The F-Word Issue 5

The F-Word The F-Word

Meet the Team and Editor’s Note

‘Adam is a Criminal’ by Sarah O’Mahony

‘Feminism 101’ by Chloe O’Connell

‘Teenage Discos- A Caricatural Circus of Patriarchy and Horrifying Fashion Choices’ by Ciara Burns

The Intimacy of Feminism

‘Masculinity and the Shaping of the Phallocratic Genius’ by Chiara Alessio

‘I Think it’s Time We Forgive Yoko Ono’ by Martina Corella

‘Redacted’ by Nihil

Breaking Boundaries and Binaries

‘The Changeling’ by Ava Palmer

‘Adoption in Ireland is a Feminist Issue’ by Brooke O’Gorman

‘Language Domination’ by Vinca

meet thetea .m

Chloe O’Connell

Editor-in-Chief

Ciara Burns

Deputy Editor

Welcome to the 5th edition of The F-Word magazine! This multifaceted issue explores a plethora of topics ranging from modern anxieties to complex joys revolving around feminism, gender and identity. Contributors delve into deeply personal vulnerabilities and analyse current inequalities, whilst our models depict both the personal and political through two contrasting photoshoots. The issue remoulds previous perceptions about feminism through art, writing and poetry, with emphasis on the importance of intersectionality. We hope that it portrays the undeniable creativity of local feminists and broadens the meaning of feminism for you. Enjoy!

Chiara Alessio

Martina Corella

Nihil

Orla Callaghan

Alex Fuertes

Zuzanna Grzelak

Caia Hope Chair of FemSoc

Brooke O’Gormon

Sarah O’Mahony

Ava Palmer

Vinca

Katie Mullins

Jack Murnane

Caoimhe Neff

Brooke O’Gorman

Sofia Tinne

Asia Coltroz

Adam is a Criminal

I know what you did

Why, was it for the thrill?

The addiction to power

No frills just control and submit I mourn for her

She didn’t deserve what you did

Now you walk free

In the garden of Eden

A snake biting

No evidence

No reason

But I know what you did

You cut the apple from the tree

Forced her to eat

Called her a heathen

They would think

No evidence

No reason

He’s a good guy

She’s a heathen

by Sarah O’Mahony

3

3

101

by Chloe O’Connell

If you’ve picked up this issue of The F-Word, you’re probably a feminist. You may have the basic knowledge of what it is to believe in feminism, or you could even be studying it in college. However, this piece is dedicated towards the people who maybe don’t associate with the term because they don’t know what it actually means and wish to learn more about how to implement it into their daily lives. If this sounds like you, welcome to Feminism 101, you are not alone.

In a world bombarded by new terms every day, it is difficult to keep up with modern terminology. This is how I felt before I considered myself a feminist, before I fully understood what the term encompassed. Some social media pages appeared daunting and teetered on the edge of being condescending, immediately judging you for not being educated. In addition, Google searches landed me in the depth of scholarly articles, which was a bit overwhelming for a secondary school student! As a result, I never focused on feminism until I came to college and had to study various works through a feminist lens. The terms were introduced using basic methods, broadening my perception of feminism to something more than a plethora of 2015 Pinterest and Tumblr photos where white women were depicted protesting (in that ultra-saturated filter- if you know you know).

However, feminism isn’t just about those scholarly terms that you learn in college or on activist Instagram accounts. It is reflected in every aspect of human life, including politics, culture, media and personal relationships. From the representation of women and gender non-conforming people on screen to the sharp differences between their experiences and the experiences of men, it affects every member of society.

A few weeks ago one of our lecturers asked was anyone in the class a feminist. There was an awkward silence that often permeates large lectures when a question is asked, accompanied with some shifting in seats and coughing, but only a couple of hands were raised. This made me think about the perception of feminism in today’s society. Usually, it’s well-perceived and people actively strive for change through various initiatives. However, some people still do roll their eyes when the word is uttered. And I understandyou’re probably wondering what is the point?

