Tag Archives: Fiach Mac Conghail

What happens next?

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On Thursday 12th November 2015, I joined some Irish artists and theatre makers in an upstairs room at the Unicorn Theatre in London Bridge. Truth be told, Irish theatre is not something that has ever affected me personally in real terms; I trained at the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School and my work has been predominantly UK-based.

But the Abbey is an institution that every Irish artist, and possibly most Irish citizens want to feel connected to. As Emer O’Toole put it so well in the Guardian, the story of the Abbey Theatre is the story of our nation. The two are inextricably linked. Lady Gregory and the women of the time played their part in birthing the new nation, and as such it is the duty of every citizen (not just women) to ensure that their legacy is not forgotten.

So it was with much interest, and a feeling of excitement and solidarity that we gathered around a laptop (the modern equivalent of the wireless) to listen to the speakers. None disappointed, save the artistic director of the Abbey. It seems incredible to me (never having met Fiach MacConghail) that out of all the topics he had clearly given considered thought to – “war stories, about poverty, about housing, about disenfranchisement” – that the glaring omission of half the population and their views and perspective on 1916 wouldn’t have been obvious.

But then, one has to look at this in the wider context of society. It’s not uncommon, when in meetings/rehearsal rooms etc as one of the token women that all one hears is the loud guffawing and braying of male voices. Men don’t have very much interest in women’s opinions or stories, and when women do offer them, they are treated as less important by virtue of gender. I witnessed this in a very microcosmic way some months ago when riding the Overground in London. Three young people in their late teens/early 20s, two boys and a girl. They were talking about getting jobs, and it turned out the girl had just got one. She was trying to offer advice to the boys on what to do in interviews, and they both dismissed her out of hand. SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO HAD MANAGED TO GET A JOB SO FAR. But her opinion wasn’t valued for no other obvious reason than her gender. Go figure. When the basic structure of this story seeps into society as a whole – Heuston, we have a problem….

Being in the middle section of my life, I’ve experienced this story many times over. The sexism. The bullying. The dismissive tone. It’s a familiar and immensely irritating one at this stage, and it’s time this was changed. Also, personally, as a theatre and cinema goer – I’m bored with men’s stories. For a man’s coming-of-age story: Boy grows up with gang of friends. Boy discovers girls. Boy discovers penis. Tragedy strikes one of the friends (not through boy’s penis, might I add). Lessons are learned about growing into puberty. Roll credits. The End.

As a female audience member, I can sort of relate – but I would relate more to something like this: Girl born in different country comes to live in rural community. Girl is outsider to begin with. Girl is bullied because of cultural differences. Tragedy strikes through the death of a parent. Girl starts leading double life as good student during the daytime and nightclubbing rebel at night. Girl gets hit on by older guys. Girl goes off during her summer holidays on her own to New York to work. And that’s just me until aged 15.

I’m sure my story is not unique by any stretch of the imagination – it’s just that girls’ stories don’t tend to be allowed to be heard. And as a woman – I’ve had enough. Not only because I identify more with women’s stories, but also because I believe the arts are failing because of the virtual exclusion of the world perspective of half the human race. Anytime I’ve been to the theatre/cinema and it’s told women’s stories from women’s perspectives it’s been pretty much packed to capacity. This is not coincidence, people.

Groucho Marx had a saying: “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” With all due respect to dear Groucho, he was a man and a celebrity and could afford that careless quip. My policy is, as a member of the human race, artist and theatregoer, is that I don’t support companies or organisations engaged in active discrimination. I don’t support or attend performances with all-male casts. I know people who run these companies, and while I wish them good luck, they won’t have my money or my bum on their seat. The same absolutely goes for companies if they actively have as their policy that they discriminate against people of colour, the LGBT community and so on.

The suffragettes had a saying ‘Deeds not words’. There have been a lot of fine words said since 12th November , but also a lot of inaction. As Lian Bell so eloquently put in an article for the Irish Times, it’s now time to ‘do sorry’.While it may be a step in the right direction that a subcommittee has been set up to examine the issue of gender imbalance in the Abbey, I suspect because it is headed up by Bryan McMahon that an elaborate game of chicken is being played and very little will transpire.

So here’s my suggestion as a safeguard against inaction: Boycott. If you believe in female equality, do not buy tickets or support the 90% of plays that are written and/or directed by men in ‘Waking the Nation’. As an artist, it goes against the grain to advocate a boycott of any art form. And I hope that the Abbey will take action to be more inclusive and that it will not come to this, on what is an extremely important commemoration in Irish history. But I believe this issue to be a wider one about the way women are treated in Irish society and society in general, and I believe that we owe this to the ‘mothers’ of our nation. All things considered, I do think this must be an option. Women make up about two-thirds of audiences, according to a SOLT report from 2005; and if those statistics hold true currently and in Ireland, there is considerable power in that. At the very least, a boycott would ensure that there are consequences for active discrimination. And the lack of tacit and tangible support may force the white men of theatre to ‘check their privilege’ before programming rather than after.

