, demolished buildings are crossed out. Geographic coordinates are provided. More Than a Catalogue More than a catalogue, the book’s fantastically researched essays try to define elusive Brutalism, charting its rise and fall and pinpointing its appeal. The movement went beyond aesthetics. These buildings are embedded in the debates of their time when questions of design profoundly refracted a larger political context.Although an international movement, it was regionally-embedded coinciding with a period of decolonisation and nation-building (Africa, Asia), of reconstruction (Europe, Japan), and of rapid modernisation (North/Latin America, Middle East). Wherever we look, Brutalist buildings leered, all over the world, in most political systems. How many Brutalisms are there? Did the end of Brutalism coincide with the fall of thewelfare state and the beginning of neoliberalism? Did Brutalism become too costly atsome point, because the labour required for customised sculptural products was too expensive? Oliver Eiser’s essay, ‘Just what isit that Makes Brutalism Today so Appealing’,decrees that a new form of Brutalist architecture is long overdue. Annette Busse inher paper, ‘From brut to Brutalism, Developments between 1900 and 1955’, delves into the significance of the difference in the meaning of the words brut and brutal in English, French and German; and into the

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    Robocobra Quartet

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    Robocobra Quartet have been blazing a trail over the past few years. For artists, comparisons to admired figures can trepidate more than they motivate. Once a revered name is uttered and invoked in connection with an upcoming band, it becomes ineradicable from press releases, rehashed by gig promoters over social media, and used as an easy point of reference for journos and DJs with the luxury of only a few minutes’ research ahead of features. Your writer has the unfortunate honour of laying this burden on Belfast outfit Robocobra Quartet. While not, in fact, a quartet, but an assembly of musicians available on a given night, this constant shifting of sonic tectonics merely adds to the band’s unpredictability: a jarring and exciting racket that spurred a passing reference in a UK publication a number of years backto“Fugazi meets Charles Mingus”. Now a second album, ‘Plays Hard to Get’ is due on vinyl and digital formats in May, and as we get settled into a chat, the well-mannered and appealingly chipper Chris Ryan, speechifying drummer and bandleader, relates, with a wry smile, how this designation followed them as far as college radio in the United States while on tour there. But while it is exceptionally hard not to draw comparisons to sonic trailblazers past while pondering the angular, aggro jazz of Robocobra, the same seeming fluidity that applies to their musical broadsides extended across the range of the creative and production processes of their upcoming full-length. “There was definitely a much more blurred line between writing and recording on this one. Any time you commit something to recording, it always comes out a little different from imagined. In producing it, I wanted to respond to those changes and improvise just as much in the mixing and editing as in the actual performing. When you leave things malleable, it allows for the musicians to respond strongly and take ownership of their performances”. Material that’s aired in the run-up to the new record’s release has seen the band extend its range and explore the weird Venn diagram of sounds and textures available to them, especially in terms of jazz instrumentation and arrangement. “That’s interesting, I think