Ursula Halligan: Referendum pointed me towards
telling the truth about myself
‘For me, there was
no first kiss; no engagement party; no wedding. And up until a short time ago
no hope of any of these things’
‘As a person of faith and a Catholic,
I believe a Yes vote is the most Christian thing to do. I believe the glory of
God is the human being fully alive and that this includes people who are gay.’
Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill / The Irish Times
Ursula Halligan
“Our
lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter” – Martin Luther King.
I was a
good Catholic girl, growing up in 1970s Ireland where homosexuality was an evil
perversion. It was never openly talked about but I knew it was the worst thing
on the face of the earth.
So when I
fell in love with a girl in my class in school, I was terrified. Rummaging
around in the attic a few weeks ago, an old diary brought me right back to
December 20th, 1977.
“These past few months must have been the
darkest and gloomiest I have ever experienced in my entire life,” my
17-year-old self wrote.
“There
have been times when I have even thought about death, of escaping from this
world, of sleeping untouched by no-one forever. I have been so depressed, so
sad and so confused. There seems to be no one I can turn to, not even God. I’ve
poured out my emotions, my innermost thoughts to him and get no relief or
so-called spiritual grace. At times I feel I am talking to nothing, that no God
exists. I’ve never felt like this before, so empty, so meaningless, so utterly,
utterly miserable.”
Because
of my upbringing, I was revolted at the thought that I was in love with a
member of my own sex. This contradiction within me nearly drove me crazy. These
two strands of thought jostled within me pulling me in opposite directions.
Plagued with fear
I loved a
girl and I knew that what wasn’t right; my mind was constantly plagued with the
fear that I was a lesbian. I hated myself. I felt useless and worthless and
very small and stupid. I had one option, and only one option. I would be
“normal”, and that meant locking myself in the closet and throwing away the
key.
I played
the dating game. I feigned interest in men. I invented boyfriends. I listened
silently to snide remarks about homosexuals. Tried to smile at mimicry of
stereotypical gay behaviour.
In the
1970s, homophobia was rampant and uninhibited. Political correctness had yet to
arrive. Homosexuals were faggots, queers, poofs, freaks, deviants, unclean,
unnatural, mentally ill, second class and defective humans. They were society’s
defects. Biological errors. They were other people. I couldn’t possibly be one
of them.
Over the
years I watched each of my siblings date, party, get engaged, get married and
take for granted all the joys and privileges of their State-acknowledged
relationship.
My coping
strategy was to pour myself into my studies and later into my work. I didn’t
socialise much because I had this horrible secret that must never come out. It
was a strategy that worked until I’d fall in love again with a woman and the
whole emotional rollercoaster of bliss, pain, withdrawal and denial resumed. It
was a pattern that would repeat itself over the years.
And never
once did I openly express my feelings. I suppressed everything and buried
myself in books or work. I was careful how I talked and behaved. Nothing was
allowed slip. I never knew what it was like to live spontaneously, to go with
the flow, to trust my instincts . . . I certainly couldn’t trust my instincts.
Repressing my humanity
For years
I told no one because I couldn’t even tell myself. It was a place I didn’t want
to go. It was too scary; too shameful. I couldn’t cope with it. I buried it.
Emotionally,
I have been in a prison since the age of 17; a prison where I lived a
half-life, repressing an essential part of my humanity, the expression of my
deepest self; my instinct to love.
It’s a
part that heterosexual people take for granted, like breathing air. The world
is custom-tailored for them. At every turn society assumes and confirms
heterosexuality as the norm. This culminates in marriage when the happy couple
is showered with an outpouring of overwhelming social approval.
For me,
there was no first kiss; no engagement party; no wedding. And up until a short
time ago no hope of any of these things. Now, at the age of 54, in a
(hopefully) different Ireland, I wish I had broken out of my prison cell a long
time ago. I feel a sense of loss and sadness for precious time spent wasted in
fear and isolation.
Homophobia
was so deeply embedded in my soul, I resisted facing the truth about myself,
preferring to live in the safety of my prison. In the privacy of my head, I had
become a roaring, self-loathing homophobe, resigned to going to my grave with
my shameful secret. And I might well have done that if the referendum hadn’t
come along.
Now, I
can’t quite believe the pace of change that’s sweeping across the globe in
support of gay marriage. I never thought I’d see the day that a Government
Minister would come out as gay and encounter almost nothing but praise for his
bravery. But that day did come, and the work done down the decades by people
like David Norris, Katharine Zappone, Ann-Louise Gilligan and Colm O’Gorman
made me realise that possibilities existed that I’d never believed would ever
exist.
I told a
friend and the world didn’t end. I told my mother, and the world didn’t end.
Then I
realised that I could leave the prison completely or stay in the social
equivalent of an open prison. The second option would mean telling a handful of
people but essentially go on as before, silently colluding with the prejudices
that still find expression in casual social moments.
It’s the
easier of the two options, particularly for those close to me. Because those
who love you can cope with you coming out, but they’re wary of you “making an
issue” of it.
Game-changer
The
game-changer was the marriage equality referendum. It pointed me toward the
first option: telling the truth to anyone who cares. And I knew if I was going
to tell the truth, I had to tell the whole truth and reveal my backing for a Yes
vote. For me, the two are intrinsically linked.
That
means TV3 taking me off referendum coverage. The rules say they must, and when
I told them my situation, they reorganised their coverage in half a day.
Twenty
years ago or 30 years ago, it would have taken more courage than I had to tell
the truth. Today, it’s still difficult but it can be done with hope – hope that
most people in modern Ireland embrace diversity and would understand that I’m
trying to be helpful to other gay people leading small, frightened, incomplete
lives. If my story helps even one 17-year-old school girl, struggling with her
sexuality, it will have been worth it.
As a
person of faith and a Catholic, I believe a Yes vote is the most Christian
thing to do. I believe the glory of God is the human being fully alive and that
this includes people who are gay.
If
Ireland votes Yes, it will be about much more than marriage. It will end
institutional homophobia. It will say to gay people that they belong, that it’s
safe to surface and live fully human, loving lives. If it’s true that 10 per
cent of any population are gay, then there could be 400,000 gay people out
there; many of them still living in emotional prisons. Any of them could be
your son, daughter, brother, sister, mother, father or best friend. Set them
free. Allow them live full lives.
Ursula
Halligan is political editor of TV3
I couldnt agree more. Irish people have been psychologically bullied by the RC Church for far two long. The bullying being carried out by those who thought they could flaunt the rules because they understood the methodology behind the madness. Ireland is a young country If "she" were a person I would call her a teenager. Lady Ireland it is time for you to cast away the trappings of childishness and become an adult
ReplyDeleteI hope and pray this iniquitous "yes" campaign driven by the D4 and RTE Gaystapo is defeated.
ReplyDeleteCertainly agree with that.It was on the news that a letter from bishops urging a no vote was read out at mass yesterday. Don't know its content for I don't go.(Other than the 'familial/tribal ' occasional obligations of funerals or weddings etc)
DeleteAnyone able to quote the letter or indicate access to it? Would just like to see what controlling rubbish they're spouting now.
MourneManMichael
I think Henry viii was the last person I recall using the word inquitous.....
ReplyDelete