A note to the angry young man who shouted in my face

Dear angry, young, white, Irish man in the LoveBoth hoodie,

I think you left our conversation feeling like you had a win. I think you thought it was a conversation. I think you thought that this was a conversation, and I think you thought it was possible to come out a winner.

You’re brash and proud and able to spout talking points like no-one’s business. Someone somewhere taught you that you could use the loudness of your voice and the size of your physicality and the height advantage you have to intimidate women. Someone taught you that this is a competition, and that the one who shouts the loudest and doesn’t let the other person finish a sentence is a victor.

I am profoundly sad for you.

I am sad that somehow you gained the idea that you have the right to behave like this toward women. I’m sad that when I walked away, you were left with a feeling of superiority. I’m sad, and still stung by the barefaced cheek of you, that you find it appropriate to discard the work of women older and wiser and infinitely more insightful that you with a derogatory comment.

Mostly I’m just sad that you picked the wrong side.

Because, here’s the thing. You see this as a competition? You’re going to lose. You might lose on Friday, and you’ll feel – I don’t know how you’ll feel. I know it won’t sicken you to your soul. I’m sad for you because of that too, in fact. If the vote isn’t carried I’ll feel it like a gut punch deep in the core of me, like a retch, like a blow to the cervix. What will a Yes win mean to you? I don’t know. Your blankness and your canned propaganda left me with no sense of investment, just a fading impression of noise.

But even if No wins on Friday, you’ve lost. You’ve gone all in on the wrong side of history. What you don’t seem to get, what none of your pushy, arrogant comrades seem to get, is that this movement isn’t going anywhere. The women of Ireland have had it with the archaic, restrictive, oppressive form of patriarchy you represent. We’ve just straight-up had it. And we don’t know who taught you to act like this, but we’re going to find him and we’re going to tell him we’ve had it too.

You have no idea of the power of women. The depths of care, and intellect, and empathy, and perspicacity that are present in the room when we meet. The bonds of friendship that we’ve made during this campaign and the times we’ve argued and the times we’ve cried. You talk to one woman like you’re above her. Son, you don’t know how out of your depth you are now.

You tried to tell one woman you know better than her about the physiology of pregnancy because you got an A1 in biology in your Leaving Cert and you’re not an idiot. You told me that mental health was vague and insubstantial and that your Dad has depression and it’s not killing him. You are so, so young.

I’ve been working on this campaign for a few years. It’s no time at all. I know women who’ve been fighting against the 8th from the time it was cooked up in the fevered imagination of a fundamentalist Government and used to quell us obstreperous women, us legal scholars, us activists, for decades. I have the privilege to campaign with a group of lawyers who are among the most intelligent women I have ever met. (We have, you might be surprised to hear, some men, also.) We work hard and we support each other and we have endless conversations among ourselves and with the public even when we feel like we’re only being held up by an invisible net of caffeine and adrenaline. Every last thing we do is invested with the kind of care that you cannot even envision.

Maybe some day you’ll get it. Maybe when you’re 30, or 40, and you’ve found a partner, and she’s had a pregnancy or a pregnancy scare or a diagnosis of something that’s gone horrifically wrong, and she goes to her doctor and her doctor freely and legally tells her about all her options and gives her the care and warmth that 170,000+ Irish people since 1983 have missed – maybe that day you’ll remember the day you shouted down the small woman with the law leaflets and left feeling like cock of the walk.

You gestured to your own body, said “if the baby is inside me…”

I said, “you don’t have a uterus.”

You waved your hand away; a minor detail.

In hope,



Debunking the Anti-Choice Arguments

This post started as a thread on Lawyers for Choice Twitter, where in a moment (an hour and a half) of frustration I decided to debunk the No campaign booklet that was handed out to 200,000 houses and contained inaccuracies on every page. I had also been working on a post debunking No posters, but some of the same inaccuracies turned up all through the No arguments – so I’ll update this post as I go and appreciate any submissions you’d like investigated by a very tired academic human rights lawyer.

That’s my stall set out. Now for the substance.

This booklet, as seen here in its entirety, was handed out with only the tiniest acknowledgement that it was from a lobby group rather than a State entity. Take note of the colour, and the official language – “information on the Government’s proposals”. This is not a Referendum Commission booklet. It has never met a Referendum Commission booklet. It is funded by an anti-choice lobby group who, and this may not surprise you, are difficult to find information on. We’ll get back to that later.

Page by page, here’s the actual legal facts and sources of what’s alluded to in this booklet.