the album is just much more extreme in all directions. It has some of the most gentle performances we’ve done but also some of the most dissonant violent noises we’ve ever made. Just a wider emotional-dynamic-range I guess”. Themes of alienation and trepidation are holdovers from the band’s first record, the embracingly-monikered ‘Music for All Occasions’, however modernity – in all its pettiness, distance and squalor are filtered through Ryan’s personality, experiences and spat-out verbiage throughout. While social commentary is no doubt at the heart of Robocobra Quartet’s music, the vitriol with which themes and concepts are thrown at the listener come from that certain place. “I find that I tend to get the most negative or dismal parts of my personality out through the lyrics, which kind of ‘cleanses’ me for real-life interactions, where I tend to be generally happy and polite. It’s hard to think about how something looks or feels when you’re in it, and even though the album is mastered and off to the vinyl plant, I still feel very much ‘in it’. Ask me again in about a year and maybe I’ll have a more eloquent response!”. With ‘Music for All Occasions’ now firmly in the rearview mirror for Ryan and associates, the conversation turns briefly to how he feels about the album now that he’s had some time to live with the finished product. Staying true to form and reflecting the band’s forward-looking nature, however, Ryan is eager to relate his experience in creating it to the grand vision he has for the new platter. “We definitely did that one a lot quicker than this record. There’s more of a simplicity to ‘Music For All Occasions’, but this album is much more layered. Some of my favourite albums offer you new things to hear with each listen, even after years. There’s a lot of the orchestration on this album that is somewhat buried, or momentary, to offer that kind of effect. There are drum machines, and string sections, and voices all over the place that are only really audible on headphones. Jeez… some mix engineer, eh?”. He laughs. The state of independent, experimental and otherwise ‘difficult’ music all over the island is one of rude health, across the genre spectrum. Hailing from a vital and busy Belfast scene that has carved a new identity for itself in recent years with precision post-punk and fearless experimentation, Ryan has a more nuanced take on the current upswing in noises and the people making them. “There are people doing beautiful things of their own volition all over the place, at all times. It’s usually the work of individuals with a will to make cool things, so I think it’s better to prop up those individuals, than thank the collective consciousness, which I think doesn’t really exist. Everything is in waves though, and I think even when things look terrible there are still people out there working hard and expressing themselves”. Off the back of the release of the new record, the band is touring the mainland UK and the continent throughout the summer, building on a live reputation that sees them neatly skewer the live demographics between the regular gig-going scene for noisy rock and the fringes of jazz-festival infrastructure. Balancing, as often, on the line between sincerity and irony, Ryan is quite specific about his thoughts heading into the fray. “There’s a really pretty petrol station in the north of England called Tebay Services on the M6 that is a little like paradise. That will be nice, especially in June which is when we’re on the UK leg. There are also a few promoters that we’ve worked with a few times before so it will be nice to say hello again and see how they’ve grown and changed. We’re just dipping our toes into mainland Europe at