There is no simple answer as it is entangled in everything we do, including how we treat people to what we wear to what we want to change in society. And that is overwhelming to a prospective feminist. If you feel like this, keep reading. The following ideas are useful to construct an understanding of feminism in 2024 and how it has an effect on global issues.

Feminism promotes the equal economic, social, and political rights and freedoms for all sexes and genders.

Intersectionality: every person’s experience of society and oppression is intersectional and unique, based on gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, social class, (dis)ability, broadening the scope of how feminism impacts people. (for more, see Kimberlé Crenshaw who coined this term in 1989). Remember if your feminism isn't intersectional, it’s not feminism! Who to follow for simple and coherent introductions to feminism in politics, lifestyle and culture?

Bisan Owda: Palestinian journalist documenting the horrors of the Gaza genocide, provides political informational updates in each post.

Emma Dabiri: Irish author who speaks largely about objectification and the body.

Keelin Moncrieff: Influencer who discusses feminism through book clubs and and clear and accessible videos.

Teenage Discos- A Caricatural Circus of Patriarchy and Horrifying Fashion Choices.

I look back on my time at teenage discos fondly- but also with a mix of deep nausea at the goings-on at these events and deep shame looking at my terrifying 2016 eyebrows. At these events, I met some of my closest friends, my worst enemies and my first love, but upon reflecting, some of these attitudes and values were horrifying and reflected a darker side of human nature that I had yet to see as a young girl. Like most girls do, or those who presented as girls during this turbulent era, I try ignoring the horrifyingly sexist elements of these godforsaken sweaty horny GAA club dances and try to focus on how unbelievably and hilariously embarrassing it was for all involved. In this case, though, I would like to examine how these discos acted as an insight into the future- a depressingly patriarchal one.

Part One – Getting Ready. The windows are open, and there are goosebumps and fake tan all over my arms- but no hair, I thought that shaving off my dark thick arm hair would make me more sexy, however, I am twelve and chubby for my age. This is inner sanctity, I am with my best friends (we’ve known each other for 3 months) and we are talking about our deepest darkest secrets, and how we’re in love with the boys who played on the local GAA team. I am so full of hope and excitement and trust in men, and so is everyone else in the room. We've been putting on makeup and straightening our hair for roughly three hours, we are only twelve, but we already have an ungrained womanly urge to hate ourselves and want to change our appearance to please men. One of my friends already puts on makeup every day before school, the other hates her freckles and wants to bleach her hair, the other is brown but still puts on fake tan, and I am already hiding my stomach with a pillow while my thin friends talk about how fat they are. We’re trying to hide how young we are- we're sick of youth, we want to be sexy cool girls who are mature for our age- we look ridiculous, with straight flat hair, big boxy eyebrows, black eyes and red lipstick, a caricature of what we thought womanhood was going to be. Boys, boys, boys- that's all we care about, we don’t care at all about our mothers’ and fathers’ horrification at their sweet twelve-year-old daughter wearing a push-up bra and pineapple booty shorts, we just care about being sexy. That first taste of sexy was a type of religious fervour that I would chase for the rest of my life

Part Two – Inside.

We’ve been queuing in the freezing cold for 5 minutes wearing the legally minimum amount of clothing, and my ass has been slapped twice. I hate it- it's a violation and extremely painful, but I love it - I'm not the ugly chubby friend. This was my ‘gateway drug’, my sweet introduction to the most destructive force in my life- misogyny. It’s an hour in now and I haven't ‘gotten with’ anyone, all my friends are off with various boys high in the social food chain, but I am standing in the middle of the dance floor, bare and feeling the worst I've ever felt in my life. This is humiliation- I was unlovable because I was not desired, I was good enough to seek momentary pleasure in the part of me that was desirable- my ass, but not good enough to be singled out as sexy and as such valuable to society. This feeling, the feeling of being unattractive to men and therefore useless, went from being an unfamiliar sting to my worst enemy, I didn't realise that I would spend the rest of my life constantly fighting to never feel that again. That night ignited something in all of us- we must be desired and if we are not desired then we are not worth anything at all. We sat in silence on the car ride home, no one wanted to verbalize what we had just learned, we just sat there, shoulders brushing off each other when the car turned a corner, digesting this collective lesson on empty, tanned stomachs.

