The day after Ireland fell

I was surprised when I woke to overcast skies on Saturday May 26. There had been a red sky the night before, something that never once in my experience had failed to produce sunshine the following day. And then I remembered the exit polls from the evening before, predicting Ireland had voted two to one to repeal the Eighth. The grey skies seemed more fitting. I was tempted to wonder if it was a sign that heaven was frowning down upon us … but decided that might be a bit fanciful.

I had a month’s mind of a relative to go to in Portlaoise that morning. As I drove along from Castlecomer, going by way of The Swan and Timahoe, I wondered if the exit polls could have been mistaken. Even if the referendum had passed, surely the divide between “Yes” and “No” couldn’t have been so extreme. I switched on the radio. Counting had begun. And as boxes all over the country were opened they showed it was no mistake. The people had voted to repeal; and it was going to be a landslide.

It was the feast of St Philip Neri. The Gospel at Mass was the one from St Mark where the disciples were trying to stop people from bringing children to our Lord so that he might bless them. And Jesus was displeased and said to them “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the Kingdom of God.” And, of course, given the day that was in it, those words seemed as much a rebuke of the people of Ireland as of those who were with our Lord that day. And they tore at my heart. If this were a work of fiction, it would have seemed a step too far to mention this passage in the context of this day. But this was real life; as real as the way the people had voted.

In the car afterwards I switched the radio back on. Some of the count centres had reached a final tally and were announcing that those constituencies had voted overwhelmingly in favour of repeal. The cheers from the crowds in the background were like a punch in the gut. Was it too much of me to have been reminded of the Colosseum in the days of pagan Rome, when human blood on the sand was roared at approvingly by the masses? I know they weren’t cheering abortion; they were expressing their delight and conviction that Ireland was now a better place. But if this wasn’t the result you wanted or expected, if you didn’t believe this heralded a better future, then it was hard not to see it the other way.

The big vote in favour of repeal had the radio commentators claiming it gave a clear mandate to the government to introduce the legislation they had been talking about, abortion on demand up to twelve weeks. I’m not so sure. One elderly woman I was talking to told me she had voted “Yes” so that women could have a termination when they really needed one, but she didn’t want it abused for abortions when both the mother and baby were fine.

“That would be sinful,” she said. “Especially when there are so many that can’t have children.”

If there enough who voted “Yes” who think like her, then the government will have to tone down the legislation. They may want abortion, but limited abortion, abortion for the “hard cases”, not abortion as a form of birth-control – a safety valve for those who “took a chance”, or forgot to take the pill, or whose condom leaked, or who had wanted a baby but didn’t any more because their financial circumstances had changed or they had gotten cold feet.

Any abortion is, of course, an appalling vista. Human life is sacred. But if it has to come – and for now it appears that it must – at least we may hope that it doesn’t have to be as liberal as was threatened before the referendum. If that is the case, then things may not be not be as bleak as they first seemed. But then again, perhaps they are and all this is just the wishful thinking of someone who can’t bear to think of how far Ireland has fallen from what she once was.

When I got back home I sat down to my dinner. Suddenly the skies opened and the rain began to pour down. Big, fat drops, coming straight down from above out of the still grey sky. “Where did that come from?” said my wife. “That wasn’t in the forecast.” Perhaps they are tears from heaven, I thought as I watched them fall, and fall, and fall. But I said nothing. I didn’t want to seem too fanciful.