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On the Oppression, Liberty, and Hope of Women | Léargas an Bhuitléirigh / Butler's Insight

Scott De Buitléir
Scott De Buitléir
Welcome to Léargas an Bhuitléirigh | Butler’s Insight, my newsletter which looks at politics, society, current affairs, and other topics which catch my eye. Released fortnightly.

Daoirse, Saoirse, agus Dóchas na mBan
Oppression, Liberty, and Hope of Women
The Irish language has some poetic quirks. Take the words solas, sólás, and saoirse, for example. They mean light, solace, and freedom respectively, and yet change the initial ‘s’ in each word to a ‘d’, and you get their opposite meanings. Dolas is an archaic word for darkness (the more common word would be dorchadas), dólás means despair, and daoirse means oppression or slavery. From a writer’s perspective, the slight difference between each word is inexplicably powerful.
There is a common phrase in the Irish language: Ní saoirse go saoirse na mban, which means: There’s no liberty until [there is] liberty of women. That phrase could not be more apt in light of the events seen in recent days; the murder of Sarah Everard in London, the outpouring on social media of women’s experiences and fears of scenarios that most men would never have to even think twice about, and the vigil in Clapham in London that was handled so awfully by the London Metropolitian Police. In Ireland and the UK, International Women’s Day and Mother’s Day were a week apart this year, and yet so much took place which reminded us all of how even the most ordinary of things – like considering a taxi home after a night out, for example – are highly risky decisions to women.
I have long considered myself a feminist, yet applying that term as a man does not mean you automatically ‘get’ everything about what women have to face in everyday life, even in the most supposedly liberal of societies. I thought that if I found myself walking behind a woman on a dark road, of course I’d cross the street or call someone on my phone to show that I wasn’t a threat to her. I also thought that listening to, and sympathising with, the experiences of my female friends and family members was somehow enough to prove my solidarity. Most naïve of all, I once thought – years ago – that my being gay was somehow an automatic status of allyship to women.
Quite frankly, none of that is enough.
One of the lessons I’ve learned in recent weeks is that solidarity and support cannot be in the form of polite platitudes, the occasional hug, or a well-intended tweet. They might be a good place to start, but they make little lasting difference, and need to be followed up by showing up for women. That means attending events (virtually for the moment, in Ireland at least), following the actions of campaigners and activists, supporting them where possible, and donating to causes where one can afford to do so.
In Ireland, there was a seismic shift towards women’s rights, in an admirably inclusive manner, with the Repeal campaign in 2018. It was a well-respected movement on the whole, especially among younger generations, but it’s safe to say that not everyone opened themselves up to getting involved at that point, even if they ended up voting in the campaign’s favour. There have been plenty of other opportunities for people to show solidarity, once ready, both before and since then, and a person should be welcome to help out whenever they’re ready to do so.
In my case, I felt I had previously done enough, but I was very wrong. That will change from here on out.
As for recent events more specifically, I felt compelled to write a poem in honour of Sarah Everard’s tragic death – “Nightwalk” – but I should make clear that the story behind the poem is fictional, albeit based on themes and stories we’ve heard time and time again about women being victims of crime at home and abroad. I sincerely hope the poem is worthy enough to be dedicated to someone whose life was so horrifically cut short, and that it is a show of support for her and countless other women who have feared the story in my poem becoming a reality.
On a political level here in Ireland, it is astounding that the government here scrambled to ensure that our Justice Minister, Helen McEntee TD (Fine Gael, Meath East) was able to take 6 months’ paid maternity leave, and that there are no formal provisions in place in Ireland to cater for parental leave for elected officials. Such a bizarre gap in provision is inexplicable in 2021, and it is just one of many aspects to dissuade women from entering politics here.
That said, I do feel there’s hope for change, if I can be so bold enough to say that. The recent Social Democrats event, More Mná*, featured prominent female elected representative from the party, and I personally found their stories, insight, and hope for the future to be both inspirational and motivating.
(*Mná is the Irish for women)
Scott De Buitléir
Great opportunity to listen and learn from some inspiring @SocDems women tonight at the #MoreMná discussion on women's representation in Irish politics, and how we can amplify women's voices in our society. #Internationalwomensday https://t.co/TGvoBlMgGi
Peig – Reputation Restored
I finally got around to watching the recent TG4 documentary about the iconic Peig Sayers, presented by the wonderful Sinéad Ní Uallacháin.
For those who haven’t heard of her, Peig was an incredible storyteller from a small village in Kerry who settled on the Great Blasket island. She dictated her life story to her son, who then worked with an editor to produce the book, Peig. Her book, although stripped of most of her humour, wit, and personality by her son and his editor, became synonymous in a 20th Century independent Ireland with the Irish language and its unfair connotations; dark, depressing, and destined to die out.
In the new TG4 programme, Sinéad finds out about the real Peig Sayers, and we are all the better for it. It was an incredible journey, full of funny, touching, and tender moments, and some very sad moments. It was wonderful to see her status reclaimed in the documentary, however, as the greatest storyteller in Ireland and in the Irish language – and a woman at that, an accolade that would be somewhat uncommon among European contemporaries.
Peig is now available to watch worldwide on the TG4 Player, with subtitles in English, and I couldn’t recommend it highly enough. Watch the trailer below.
PEIG | TG4 to give Peig the mother of all makeovers | 10/3
PEIG | TG4 to give Peig the mother of all makeovers | 10/3
Seanghearrscéal (An old short story)
Back in 2010, I wrote a short story about a cellist who discovered her love of music from her grandmother, and found fame as a result. When her grandmother passes away, the young woman returns home to play at her funeral, and remembers how she would learn how to feel the music’s spirit as she played.
It’s not (too) often that I react emotionally to something I write, but when I wrote An Dordveidhil (The Cello), I weeped as I wrote the end. I had a similar reaction when I found the story on my Facebook Notes section, which I realised was now hidden from my profile as the feature is retired. It prompted me to republish it on my own site, and if you can read Irish, you can enjoy the story here.
Gearrscéal: An Dordveidhil – Scott De Buitléir
Until next time,
Scott
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Scott De Buitléir
Scott De Buitléir @scottdebuitleir

Writer, poet, Celticist, and political activist, based in Cork, Ireland. Member of @SocDems. New poetry collection, ELYSIUM//PÁRTHAS, out May 15th in paperback & eBook (MKB Publishing).

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