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    Difference and Repetition

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    There is only one ghost scene in ‘Phantom Thread’, Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film, which is a little surprising, given the title. (The spoilers start right here, I’m afraid.) The hero, played by Daniel Day Lewis, glimpses his long-dead mother as he lies in a fever induced by a poisonous mushroom secretly administered by his ‘girlfriend’. I use inverted commas because the term is altogether too demotic for the rarefied world of this elegant film about elegant people, but really at this stage she has no proper status in the egomaniacal edifice that is his house/life/ work/reputation. And it is this indeterminate status that she overcomes by the poisoning, because, the moment he can get out of bed again, he asks her to marry him. But back to the mother. We know who she is because we have seen her in a photograph earlier in the film. During his first date with the poisoner-to-be Alma (played by Vicky Krieps), Day Lewis’s character, Reynolds, explains that the wedding dress that his mother is wearing in the picture was made by him as a teenager, when she got married for the second time. It was the first dress he ever made. The husband, whoever he was, is nowhere to be seen. It’s an affecting scene, as it helps us understand that Reynolds’s occupation as a dressmaker for the high-society set in 1950s London is rooted in his powerful connection to his dead mother. The scene also positions Alma as the person who understands what his mother means to him, in other words, the person who under- stands him tout court. So when the mother’s spirit appears to him in his poison-induced fever dream, it is appropriate that she has been raised by Alma and her own weird hunger for love. It is appropriate because Alma ultimately proves herself to be the only person who can insert herself into this over-charged bond between unhappy son and dead mother, and in the process help him live a life for the living. The poison brings Reynolds closer to his mother and to Alma. This helps explain the strangest part of the film, which is when Reynolds realises that Alma is planning to give him poison again, and voluntarily eats it. His normal being is in a prison house for which he has lost the key, and the only release available to him is provided by her. Back to the photograph of the mother. It’s an antiquated, formal portrait of a woman in a constricting, formal dress, squarely facing the camera, her mouth clamped shut and without the slightest hint of joy on her features. When the mother appears as a ghost, she is exactly the same as in the photograph. She does not speak or move in any way. It’s as if the thing that is haunting Reynolds is not the flesh and blood mother, but the picture itself,. The moment that this ghost version of the mother appears is worth dwelling on. Given that this is a ghost scene, and that it’s 2018, we might expect some kind of special effect, some computer-generated move that would merge the spirit realm with the feverish state of mind of the character on screen who sees the ghost. But Anderson eschews the trick shot. Instead, the actress simply stands there, seen by one character (the bed-ridden Reynolds) and unseen by the other (Alma), who moves around the room. We cut to the face of Reynolds, but when we see what he sees again, the mother is gone and Alma is there instead. It’s as simple as that. The effect of it all is to emphasise the weird ghostliness of cinema itself, where images of the living and images of the dead are equally substantial, equally insubstantial. All cinema is a kind of trick shot, making us believe that we are seeing something that is not there. Anderson exploits this oddness to show us that this mother is neither living nor dead, but an undead presence with the same weight as all the other characters. The refusal to use any normally ghostly effects (mistiness, echoing sounds, uncertain lighting, etc.) makes it hard for us to decide whether Reynolds believes he is seeing a ghost, or he sees his real mother, or he actually sees a ghost, or he sees an actual ghost. The lack of trickery keeps all the options open and makes it more possible to believe in this ghost than the standard cinematic tricks achieve. We know, of course, that he does not actually see a ghost, because nobody actually sees ghosts. If we could actually see them, they would not be ghosts. They would belong to a more solid category. And yet, the category of ghosts is there, in all of its illogic. The story goes that Daniel Day Lewis gave up his theatrical career after playing Hamlet at the National Theatre in London in 1989. He said back then that the ghost of his father, the poet Cecil Day Lewis, appeared to him on stage, staring at him. He later somewhat retracted this version of events, saying instead that he was speaking more metaphorically than literally. It’s an unclarifying distinction, however, when it comes to ghosts, as ‘Phantom Thread’ makes clear (not to mention ‘Hamlet’). The character of Hamlet is, after all, haunted by his father, or “thy father’s spirit” (is there a difference?), from the opening moments of the drama. Being the method actor that Daniel Day Lewis is, it should come as no surprise that the loss of his own father should inform his on-stage experience. And so it fits the actor’s personal myth that now he is ending his screen career with a film in which he sees the ghost of his mother. For an actor who so deeply invests himself in his roles, brushes with death feel perhaps rather too much like the real thing. What will become of Daniel Day Lewis now? Actors before him have announced retirements,