Part 3- Finally, Home.

We’re at one of our houses, all in the same bed, we’re laying all over each other, just enjoying the company. We talk boys for a bit, as usual, but move onto different topics, we talk religion, existentialism and trauma- in the ways girls always do when we are young. We hold hands, look into each other's eyes, cry, hug and fall in love with each other in ways we never knew existed. Men and boys and romance seem so irrelevant. In this moment this friendship, this deep and unabashed love we have for each other is more than enough. We understand each other, our hopes, our dreams, our insecurities were all shared. We fall asleep in each other's arms, closer than we have ever been with other human beings, and I realise for the first time that I will always be okay in life, as long as I can bask in the warm sunshine of the deep love that I have found in my female friendships.

-Ciara Burns

Feminism can take many formssuch as getting ready for a night in or out with your friends. Through the meticulous process of curling each other’s hair, applying makeup and curating the perfect outfit, true identities are unapologetically depicted. The intimacy of being with each other and revealing your true self portrays the immeasurable value of your friendship and the feminism which imbues it.

Photographer: Max Bell

Makeup: Christina Guinan

Models: Zuzanna Grzelak

Katie Mullins

Sofia Tinne

by Chiara Alessio

Bourdieu states that the masculine vision of the world is constructed within society and overall encompasses it: everything we do is masculine or masculinised, what we produce and consume, our music, our theatre, our religions and myths, our performances, our artworks. Our narratives and our legends. Due to the fact that we live in a world that is so possessed by masculinity, the people that become icons and are idolised need to be closely analysed, and the reason why they’re so acclaimed needs to be put into a context, the impulses that drive their image, their words, and what they produce onto the world need to be understood, truly, from within. After all, art is an act of producing something (usually, but not always) material, impactful in some way or another, impressing but because it is born from an act of producing it cannot escape the forces of sociological and cultural schemes. It can play against them, subvert them, be impregnated by them, but it will still show such dynamics just because it is a product made in today’s world, by today’s people, affected by their surroundings. Art, seen and experienced in this way, is a spectacle for society and its intricacies. Its systems and symbols.

Abstract Expressionism as an art movement is iconic for its frenetic splashes, for its vorticose movements on canvas: another significant pillar of the Abstract Expressionist movement is the artist Jackson Pollock.

As a figure, an icon, Pollock is extremely interesting: his persona was carefully shaped to show a frenetic, disturbed genius, his dribbling and splashing painting technique revolutionized the position between the artist and the work of art, subverting it completely from a vertical, standing relationship to a horizontal one. However, is this revolutionising in an all-encompassing sense, or is this relationship a symbolic patriarchal tradition? The shift between vertical canvas versus horizontal is indeed a remarkable one: however, it is a rippling effect of the systemic power dynamics.

Returning to Bourdieu once again, in Masculine Domination Revisited (1997), he describes a series of symbolic sexual pairs and acts, crystallised sociologically through a series of almost religious passages. Such oppositional acts then permeate different aspects of sociological experience and life, including art creation.

“The shift between vertical canvas versus horizontal is indeed a remarkable one: however, it is a rippling effect of the systemic power dynamics.”

‘The opposition between the sexes is thus inscribed whole series of mythico-ritual oppositions: high/low, above/beneath, dry/wet, hot/cold, active/passive, mobile/immobile’

