In Praise of Men...

Huck Finn

My article in the Irish Times a couple of weeks ago referred to the 'mainly men' in the Oireachtas Hearings and media to whom I had to listen through the mid-curve of the Fatal Foetal Abnormality debate. My words came in for a bit of criticism but in fact the statistics bear it out, it was a mainly male presence, some were extraordinarily succinct and made sense, like Eamonn Moloney Labour TD (a quick google revealed that he is the only TD that didn’t claim expenses in 2011, while others claimed over 50k). Senator David Norris spoke of buffoonery and chastened the assembly to show compassion for women and not least amongst the calming voices was the chairman himself, Jerry Buttimer.

The men to whom I referred will be familiar to many who watch Prime Time or Vincent Brown or read any newspaper, for example, Peter Mathews, William Binchy, Gerry Whyte, Mattie McGrath, David Quinn (Iona Institute), John Waters et al.

Paradoxically, the hundreds of messages of support and comments on line I've received are mainly from men. The personal messages from male friends and colleagues that I haven't seen for years are particularly moving; it has been a way of showing emotion about a subject that has many shades and FFA is one that they can readily comprehend.

Last Thursday I had the pleasure of eating in the fancy dining room at Leinster House. I say fancy, but it has all the hallmarks of an Office of Public Works intervention. There are no windows, it was over-air-conditioned, the lighting was on the garish side and other than the very genial host, it lacked any atmosphere. I somehow doubt you’d find anything like it in the House of Commons.

There’s Leinster House, the finest townhouse in all of Dublin and London, and it doesn’t have a gracious dining hall fit for a Duke and Duchess. Maybe that’s why they bring the Troika over to Doheny’s and Guilbaud when they’re in town.

Anyway the male FG TD who was my host, was exceedingly supportive of my cause and profoundly wise on the subject, so much so that he confirmed the issue will not be included as an amendment in the forthcoming Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill. I could have guessed that. Enda has enough on his plate with vigils and archbishops and whatnot.

I’ve waited eleven years, another one won’t kill me. But this will not go off the table.

On Friday afternoon the sun was still shining and the ‘let’s clean the garden after four years’ impulse had kicked in. I took over the deck painting from CC#2 and wondered what all the fuss was about; there he was, got up like some Hezbollah, insisting the fumes were making him sick.

Tom Sawyer

I painted along to the strains of Lodger #1 singing with Jesse Jay, ah yes. And with that inimitable satisfaction you get from a painting job, even an unfinished one, I decided it was time to get out of landladygarden and meet Racquel for an après work cocktail, within walking distance. There is a hostelry between us with the best sunny seated area in Dublin, Ashtons. It was like the old days, I mean the eighties. Everybody was just that little more creased. But the sun was still shining, so they were smiling too.

Within minutes, a man I know from sailing came over to me and congratulated me on my interviews, then another and another. And another. One in particular kept saying ‘full of admiration’, these are men I’ve hardly spoken to in years. It was touching in the extreme, because it is a scary place to be, head above the parapet. I don’t have an army of American funded supporters behind me, or a bottomless pit of money to fund placards, balloons, leaflets, vigils.

But I do have two fine sons, who totally support what I’ve done and more importantly, CC#1 has taken a brush in hand today and is moving on to the shed, the fence and chairs, he must outdo younger brother at all costs.