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    Cold, and Hot

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    Someone has finally said it. The Cold War is back. The man who made the statement was Antonio Gutierres and he carries some weight on the matter as Secretary General of the United Nations. Up to now most commentators and experts have stopped short of using those two words. They have spoken of a “deterioration in relations” between Russia and the United States and an end of trust between the two countries. But to those of us who remember the First Cold War certain alarm bells have started to ring. There are people alive today who remember the Cuban Missile Crisis which brought us to the verge of annihilation. In those days both the Soviet Union and the United States had enough weaponry to destroy the planet several times over but the two sides were led by men whose political flexibility served to bring the crisis to an end. Back then the US was led by John F Kennedy and the leader of the Soviet Union was Nikita Khrushchev. Today both powers can still destroy the world but they are led by Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin. A direct military clash between the two in Syria has been avoided so far and, hopefully, will be avoided in the future but the hostile propaganda that characterised the old Cold War is being used to full effect. As in hot wars the first casualty in cold wars is the truth. Nuclear warheads remain in both camps but in today’s world a new set of weaponry exists that was unheard of back in the days of Kennedy and Khrushchev. Propaganda used to be issued on radio, TV, the newspapers and, occasionally, from the pulpit. There were lots of opinions doing the rounds but the Soviets saw to it that very little news, fake or otherwise, emerged from their territory. Back then we were told that the, Soviet peoples, and the Russians in particular, were brainwashed automatons ready to give their lives at a moment’s notice if their leaders asked them to. The Red Army would pour through the Fulda Gap in its hundreds of thousands to end what we considered to be civilisation. Before long we would be as brainwashed as they were and would be ready to do the bidding of our masters. For me that particular vision of Russia came to an end on a warm July evening in Moscow in 1991. I had arrived a month earlier as the Irish Times correspondent and was settling in to life in what was still the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. On that afternoon my wife and I decided to visit the Novodevichy Monastery one of the city’s numerous historic sites, famous for its beautiful frescoes in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Smolensk. It was there that we caught our first glimpse of a member of the dreaded Red Army that was all set to annihilate us. What we saw was not what we had expected. The soldier’s appearance was far from terrifying. He was a raw-looking kid in his late teens or early twenties. His uniform cap was slouched back on his head in a manner that would engender the ire of a sergeant in that far less threatening military organisation known to us at home as the FCA. But that was not all. This boy in uniform was not alone. He walked arm-in-arm with his mother. It was a striking message to us that Russians are as human as we are and in this case perhaps more so. As for the automatons who believed everything their leaders told them, well that wasn’t true either. There was a burgeoning industry in jokes about the past leader Leonid Brezhnev’s ineptitude. The current leader Mikhail Gorbachev was mocked by sophisticated Muscovites as a country bumpkin with a south-Russian accent. Workers took things easy under the slogan: “They pretend to pay us, so we pretend to work”. Intellectuals had their own slogan which went: “How can we know what our future is today when we don’t know what our history will be tomorrow”. Russians didn’t need western propaganda to persuade them that things were not working well. So how have they ended up supporting Putin? The answer has a lot to do with Boris Yeltsin. Yeltsin brought hope initially but eventually Russia’s economy and its moral compass disintegrated under his rule. Crony capitalism took over from crony communism. Some people became immensely rich while others were selling their belongings in Moscow’s underpasses in order barely to exist. The gun became a major business tool. The Russian Mafia emerged from the shadows and many of its members had backgrounds in the security services. The tradition of the razborka, the settling of matters by the gun, became a major feature of everyday life. On one occasion that I particularly remember a family visited the grave of one of its members only to be blown to pieces by a bomb planted by a rival group. TV pictures showed the crows picking at human flesh on the branches of the cemetery’s trees. While this was going on the West indulged Yeltsin. If the 1996 presidential election was rigged then it was done to save the country. If Yeltsin wandered at night in the Washington streets in his underpants it was endearing. If he couldn’t manage to get off the plane in Shannon he was “tired”. Russians knew better. Ordinary people rang the Irish Times Moscow office to apologise for their president’s behaviour. The word stabilnost (stability) was on everyone’s lips. Then along came Putin. Russians craved stability and they got it. The West’s tone changed. Here was someone who might make Russia strong again. Bit by bit the demonisation of Vladimir Putin began. Relentlessly he was portrayed as the evil emperor. As time went on he helped the propagandists by behaving as they predicted. We have now reached the stage that any allegations against him are instantly believed. He was responsible for Trump’s election even though it

