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	The Debt Women Owe Nuala By Rosita Sweetman Irish Independent October 31, 2009 http://www.independent.ie/entertainment/books/the-debt-women-owe-nuala-1929869.html I was just beginning to feel all warm and fuzzy towards Nuala Fennell, fellow founding sister of the Irish Women's Liberation Movement (IWLM) -- how caring she was, how practical, how very nice -- when I read something she wrote about me and was suddenly reminded what a serious bite in the bum she could deliver if deemed necessary; Nuala Fennell was no pushover. Incredibly sadly, this book was completed just before her untimely death earlier this year and I think if she hadn't been ill, she would have pushed the narrative further along. As it is, the real meat of the book is in her descriptions of the women's movement in the early 1970s, its fruitful and turbulent aftermath, plus her three terms serving as a TD, 10 years in all, including as Minister of State for Women's Affairs (heady days) under Garret FitzGerald. Nuala's particular genius lay in her capacity for organising. Already a mum of three young children when Mary Kenny recruited her into the IWLM, no wonder she thought the rest of us a bunch of banshees, bordering on bonkers. High on the 'the revolution is just around the corner' zeitgeist, we deliberately, and thrillingly as we thought, eschewed leaders, charters, structure. All that stuff reeked of corporate straitjacketing and we wanted none of it. Nuala was appalled. She gives a wonderful description of an early meeting in Mary Kenny's boho pad: "When I arrived, Mary's apartment was dark and very smoky. It was full of strange women, who were not over friendly. Everyone spoke at once and argued aggressively," she goes on, "I listened to all of the voices at once but the housewife in me wondered if I would be better occupied in the kitchen washing Mary's sink of dirty dishes." Ouch! Well, yes, there probably were too many egos for the founding group to last, and the elitism of a group consisting of mainly single women with high-flying careers had, and still has, its weaknesses, but the storm raised in the nine months of the IWLM's existence shook dear old Mise Eire to the core. Lest any of us forget, Ireland of the early 1970s still had its very own Taliban of celibate clergy and supine politicians who had, since the founding of the State, carefully forgotten the calls, and promises, for sexual equality, and through countless laws and strictures, daily reinforced by the clergy, ensured their way ruled. It wasn't just that there was male domination; for most women there was no alternative to marriage. Once inside a marriage a woman lost virtually all of her personal human rights. Her husband could beat her, beat her children, abandon them, go to another jurisdiction, divorce her, re-marry, thereby bastardising his first family, and get the family home. There were no barring orders, no refuges, no legal recourse, and if the man buggered off entirely, no money. A look back at the first booklet produced by the IWLM, Irish Women, Chains or Change, induces vertigo. Women really were second-class citizens -- morally, emotionally, financially and legally. And woe betide those who 'fell'; the joys of the Magdalen laundries awaited. Sadly, Nuala herself got fed up with revolutionary zeal, and post the 'Contraception Train', a brilliant piece of direct action if ever there was one, wrote a long and bitter letter explaining her departure, which she bravely, prints here in full. "If you are not anti-American, anti-clergy, anti-government, anti-ICA, anti-police, anti-men, then sisters, there is no place for you (inside the IWLM) either". Double, quadruple ouch. Actually, Nuala went on to perform brilliantly on her own, using many of the techniques developed by the women's movement, but harnessing them to her own vision for forcing actual, legislative reform. She got together with like-minded women (and men) and brought into reality a whole raft of legal and social reforms through AIM, which finally broke the decades-long stranglehold of Church and State on women. She went on to set up Irish Women's Aid (for victims of domestic abuse), Ireland's very first refuge, and the WPA (Women's Political Association). Her reforming work was excellent training for the next stage in her career -- politics. In today's world, Nuala's belief in a government's duty to enact good legislation on behalf of its citizens seems long ago and far away. As the present crew of desperadoes, having broken the economy and all but broken the country, now attempt to shove Lisbon, NAMA and ˆ90bn bailouts to the very geezers who got us into this catastrophe in the first place, down our collective throats, it's amazing to recall Nuala's work which pushed through social reforms that positively effected thousands of citizens, mainly women and children, but men too. It's also surprising to remember a time when women such as Nuala went into politics to fight for the rights of women -- not to be simpering Dail candy for alpha males or, God help us, bigger and more bullying than the men themselves, but independent creatures with minds and plans of their own. It's grim that things have come to such a pass as they have in politics worldwide; sad too that the women's movement was hijacked, so that now everyone, including the cat, has to go out to work, and true liberation -- for women, men and children -- has, in some ways, never seemed so far away. The struggle for justice, for equality, for truth continues. And it's more than sad that Nuala is no longer with us. Her love for her husband Brian shines through on every page; the last photo here is of both of them with their five grandchildren. They must all miss her dreadfully. Three cheers for Nuala Fennell, then; for a sister who brought it all the way.
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