Continue reading “Debunking the Anti-Choice Arguments”

M v Minister for Justice – status of the unborn at the Supreme Court


Above are the conclusions of the Supreme Court in the case of M v Minister for Justice, the appeal in the case (known as IRM in its High Court iteration). What does this mean for the Constitution, and in particular for the referendum on the Eighth Amendment? Let’s explore.

Continue reading “M v Minister for Justice – status of the unborn at the Supreme Court”

Fact-check: arguments around health and access to abortion

While reading the submission made by Doctors for Life to the Citizens’ Assembly, I found myself becoming curious about some of the statements made. There are no footnotes and no detailed citations of research papers in this submission, so I was working on the few references given and what I can find myself.

Nevertheless, I think that these legal and medical examples of statements for which I can’t find a reference are worth examining in some detail, as they are perennial contentions in the debate around the Eighth Amendment. I am, of course, as a non-expert on the medical side of this, open to evidence-based correction; my commentary is on facts and statistics, and I am attributing no ill intent to the authors.

To that end, the following is informed by my own background in Irish and human rights law, and the research I  conducted into the statements I found puzzling. Block quotes are directly from the submission. Any mistakes in analysis are, clearly, my own – I am not a doctor and I have never been one. I am a legal researcher, a bit of a data-hound, and excessively nerdy. Be warned: the following contains a lot of referencing.

Continue reading “Fact-check: arguments around health and access to abortion”

Submission to the Citizens’ Assembly on #repealthe8th

As the submissions have now gone live, I’m posting mine (made in a personal capacity) here for the record.

This submission is written by Sandra Duffy, a PhD candidate in human rights law working on issues of gender and the law, and a member of Lawyers for Choice. I urge the members of the Citizens’ Assembly to recommend the holding of a referendum to repeal the Eighth Amendment to the Constitution.

Since its inception in 1983, the Eighth Amendment has cast a considerable shadow over the provision of reproductive health services to the women and people of Ireland. The constraints placed on healthcare patients and providers, legal advocates, and lawmakers of this country by the Eighth fall far beyond what international human rights law considers to be admissible. Indeed, the existence of the Eighth leaves Ireland behind only Malta in terms of strictness of abortion regulation in Europe.

The Eighth Amendment was introduced in 1983 by the government of Taoiseach Garrett Fitzgerald. In the words of Michael Noonan, the then Minister for Justice, in the Dáil, the Amendment was proposed as follows:

“The existing statute law on the subject is contained in sections 58 and 59 of the Offences against the Person Act, 1861. The effect of those sections, broadly speaking, is to make it an offence unlawfully to procure an abortion. Until recent years, those provisions were regarded as adequate but developments, mainly in other countries, have taken place which have given rise to concern amongst many people. It has become apparent that judicial decisions concerning abortion can alter fundamentally what had been accepted to be the law, even to the extent of introducing what is virtually a system of abortion on demand.”

(quote from Dáil records, February 1983; emphasis added)

The Eighth Amendment, therefore, was instituted through fears of an activist judiciary – not only our own Supreme Court, as the Minister goes on to say, but also the European Court of Human Rights. This was outright legislative interference with the role of the Courts within the separation of powers. Abortion was already illegal in Ireland; the question of whether or not that legislation should stand, fall, or be modified should not have been reduced to a matter of an election-year promise by a set of politicians to enshrine a law relating to personal healthcare in the foundational document of our state.


In the 33 years since the Eighth was enacted, it has meant that the actions of legislators were necessarily limited to creating laws within its boundaries. However, successive governments have failed in even that limited obligation. Since the case of Attorney General v X was decided in 1992, the option had been open for the Oireachtas to legislate to allow abortion in cases where the life of the woman/pregnant person was at stake. It was to take twenty years and the tragic death of Savita Halappanavar for Enda Kenny’s government to pass the Protection of Life During Pregnancy Act 2013; twenty years of doctors feeling unable to provide necessary care for their patients for fear of legal ramifications; twenty years of people packing bags and sending themselves into temporary exile during what could well be one of the most difficult periods of their life; twenty years of desperate turns to unsafe methods of attempting to procure an abortion where pregnancy was too dangerous or traumatic or disadvantageous to bear. Successive governments, involving most of the main political parties and figures of our time, abdicated from this responsibility and continued to send our women away. This can go on no longer.

The country has moved on in its views on reproductive rights since the passage of the Eighth Amendment in 1983. At the time, the Amendment was carried with 67% of the votes in the referendum. This year, a poll conducted by the Irish Times found that only 18% of the country would favour leaving the regulation of abortion in Ireland as restrictive as it currently is. In 1974, the case of McGee v Attorney General, a case thought of as the foundation of privacy rights in Ireland, stated that

“It is but natural that from time to time the prevailing ideas of these [national] virtues may be conditioned by the passage of time; no interpretation of the Constitution is intended to be final for all time. It is given in the light of prevailing ideas and concepts.”