 

 

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A nation once again?

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Last year I did some ADR on a little film called ‘Brooklyn’. The book, by Colm Toibín, is one I’ve had a sort of tenuous relationship with – a couple of years ago, I narrated it for the RNIB, and was delighted to be involved, even in a small way, with the movie. The book itself is wonderful, delicate and as one would expect of a master like Toibín, extremely well-told. Even from the brief recording session, it was clearly a beautifully crafted film, telling a story that has been familiar to many Irish people, myself included, of the homesickness of being an Irish immigrant in spite of always having dreamt of leaving the motherland.  There is a romance attached to this sense of Irishness and being Irish abroad which neatly fits into universal sensibilities and the perception by others about what it means to be Irish. And this is a notion that is somewhat based in a truth, and which we have fostered and encouraged, to a certain extent.

But there is another narrative that is no less true, though less often told. This week was the week that it became blatantly apparent that Irish women’s voices were being silenced at our national theatre, which is a microcosm example of what has happened to Irish women over the last 100 years. It brought me back to something that happened to me a few years back. I was in hospital visiting an elderly female relative. She was in a frail and very vulnerable state and began crying as she recounted that she perhaps could have done more to help Magdalen girls she had come across. The sheer sense of terror however at the thoughts of going up against the powers-that-be (the Church, the State) was palpable, and it made me think about what it meant to be a young girl or young woman in 1950s/60s Ireland: the knowledge that if you gave into natural sexual desires, were raped or were too pretty, that you ran the risk of being incarcerated. Given what was known to happen, it’s hard to blame those who did not stand up and be counted.

Ireland’s treatment of its women is something that has not been scrutinised, because by and large in society in and out of Ireland, women’s stories are not seen as important enough. Out of the activists involved in fighting for a free state, the names of Maud Gonne (through association with Yeats) and Countess Markievicz may be known – but who knows the names of Hanna Sheehy Skeffington, Mary Galway, Margaret Cousins, Louie Bennett, Kathleen Lynn, Rosamund Jacob and Helena Molony beyond a few interested scholars? They certainly don’t rank in recognition in the same way that Pearse, De Valera, Collins, Connolly, Clarke, MacDermott, Plunkett and MacDonagh do. I don’t even have to use their first names for them to be instantly recognisable to anyone who went through the Irish school system. Sure, most of these lost their lives and that forms part of their remembrance; but the women aforementioned are important figures of their time, and yet sidelined historically.

Toibín’s Eliís, or the late Maureen O’Hara’s Mary Kate Danaher is how Ireland prefers to view its women: feisty, quirky, sanitised for Hollywood consumption. In a way, it is an aspect of Irish womanhood, but not the sum totality. There are also the women who effectively were state-sponsored slaves in the Magdalen laundries; the 12 women a day who travel to the UK to get abortions because somehow their reproductive organs are a matter of national danger and concern. Miss X. Miss Y. Salvia Halapannavar. The clinically dead pregnant woman kept alive last year for over 17 weeks, despite her parents’ wishes. Not to mention the women and children directly abused by the Church, protected by the State. It’s not necessarily been the best 100 years for the women of Ireland and this is not something we can blame on our oppressors as a nation, because these crimes and the attempts at silencing these voices are something that the ‘free’ state of Ireland has done to itself.

The job of any national theatre is to tell the stories of the whole nation, not just those of an overprivileged male cosmopolitan elite. Having read through the official line from the Abbey via its artistic director, I don’t buy that none of the works by female writers were up to par – that comes across as sexist prevaricating. However, if it is the case (and of course that will be hard to judge until the season planned is upon us, and the audience and critics judge the relative merits of that position) then serious questions must be asked of the management of the Abbey Theatre as to why this was allowed to happen. It is not as if they did not know the significance of the centenary in 2016, and that it crept up on them unawares, and could not plan accordingly, surely to be representative of the nation as a whole? And the Abbey is funded largely by public funding, so any under-representation, especially of half the population, should be grounds for public enquiry and concern.

Having been in Ireland the weekend of the Yes Equality vote, I felt it was a turning point in our history, and one that could prove of huge benefit in the campaign to repeal the 8th. What has transpired with the Abbey under Fiach Mac Conghail indicates there is much work to be done before Irish women are seen as equal citizens in our own country. As well as the celebrations that will occur to mark 1916, we also need to be brave enough to face the mistakes of the last 100 years and that dark history. Because until that happens, we will remain in a colonised state. Irishwomen were instrumental in the formation of the Free State – the 1916 proclamation directly acknowledges that. The best way of eulogising those who fought for our freedom would be to honour that. In that sense, it is not just the feminists who need to wake up. To be a nation once again, with the responsibility, the accountability and maturity that involves, every Irish citizen needs to.