-Bourdieu

As mentioned before, with Pollock the relationship between artist and canvas changes and it becomes horizontal, as the artist towers over it: she (the canvas) is immobile, laid down, while the male genius (Pollock), frenetic, chaotic, dribbles and splashes the paint. Out of this relationship, which is now much more physical and engaging than before, a third thing emerges, the end result is created. This relationship is thus new (because of the difference where the canvas is being put on, the floor, instead of being set up on an easel) but also incredibly patriarchal and phallocratic. Through this specific physical relationship, where Pollock is described as the masculine, genius artist whose frenetic drips posses and attack the canvas, phallocratic creation is the main source that drives and ends such process of creation that is dynamic but violent and possessive, as it bases itself on a binary, sexual, engendered struggle in order to produce the final work of art, the aftermath, the product between the active, ‘from above’ male and the low, immobile, cold, passive, immobile canvas (that could be abstracted as a female object, or an object which is culturally perceived as female for its apparent stillness and impotency). The producer, the actor of such phallocratic creation, Jackson Pollock, is acclaimed as a revolutionary, as an inventor, because he was able to finally tame and possess the canvas. This final submission creates Abstract Expressionism (whose name encloses all its masculine forceful projection).

In this context, the definition of a phallocratic process (as applied to the world of art creation) needs to be seen as a process which organically recreates the dynamics of possession/oppression as found in our society. The process is organic because, more often than not, phallocratic creation can be covert and unintentional, or involuntary: but because patriarchal and masculinised beliefs are embedded deeply in the networks that make up our society, individuals are perpetually influenced by such ideas and can’t, as a result, separate themselves from them. Or, it can be intentional insofar as it is voluntarily playing on certain values, beliefs and ideologies, mirroring them once again: in the western world of art, in fact, the ideas of speed, possession (and the deep gendering of the process), perforation, eclectic arousal are crystallised in the Futurist Manifesto and listed, clearly, numerically. Phallocracy and the male genius is thus a process of understanding art creation that goes beyond figures such as Pollock (he is, in fact, just one exemplum out of the many in art history): it is a forcefully violent and perforating sentiment that can be traced to even the world of brutal political extremism.

“The producer, the actor of such phallocratic creation, Jackson Pollock, is acclaimed as a revolutionary, as an inventor, because he

FT Marinetti celebrates speed, contempts pensive immobilisation, but also despises the woman and feminism. War is celebrated, war as perforating, war as splashing, rippling sound, war as cleansing. The true (Futurist, fascist) man ejects himself with parachutes, flies planes, accelerates in his car, crashes it, explodes, starts again: shows off his body and his sexuality, his phallus (see D’annunzio’s infamous nude photographs), celebrates the machine as an additional powerful tool for the Male. This is the true source of phallocratic action and art creation. A type of art that is done through the penis, and is a celebration of it (in the sense that it celebrates masculinity and masculine acts in all their essence).

was able to finally tame and possess the canvas.”

These are the invisible hands that selectively choose the façade of our art works, our artistic icons, our artistic values: the hands of the patriarchy, the hands of the phallus. Under these hands, everything is constructed carefully. Its fingers bury themselves deeply onto the cultural apparatus. In this way, something that could seem innocuous is in reality the product of harsh and precise beliefs: under these premises, Abstract Expressionism and Jackson Pollock can be tied to FT Marinetti’s Futurists which is obviously tied to the world of Fascist celebration of the body and, on the binary contrast, its misogynistic hatred. We thus need to pay attention and realise which works and which cultural practices are phallocratic and operate under phallocratic pretenses, tensions and influences.

I Think It’s Time We Forgive

EARTH PIECE. Listen to the sound of the Earth turning.

TOUCH PIECE. Feel the wall. Examine its temperature and moisture. Take notes about many different walls.

CITY PIECE. Walk all around the city with an empty baby carriage.

Would you do that? Yoko Ono’s work explores the unspoken arbitrary rules that have been ingrained in our brains and helps us break down those barriers. Would you scream against the wind, against the wall, against the sky? Would you cut a hole in a bag filled with seeds and place it where there is wind? Would you drill a small, almost invisible, hole in the centre of the canvas and see the room through it? If not, why not? Those are some of the prompts she proposes. There is an unspoken invitation to make your own. Whistle three times first thing every day. Draw a dot on every piece of paper you come across. Choose a meaningless object and bring it along on every trip you make.