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    Fight for Autonomy and then Solidarity

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    There has been a perception that Travellers North of the border have benefited from progressive legislation which recognised our ethnic status some two decades before the South. In the Republic, our legal status was that of a social group, until 2017 when we were Formally recognised as an indigenous ethnic group. Irish Travellers are a minority native to the island of Ireland and according to the 2011 census represent 0.07 percent (ie 1,267 individuals) of the population in Northern Ireland. On the other hand, the All-Ireland Traveller Health Survey in 2010 concluded, based on its own statistical research that at least 3,905 Travellers resided in the North indicating that much more research is necessary, but also that there is an enormous disparity between the number of travellers residing in the six counties and those who are engaging with agencies. Tellingly in a report of just that name, launched in April, the Northern Ireland Human Rights Commission launched a report in april, citing 13 systematic concerns about traveller accommodation. These included inadequacy of sites for travellers, lack of funding and racial discrimination. Researchers recognised that there is “evidence that Travellers have been subject to discriminatory behaviours and attitudes from public authorities and the settled community”. This emerges “through actions, but also through inaction and general inertia regarding Travellers’ issues”. The report found that “negative public opinions and bias towards travellers also impacts negatively on Travellers, in particular concerning planning applications”. It considered that “efforts to ensure the participation of travellers in decision-making processes regarding accommodation by public authorities are ineffective and inadequate”. Irish Travellers have been recognised as an ethnic minority in the North for 21 years and yet it has clearly not been a panacaea that was pitched during the 2016 #TravellerEthnicityNow campaign. How are we to address the marked lack of improve- ment in terms of health inequalities, education, employment and civic participation? There is an absence of Travellers in key positions in statutory agencies and no political representation whatsoever. While many Traveller organisations throughout the country produce excellent work, too often Travellers are touted as the public face of a project while settled people maintain actual authority. Despite community-development rhetoric, NGOs in the six counties have made little or no progress in recruiting Travellers in any meaningful way. While all organisations or projects receiving funding claim that inclusivity and community empowerment is their goal, without substantive input on how these organisations should serve us, Travellers are relegated to being mere recipients of philanthropy rather than becoming active partners in our communities’ success. Even in board positions, Travellers are not provided with the requisite resources, support or authority to act as mandated for an organisation. There are no Traveller-led NGOs or advocacy groups and very few full-time Traveller employees in Traveller organisations. Had the equality and community empowerment discourse we’ve been fed since 1997 been in any way sincere there would be Traveller-led organisations across the six counties and already established projects would now be headed by community members, the fact that they’re not is a glaring indictment of the failings of the Traveller community-development sector. Although lack of engagement can’t be laid solely at the door of such Traveller organisations, responding to the absence of representation without investigation as to why dedicated and educated activists choose to pursue other avenues is key. Those recruited simply to diversify often fail to finish their terms, leaving organisations in a quota-filling cycle instead of assessing why Travellers may not feel comfortable or appreciated in their organisation. If we’re to address this issue, we need to understand both the power dynamics within the sector and the mistrust it can inspire in the Traveller community. Included primarily to legitimise a particular project, when Travellers attempt to exercise leadership, they are often discouraged or directed elsewhere, in line with the organisation’s own requirements. Employing a minority for purposes of meeting funders’ demands and as a means of potential access to a traditionally inaccessible community, yet failing to invest in their personal education and training, which would inevitably have a multiplier effect, is the opposite of community development. While the majority of organisations have good intentions, a lack of accountability and a culture of catering to funders’ requirements rather than the community’s needs is making many able and talented Travellers, who have the capacity to influence real change, disengage. When I worked with Traveller projects in my youth on a tokenistic basis, my presence was little more than a symbol of the organisation’s progressive credentials and a justification for their failing to engage in more meaningful work. The alienation begins in governance, where policies and funding requirements are set. Diversity statements and commitments mean little without dedicated action. Aggressive reform of this process is long overdue. When an organisation’s only experience of Travellers is as a service user at crisis point, there is a risk that certain opinions can develop and, though individuals may feel exoneration through protesting or providing tick-box employability courses, there is hypocrisy in ignoring the disparity within their own ranks. In this situation, charity doesn’t only affirm the moral superiority of the donor – despite profiting from social injustice, it also effectively buys permission to control the recipient, rendering it entirely counterproductive. Stigmatised individuals such as Travellers are already acutely aware that others may judge and treat them stereotypically and so, in professional settings, often feel increased pressure to perform well, generating passivity, and this includes remaining passive for fear of seeming confrontational or confirming prejudices. Evidence shows that this very specific form of internalised oppression can harm the progress of any individual for whom there is a stereotype-based expectation of poor performance. I found it particularly challenging to work in organisations whose primary focus was that of chasing funding to pay our own wages. My colleagues, who had no personal responsibility to the community they were employed to serve, could leave at 5pm and return to their own lives. Those of us who are community members feel added guilt and pressure,