The Justice was correct. The Constitution belongs to all of us as Irish citizens and residents. The presence of the Eighth Amendment has failed too many of us for too long. In the light of the opinion of our highest court and the opinion of our citizenry, it is only right that after three decades, the people should again be given a chance to speak.


Those of us who campaign for pro-choice lawmaking and healthcare provision do not just speak for ourselves. We speak for the marginalised groups in society who find it most difficult to access reproductive healthcare when they need it. We speak for the socioeconomically disadvantaged, who cannot afford to make the journey to the United Kingdom when they require an abortion, and for the migrants and asylum seekers who may not be able to travel out of Ireland at all. We speak for the transgender persons who may find that a pregnancy is detrimental to their mental and physical health, and for the lesbian and bisexual women who also find themselves sidelined in political debate. We speak for victims of rape and abuse, whose trauma is in almost all cases only compounded by the discovery that their abuse has left them pregnant.

And above all, we speak for the women of Ireland united: those who agree with us, those who disagree with us, those who have yet to voice their opinions. We speak for our mothers who have lived most of their lives without the right to choose; for the daughters of this generation, who cannot be left in the same predicament in which we find ourselves. We speak for each other, because no-one else will.

The question open to the Assembly is not whether you, yourself, would ever want to undergo an abortion, or whether your personal beliefs align with ours. The question you are being asked is whether you think we should be allowed speak our truth to power. We ask you for a referendum. We ask that the country gets to decide its own future: not the government, not the judiciary – the population of this land. We ask that you hear us, and you let us speak.

Dear Santa, all we want is #choice4xmas

Hi Santa, how’s it going? I know you’re pretty busy in Central Asia at the time of writing, but I’m also pretty sure the sleigh has Wifi, so I thought I’d drop you a note anyway. I’m writing from Ireland and as a nation, about 80% of us really want choice over our own bodies this Christmas.

I know that’s a bit metaphysical compared to most lists you’ll get (although possibly not from my colleagues in academia; we also want things like an end to oppressive gender performativity and an acknowledgement that systemic racism is a blight on populations across the world, and also an espresso machine each, please, because we should be writing, like, a lot). I think a man like yourself would be on board with it, though.

See, I know you’re trustworthy on these things because you manage to break into people’s houses through some quantum physics trickery, but to my knowledge you only ever go where you’re invited, and you only ever try to improve their lives when you get there. You’ve also, to my knowledge, never looked at someone’s list and said to yourself ‘hmm, she’s asked for a pony, but I think I’ll leave her a tiger cub  instead. Sure, it may not be what she was expecting, and depending on circumstances it could be more than a bit dangerous, but hey, that’s what you get for wanting to celebrate Christmas.’

(I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t get the pony either, by the way, but my parents explained that although you could have provided the pony, you didn’t have the authorisation to enter into a contract for livery services on my behalf. It seemed logical, so no hard feelings.)

You see a lot of families this evening, Santa, and I hope you look in on adults who are by themselves during this season too. I think that kind of perspective would lead to you having sympathy for those of us who’ve been working on pro-choice positions all year. You see families who maybe aren’t so well off for one reason or another, and who really need to be able to control whether their size grows any more. You see kids growing up in Direct Provision centres – and thank you for remembering them – but you also see their mams, who have no way to travel abroad to access reproductive healthcare if they need it. You see people whose health, or trauma, or gender identity, would make a pregnancy exceedingly dangerous, and for a man whose job it is to make things merry and bright, I can’t imagine but that you’d be furious with the level of darkness the Irish government imposes on their lives. Not only that, Santa, but you and Mrs Claus have been married for – I don’t want to reveal a lady’s age, so I’ll just say a while – and you’ve clearly made some decisions about your fertility. It’d be nice to say that Irish people could also choose whether to have kids, to decide against that, or to adopt a bunch of elves and set up a fairly-waged, unionised toy workshop in their garden shed instead. Yours is an unconventional lifestyle when you put it like that, but I don’t judge. It’s your choice.

I have to go finish wrapping some presents now, Santa, so I’ll wind up here. When you’re delivering Enda Kenny his Mayo GAA jersey and a new Fóclóir later, it’d be great if you could leave him a note about giving us a referendum on the Eighth Amendment next year. 13000 of us have already told him our thoughts, but you’re a person of great influence and it’d be particularly sound of you to give some input. Maybe this time next year I’ll be writing less publicly to ask you for a Yes vote, but for now, we really just want a referendum.

