It made no noise as it swept in over field and village carrying with it the secrets of the deep and depositing them anew along the shoes of the country from which they'd been spat and buried deep under an ocean of shame. The tsunami poured through cracks and crevices, carrying whispers and stories that built, wave after wave, higher and higher, building to a roar and reaching points thought untouchable, unreachable, unmouldable, sacred, holy. Holy has no place here. We are all sinners. And with the waves rose the voices of the women, keening and mourning, shaking loose the rosaries that held them to their stations, compliant or banshees, exiled or drowned in a raging sea but lifted up by the Wave, and grasped by the Others who heard their cries and reached through waters and lifted them up for air, unfraid of the voices. The Land is changed. We have heard the voices from the deep, the witches they could not drown. The Land is changed. We have stared and seen the shoes of the desperate walking from the wave. Our Land is changed. Is é seo do thir agus tá fáilte libh go léir. We turn our back no more, the roar will subside, the waves ebb, but the echoes will remain. Ireland is changed.
–Sinéad O’Rourke
Published in: Rise Up and Repeal, available here: https://www.amazon.com/Rise-Up-Repeal-archive-amendment/dp/1912802244
Photo by Matt Hardy from Pexels
