Thirty-seven years ago I had a miscarriage. I was at about fourteen weeks (standard gestation is forty weeks) and it was one of three I’ve knowingly had and the furthest along. I have no idea why my body rejected that foetus or why that foetus rejected me, but I remember discussing it with a catholic priest and asking why, if life is sacred from the moment of conception, was there no church ritual, no sacrament for that lost life? And if the spontaneous abortion of a wanted embryo wasn’t considered worth the sacrament (presumably to be cast into eternal limbo) what the hell was the fuss about with those damaged or unwanted pregnancies that were deliberately ended? He had no acceptable answer.

Since then the years have uncovered untold institutional catholic horrors in Ireland – the enslavement of women, considered insane or depraved, in the laundries (as if pregnancy happened by parthenogenesis), dead babies disposed of in septic tanks or buried nameless in mass graves, children sold to childless Americans, the physical, sexual and emotional abuse of boys, girls, young men and women by priests and nuns – and the cover-ups and denials which still go on… and on. Just how sacred were… are… those lives?

A No vote in Ireland’s referendum tomorrow is not about the sanctity of life; it’s about misogyny, patriarchy, hypocrisy, a desperate clinging to power and to the old order where laws were driven by a church which held a vice-like grip on all aspects of politics and society and still considers women second class citizens.

Despite my Irish passport I have no vote tomorrow, but from this side of the water I for one – and I hope for the masses – am holding out in solidarity for Yes. 

 Trust Women