Children would probably understand Ono’s work better than adults do. After all, many of these self-imposed barriers have to be internalized through a learning process. Children vocalize at random times, climb the slide on the sliding side and descend through the stairs, they are dirty, messy, temporary nonconformists. Kids value the unfinished – they have to be thoroughly taught to complete a task. But really, what is so bad about loose ends? Unfinished work has infinite ways to complete it, and the possibility to project your favourite one onto it. If you’re reading this, it means your life is incomplete, and cheers to that. Ono’s Music of the Mind exhibit at Tate Modern, which I had the pleasure of visiting, is a return to infancy, a space where you are expected to behave in eccentric ways without inhibition.

by Martina Corella

But there is one big barrier that prevents us from enjoying the work at face value, and it’s the name attached to it. How many times have you heard of Yoko Ono, without the Beatles break-up or her screeching performances being brought up? Did you even know she had a career of her own, and a successful one at that? She is the quintessential wife, yet does not fit the housewife mould, so what box is left for her? The eternal antagonist.

Take a trip back to the early 2010s. Try and remember fans’ reactions when Harry Styles and Taylor Swift started dating. Now think of when Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez got together. If you are at all into pop culture, those memories probably conjured the thousands of hate comments, death threats and slutshaming the women in these relationships received for ‘stealing’ the male stars from their masses of parasocial partners. Now imagine if any of these women was ten years older, non-white, nonconventionally attractive, and more generally nonconventional.

boyfriends

In the 60s, the Beatles were the world’s boyfriends. The public could accept sharing them with dolllooking models, starlets and maybe even girl-nextdoor types. But an avant-garde Japanese woman? The scandal! Granted, John Lennon was a bit quirky. But Yoko, Yoko was weird. Other. She was twisted and manipulative, knitting her web to trap him and never let him go, no matter how many times he affirmed he got into the relationship on his own free will. John said it himself when they got married; ‘they’re going to crucify me’. But if he’s being martyred, where does that leave her?

It doesn’t help that by the end of the decade, the biggest band in history was crumbling down. Things were going badly; the British golden boys could barely stand each other, their management was in shambles, and business disagreements intertwined with their more personal problems, which was not helped by their fragilized egos after seven years of previously unseen heights of fame. But we’re supposed to believe one single devilish woman ruined everything – it’s not only more palatable, but also a nice way to preserve everyone’s favourite rockstars’ public image. The consequences for the framed woman herself? No-one contemplated them. And believe me, I am the first one that would love to have a better reason for the downfall of my favourite band, other than them being fed up with each other and pretty lousy businessmen sometimes, but I’ve learnt to deal with the reality of things. Ono- Lennon did not ruin Lennon-McCartney, Lennon-McCartney did.

Yoko Ono is not perfect. For starters, she’s not a very good singer. She has never pretended to be. When she steps on a stage and starts screeching into the mic, she is not trying to sing Imagine and miserably failing. She doesn’t intend to sound good; sounding good would defeat the point. Whether you enjoy it or not is another topic. But truth is, there would be no Imagine without Yoko. The Ono-Lennon relationship was problematic and co-dependent on both sides. They wrote a song to denounce a lack of gender equality and included a racial slur in the hook. I really don’t think Yoko spending a bit too much time in the studio during the Get Back sessions is her biggest problem.

Ono has led an incredible life. She remained in Japan for the duration of World War II, and her family had to beg for food to survive. She became the first female philosophy student in Gakushuin University. She was chastised by her parents for hanging out with people they judged to be ‘beneath her’, and she eloped with a Japanese composer that would later on kidnap the daughter they had together and take custody away from her. She enchanted John Lennon after he climbed one of her exhibits, a ladder with a magnifying glass that allowed you to read one single word painted on the ceiling: ‘YES’. They publicly campaigned for the end of the Vietnam war through a series of Bed-Ins and posed fully nude in the cover of the Two Virgins album to huge outrage by the general public. She watched her husband get murdered in front of her and somehow managed to keep going and raise their kid on her own, all while maintaining her career and manage his estate. Yet she still can’t live down the break-up of the band, even when she has brought them back together not once but twice, allowing Lennon’s bandmates to use tapes he recorded before his premature death and completing them as Beatles tracks. It’s astonishing how many people think hating on a 91-year-old woman is productive.