Thanks for taking the time to read, Santa. By the way, I’ve grown up now and I’ve been studying law for ages, so if you want to leave me that pony this year, I’ll sort out the livery contract myself.

Safe travels,

Sandra (aged 28 3/4).

Resisting the New Normal

It’s been difficult, bordering on impossible, lately, to avoid the issue of commentary on tone and attitude around the campaign to repeal the Eighth Amendment. We are accused, in turn, of being alternately obstinate and flighty, bleeding-heart and obdurate, organised and disorganised, omnipresent but unsupported. We are the darlings of the media, but we don’t speak for the people; we have the support of some politicians but not the right politicians; we are outliers in public opinion, but we’ve also brainwashed the country.

And I don’t recognise us in these portrayals. I don’t recognise the bravery shown by families who have come forward with their own stories. I don’t recognise the rooms of eager young people ready to campaign for a referendum. I don’t recognise the dignity of activists who have been fighting on this issue since the 1983 referendum and who have not given up and will not give up. I don’t recognise our core message, which is that we support a right to choose and a right to support and freedom from stigma whatever choice is made.

If the campaign to repeal the Eighth was as it is portrayed in the media, I don’t think I’d want anything to do with it.

Thankfully, that is not the experience I have had as part of this movement. I have attended, participated in, hosted discussions; I have written hundreds upon hundreds of words and engaged with people from all over the country, and at no point have I experienced hostility or alienation, even from people whose politics and opinions do not map neatly onto mine.

When you see yourself misrepresented repeatedly, it’s easy to be frustrated. I resist that impulse. I ask, cui bono? For whose benefit are these things being said? Who stands to gain from delegitimising the pro-choice position? It is not the ‘centre’, the mass of moderate voters with an interest in social politics but without a drive to become an activist on either side. They do not gain from this. It is a politics of fear. It is a race to the bottom. In framing their argument as being on the side of the voter in the street, the anti-choice lobby seeks to position themselves as the centre. 81% of Irish people, this summer, told an Irish Times poll that they would support a liberalisation of abortion policy past that allowed by the Eighth. That other 19%, fewer than one in five, is a minority. Forgetting that is dangerous.

Because this is where we live now. In post-Brexit Britain and post-Trump America, in a Europe divided and an international order shifting ever more toward the extremist right, minority but vocal positions, pushing the politics of fear, have told their populations that they are the moderates, speaking up for the average person and attempting to normalise a social order built on intolerance and removal of human rights. Don’t be fooled. This is not normal. No part of this is normal.

Do I fear that a repeal referendum would fall at the last fence, like Clinton’s presidential bid or the unlikely, shocking result of the Brexit referendum? Of course I do. I’m human. I’m invested in this campaign and I want it to succeed, so naturally I fear the chance that it might not. But what we learn from the experiences of 2016, this annus horribilis in so many ways, is that fear is a weapon and it is being wielded against us.

Somehow a message of choice is being corrupted into something ugly; somehow people who believe in affirming human rights are being painted as intolerant. This. Is. Not. Normal.

Delegitimisation, then: cui bono? Those who are effecting the campaign to delegitimise, of course. The reason the anti-choice lobby do not want the Eighth removed is the same reason which spurred their forebears to amend the Constitution in the first place: they fear that a future activist government or Supreme Court bench will liberalise abortion laws in Ireland. Their position is built on fear. Their lobbying is based on pleas to emotion, often so divorced from fact as to seem ludicrous. They do not have the support of international human rights law. They do not have the support of medical science. It is so important that we do not let them position themselves as the new normal. They are not.

The lesson for Ireland from our international disappointments has to be as follows: we need to inform people about the law and the facts around pregnancy, abortion, and maternity services in Ireland. We need to rebut false promises and scaremongering, and at every point to reassert where the centrepoint of the country actually is. We need to understand that people are inherently rational, but that fear is the most powerful motivator in the arsenal of extremist tools. We need to show the Irish public that fear is not the only way, and that rather than an attempt to keep them in darkness, ours is a campaign of bringing these issues into the light.

Amnesty International’s founder, Peter Benenson, started the organisation with the philosophy that “it is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness”. Rather than giving in to frustration or letting ourselves be swayed or frightened by the politics of fear, we have to realise that, in the matter of human rights, we are the keepers of that flame. We will not lose this. We will not let ourselves lose this fight, and we will not let the Irish people be bowed by fear, intolerance, and oppression. This is too important.