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    50 years since 1968

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    Not a week has gone by in 2018 Ireland without several street demonstrations, especially about abortion and the housing crisis. In France, protesting is part of the vernacular. Riots are common: just look at 1789 and 1968. Ireland and France share a reputation for feistiness. A comparison between Irish and French demonstrations could be instructive. “What do we want? Public housing! When do we want it? Now!”. More than 10,000 people are currently home- less in Ireland. The demonstration I attended, organised by the National Homeless and Housing Coalition, on 7 April was good-natured: festive and serene. People played and sang music as they marched. The Garda seemed engaged and smiled while overseeing the demonstration: a safe protest. It appeared the crowd was representative of the general population, as perhaps you might want. It started at the Garden of Remembrance and ended in front of the Custom House in Dublin in light rain, as cheerful as the weather allowed. Its effectiveness was its mainstream attendance; there was no danger here. It would, I reflected, be different: more fractious, less representative, angrier – in France. Ireland fights for Human Rights At the moment Ireland is in arms over: abortion, education, sex education, health, animal welfare, drugs. But I have the sense that some of these campaigns are not mainstream, even as protests. Certainly the Water Protests were successful, albeit the underlying political message (no new taxes?) and symbolic value were not too clear. Abortion is a long-standing divisive issue in Ireland, symbolising the hegemony and, later, decline of the Catholic Church. Protests date back to 1983 when an unwise blanket prohibition was approved in a referendum. In May there will be a rerun. There are many events, debates and demonstrations on both sides, with pro-choice as fashionable politically as pro-life must have been a generation ago. The demonstration I attended in April was ‘pro-choice’- for ‘Equality, Freedom and Choice’, organised by Rosa. The rally was jubilant and confident, almost over-confident. The Daddy of all modern Irish marches is the PAYE protests from 1979-1980. Around 700,000 Dubliners marched against the stifling ‘Pay As You Earn’ tax. The BBC called it “the largest peaceful protest in post-war Europe”. But I sense things have changed since then. There is no longer an Ireland the sense that the regime is fundamentally at odds with its electorate. Perhaps it’s because the country now mostly complies with international norms or is fast moving in that direction; perhaps it’s because the country is simply much wealthier and has never been so confident. In 2003, Irish anti-war protesters organised a demonstration for peace in Iraq. The British and Americans had invaded Iraq. 100,000 walked on the streets of Dublin. It was a thoroughly internationalist protest. In 2006, a violent demonstration took place in Dublin’s O’Connell Street. For some reason Northern Unionists wanted to organise a ‘Love Ulster’ Parade to honour the victims of the IRA. A counter demonstration materialised and a riot started. Several Molotov cocktails were thrown and cars were burnt. A total amount of 14 persons were wounded and 41 arrested by Garda. Locals put the intense violence down to the alien influence of recalcitrant Northerners: it didn’t symptomise a new riot mentality. These kinds of demonstrations are pretty rare in Ireland compared to in France, where there are wide-ranging politically-driven strikes and demonstrations every year. Governments can fall as a result of demonstration culture in France. If France had had an international bailout that was forcibly inflicted on the population; if France had had the iniquities of Nama bailing out the richest failed developers there would have been strikes and riots. A country’s protest mentality varies from generation to generation. We’ll put down the Irish monster meetings and boycotts of the nineteenth century as the fruits of a different era. Where a country is colonised and not run for the benefit of the majority – or a significant minority – wideranging subversion is to be expected. In Ireland it culminated in the Easter Rising in 1916 and the War of Independence 1919-21. In the North of course discrimination against Catholics fuelled a later whirlwind. In the Bogside riots of 1969, eight people were killed, a majority Catholic, and over 150 homes destroyed; and the IRA campaign resulted in 1696 deaths. But, though important, this all speaks little to the modern-day Republic of Ireland.   France, protest pioneer French demonstrations have been well-known and lethal since at least the 18th century with a sustained and celebrated (though not of course by Edmund Burke) historic riot: the French Revolution, facilitating a declaration of the rights of man and changing forever the notion of the political establishment. In the twenty-first century, protests are still an important political phenomenon. France has been a global leader in dissent. The rockstar of street opposition was May 1968 when strikes and demonstrations led by students and workers and the occupation of universities and factories across France brought the entire economy of France to its knees and political leaders feared civil war or revolution. The moribund government itself ceased to function for a while after President Charles de Gaulle secretly fled France for a few hours in Germany. ‘68 changed France’s democracy: the super-annuated President De Gaulle resigned, the Assemblée Nationale was dissolved, and government committees were formed to restructure secondary schooling, universities, the film industry, the theatre and the news media. The Grenelle Accord gave better conditions for the unemployed, a 35% increase in the minimum wage and a fourth week of paid leave for those in employment. Mentalities started to change too with a sexual revolution from the young. Mixed schools became more common. 1968 sundered a post-War France of austerity, conservatism and asceticism. Nevertheless the movement succeeded “as a social revolution, not as a political one”. President of the Republic (2007-12) Nicolas Sarkozy famously denounced May 1968 as the source of contemporary France’s problems. The student revolts against bourgeois society introduced a “relativism”, he argued, that undermined national identity, the spirit of