She will most likely never live the hate down, and that’s okay. It’s been 55 years, at this point I don’t expect the public to move on. I do, however, encourage all of you reading this to look into her work beyond the surface. Not everything will be of your own personal taste, but I guarantee you will get something out of it, even if just a good time. Who knows, it might surprise you.

TRAVEL PIECE.

Make a key.

Find a lock that fits.

If you find it, burn the house that is attached to it. 1964 spring

"She sells shells by the seashore",

That's all she will be ever known as. Because history chose to ignore, The great achievements in her hands.

Her name was Mary Anning, She was a woman and a palaeontologist!

She opened doors to new understanding, But no one wanted to acknowledge it.

Her name was buried and erased.

She's an unsung hero now and then, But her discoveries will never be replaced!

Her work and discoveries were given to men,

Bring forth a laurel crown to her head, Make her name known as a fossil hunter.

Let her contributions not be shred, And forgotten under a scientific fronter.

Mary Anning was her name.

But "the girl who sold seashells",

That's the full extent of her fame. Her name was redacted from the shares.

Photographer:

Caia Hope

Makeup: Lucrecia Luna

Models: Orla Callaghan

Alex Fuertes

Jack Murnane

Caoimhe Neff

Brooke O’Gorman and

The idea behind this shoot was to explore the outer fringes of gender expression, personifying the rejection of traditional binaries through transformational makeup and outfit choices, to highlight the need for exploration beyond the accepted.

TheChangeling

Nothing strange was suspected, When she was mute in classrooms, A cacophony of children’s braying cries

Like trombones in her ears.

by AvaPalmer

A moon that circled the Earth, studying its finest details, Invited by necessity, proximity, The Sun’s light is unwelcoming, Too harsh on a crater-filled land.

She slowly removes herself, A movement so slight, practiced, averting her gaze, A pitiful reflection of the other girls, Like a vampire gazing into a mirror, Peeling away the silver lining to be seen.

The bells stir her out of a reverie, Do not put her in a cage you call therapy, For anxiety is not the root of this tree Of many-branched synapses.

How can one improvise on a stage, Where you are the only actor with no script? Of many-branched synapses.

by Brooke O’Gorman

Adoption in Ireland Adoption in Ireland Adoption in Ireland is a Feminist Issue is a Feminist Issue is a Feminist Issue

In 1996, the last Magdalene Laundry closed its doors. Since then, Irish society has talked about adoption with shame. The Pope only issued an apology to all those who suffered heinous crimes at the hands of the Church in 2018, and the Irish Government’s overturning of the 1998 Bill closed off files but there are still massive restrictions of adoptees’ records (including their origins, birth certificates, medical history and any information on biological family, should they wish to trace) not guaranteed. Over 5000 are still waiting on their files that they applied for two years ago.

According to a report by Tusla and The Adoption Authority, in 2021 there were 111 applicants looking to adopt. Of this, 101 were granted. This figure nearly doubled in 2022. However, 65 orders were made by stepparents who wished to adopt their partner’s children. 24 of these were created for children who had been in long-term foster care. 5 of these applications were for children who went to live with extended family and 5 were for intercountry adoptions that had to be done domestically. These figures reached between 7 and 10 in 2022, but the rate of national adoptions had been on a steady decline for many years.

Stigma surrounding adoption is still prevalent today and the history of adoption in our country is viewed as shameful. However, it was never the women’s fault, nor was it the children placed for adoption. So why is the shame still felt today? Why is it that women, who have the ability to make informed choices with information provided, as well as support from the National Adoption Agency, are influenced to hide their choices or opt out of this option? The process itself is difficult enough, without the added pressure from Irish society. It’s a decision that is full of love and understanding, as for whatever reason we cannot see, this individual is unable to raise a child. And that is okay.

To those who may read this and say I am uneducated about this topic, I have completed countless hours of research, talked to intercountry adoptees, social workers and listened to those affected by the mother and baby homes. I am also adopted. I am a young Irish adoptee, born after the last mother and baby home shut its doors. However, Irish adoption is a topic people either feel they need to dismiss or voice their opinions about without having done any research on its complex dynamics. In Ireland, we are very fortunate to have the National Adoption Agency, to whom I am eternally grateful for. These people ensure adoptees and biological families have the necessary tools to make informed decisions on adoption. They also support both parties and provide mediation in the event of a reunification. Although reunification is nothing like a Hollywood movie or is the end goal of adoption, these people make the journey easier.

The process of adoption is long and rigorous, mirrored in my parents’ application, which took about 4.5 years. For many, it was other people’s perceptions of our situations and uninformed voiced opinions that made this more difficult. Yes, adoption is a difficult thing, but so is abortion or having a baby and not being ready or able. Truthfully, the harshest comments I have received are from those who were nearest to me. From my own personal experience, there have been times my adoption wasn't believed or was dismissed, as I am not what people would consider to be the "stereotypical" adoptee. I have been told that my mom isn't my real mom, that adopted people aren't loved as much, that Irish adoption no longer exists and have heard many times older siblings using adoption as an insult to their younger siblings to "other" them. Ignorant comments like these hold a lot of impact on adoptees. Taking a moment to think before you speak could save these remarks sticking with an adoptee for life.

“Adoption is not an agenda to push to defer someone from making a decision they feel right with just so your own personal beliefs are satisfied. Adoption is just another option.”

There are times I choose to tell people I am adopted or times where it may be necessary, like medical reasons, work-related issues and friendships that grow closer. It is a decision I think about carefully. Often people’s first question is “where are you from?” to which I respond “Ireland.” This response tends to not satisfy their curiosity, leading to the usual follow-up question which is some version of “but where are you really from?”. When I inform them that I was born in the hospital down the road from where I live, I am usually met with a confused look or a hint of hesitation in the following conversation. It is almost as if adoption is a topic people assume is not close to home.

I have felt alone in my identity as a young Irish adoptee, as I know no-one my age going through the same experience. Coming out to friends as queer was easier in a way as the people I was surrounded by had experienced the same. I get nervous telling people about my adoption and it is something I am quite private about – for my own sake. Talking to other intercountry adoptees, we have shared stories of bullying and stigma we have experienced over the years, yet I will never be able to understand the complexities of their adoptions, nor they mine.

I wouldn’t trade my life, parents or family for anything. That also means that my choice to go for contact was not made to cast away my family in favour of my “real” one, like countless comments on Instagram seem to suggest. The choice is mine and it is backed with huge support from my loving parents and social workers. As mentioned before, the government’s idea to close the files would leave many unable to make this decision themselves. It should also be their own personal decision, made without any external influences.

People also tend to suggest adoption is a “better” alternative than abortion. Adoption is not an agenda to push to defer someone from making a decision they feel right with just so your own personal beliefs are satisfied. Adoption is just another option. In the case of an unwanted pregnancy, a baby should never be considered as a punishment for having sex. That is not fair on any party. This should never be said to anyone as it is damaging and stressful. I have also seen the separation of biological children and adoptive children by those who push adoption to be pro-life, but have not adopted themselves and show this by their ways of describing adoptive children. We need to give people who either choose to opt for adoption or to get an abortion more support through nonjudgemental discussion and the availability of accessible tools for their decisions, without the added pressure of an opinionated society.

I know my biological mother loved me. She loved me deeply, and as a result she made a very difficult decision. I aim to keep the discussion open so that maybe one day, me being adopted will be as casual as me saying that the sky is blue.

Between my adoptive country and me

An open sea of discovery

Where reflection about my roots takes place

Those chosen and those imposed By the ones who want to change

My mother tongue.

‘Estima’m’ will soon turn into ‘quiéreme’ Destroying my sense of attachment

To a country that only exists in a shared culture

But not on the maps anymore Blurred by centuries of oppression.

Writing in another language of domination

Only helps to distance myself enough From my own oppression

To feel the slow breaking down Of my dominated country That will soon cease to exist.

Illustration by Asia Ciolkosz