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    The appeal of Repeal

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    There have been many turning points and defining moments as the debate over repealing the Eighth Amendment has unfolded over recent weeks. Some of these have been the powerful stories of individual women or groups of women; others have been the remarkable statements of specific organisations and yet others have been the unexpected campaigning experiences on the ground. Not least of these turning points has been the remarkable fund-raising campaign launched by Together for Yes just two weeks ago. It had a target of €50,000 initially but quickly increased to €100,000, €250,000,€300,000, €450,000 and surpassed €500,000 in the space of just ten days. But what moved even veteran campaigners were the heart-breaking stories and compelling responses of many of the almost 15,000 thousands who contributed. And for some, who made the decision to contribute despite being hardly in any position to afford to, they were matched in turn by other women and men welcoming the chance to make a public statement and many other thousands who contributed in silence. It was truly amazing the way you could see, feel and watch the secrecy that still thrives in Ireland as many who contributed asked to be anonymous, but were glad that they had found a way to make their statement within a society that silences and renders invisible their actual experiences as women in this country. Other defining moments have been the courageous statements by some organisations that have refused to have their stories manipulated in the interests of those who want to deny women access to health services in their own country and to reproductive justice for all women in Ireland – including migrant women, adoptees and women with disabilities. I would highlight in particular the statements of Downs Syndrome Ireland (DSI), Migrants and Ethnic-Minorities for Reproductive Justice (MERJ), Adoption Rights Alliance (ARA) and Inclusion Ireland (II). Without the timely intervention of Downs Syndrome Ireland (DSI) appealing against the exploitative use of images of children with Downs Syndrome, such images would have been far more pervasive. DSI has been joined by Inclusion Ireland making visible the often hidden experiences of women with disabilities, too many of whom have been denied the right to have a child or who have experienced disrespect and marginalisation within the maternity services in Ireland. It has been the persistent campaigning and activism of MERJ that has ensured that the rights and experiences of migrants and ethnic minorities have been kept in the forefront of the campaign for Repeal: “We often hear about Irish women who are forced to travel to England to access abortion. But what about the stories of the people who can’t travel to access healthcare due to legal status, lack of money, lack of childcare, disability, etc? Migrants and ethnic-minorities face enormous barriers to accessing abortion and maternity services and are disproportionately affected by the 8th amendment. Let’s remember Savita Halapanavar, Ms. Y and the countless others”. Another critical turning point and special moment in this Together for Yes Campaign has to be the very powerful and unstinting voice rarely heard in the mainstream debate on reproductive justice. The Adoption Rights Alliance (ARA) puts forward its compelling case for Repeal in the strongest possible terms. “For our organisation, the Eighth Amendment represents the latest incarnation of the control that was exerted over the thousands of women and girls who were forced to relinquish their children for adoption and who were incarcerated in Mother and Baby Homes, Magdalene Laundries and other institutions. Since 1983, all pregnant women in Ireland have been denied the right to choose whether to proceed with a pregnancy, just as adopted people’s natural mothers were denied any choice. ARA is opposed in the strongest possible terms to the notion that adoption represents a viable alternative to abortion. We firmly recognise the right of a woman to choose not to pro- ceed with a pregnancy. Adoption should only ever be utilised in situations where a child genuinely needs a home, and not as a mechanism whereby women and girls are forced to carry to term and then relinquish the child to a closed, secret system”. Individual voices have also brought new and unexpected emotional experiences to the urgent Repeal cause – in the last few days the story recounted by Chris Fitzpatrick, Obstetrician and Gynaecologist has caught the imagination of many. “I am a doctor. I am supposed to look after people. The woman sitting in front of me is crying. She has had a scan. Her baby’s brain has not developed. The baby will not survive. The woman is 20 weeks pregnant. Her partner has his arm around her. Her mother and father are on their way. Some of her in-laws too. I go over the options. It’s too early to make any decisions. Emotions are too raw. The midwife is very kind to them. We go through everything again the next day. The woman says she cannot go through the rest of the pregnancy. She is too upset. She is wringing her hands in anguish. I cannot help her. She will have to go to England. She and her partner will have to make their own arrangements. Of course, I’ll see her back afterwards. She has our number. She will have to talk to the doctors in England about how to bring the baby home. She wants to bury her baby with her grandparents. The woman is still crying. I offer her a tissue. I have a ticket for the hospital car park. They won’t have to pay on the way out. Inadequate gestures. Cold comfort. There is nothing more I can do. Doctors in another country will look after her. Everyone tells us how important communication between doctors is. I don’t lift a phone. I don’t write a letter. My hands are tied. As they leave, they thank me. I wonder: for what? I close the door of my office. I can hear the woman crying on the corridor.” (Chris Fitzpatrick, consultant obstetrician and gynaecologist (and former

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