By Grace Crowley
Rebellion unites the two unlikely cultures of queerness and Irishness, but their similarities do not stop there. Through garish dancing makeup and never-dying pride, being Irish has taught me how to navigate queerness better than any book or film.
Credits: Cork’s Gay Collective at the 1985 May Day March (Kevin Doyle).
No one wants to say it, so I will: Catholicism is so camp. It is garish, it is over-the-top, it is exaggeration – all words that could both describe the intricately painted Sistine Chapel and RuPaul’s Drag Race. Being Irish Catholic, you’d think realising you were queer would be detrimental, and to many it is. I was lucky. Pride seems to bridge the two otherwise seemingly incongruous cultures. Just as my dad had drilled his love of the green, white and gold flag into my mind, through my Catholic Irishness I learnt what it meant to be proud of who I am.
My grandad was a small man from County Newry and he often reminded me of the importance of my identity. Irish, to him, was a synonym for pride, strength, and bravery. When I would seek advice about school girl drama, he would remind me that ‘You’re Irish, you’ll be grand.’ His home, like that of my parents, was also covered in crucifixes – my Nanny used to throw a tea towel over my head if I ever used the Lord’s name in vain near her, let a “Jesus Christ” slip out. But I remember, when I realised I was queer at 15, my biggest cause for concern was that I would never get to have one of those big church weddings. I was still proud of who I was and who I am, and it was because of what my family taught me about always being proud of who you are. You’re Irish, you’ll be grand. So just like I have always donned my ginger locks gleefully as a symbol of my Irishness, I have learnt to wear my carabiner with pride.
Some of what made it easier is the way a deep empathy often goes side-by-side with being Irish. Anybody who knows a bit about Irish history might know why. The British Empire made grave efforts for centuries to erase and dehumanise Irish people. Ireland today proves that they failed. Across the nation, there is an innate care for those who face injustice. My favourite example of this is from 2015, when Ireland became the first country ever to legalise gay marriage by popular vote – a true contestation of conservatism. With pro-Palestine marches happening in Cork, Dublin and Belfast, there is undying support for those under occupation. The Irish do not fear standing up for what they believe in. Learning the importance of the fight for justice has made my existence as a queer woman so much richer. Being Irish and being queer are more than just facts about me, they work together to create the lens that I navigate the world through.
And anyways, the Catholic Church has always been known for its gold, grandeur and theatricality, its over-the-top campyness that has diffused into me. Understanding the church as a venue, the churchgoers as the chorus in their immaculate ‘Sunday best’ outfits as costumes, mass is a ritualistic expression of Catholicism that never tones itself down. Catholic communities come together in beautiful spaces, made of stained-glass windows and do not dull down their aesthetics. As queer people, neither should we.
The Irish, it turns out, are the same. It is only with three absurdly heavy wigs, two thick layers of foundation and one perfectly even tan that one can really feel ready for ‘Feis’- an Irish dancing competition. Getting ready for a feis is as much a sport as the jigs and reels themselves. The process is intense, but if you’ve done it for long enough, you learn how to paint your face through muscle memory. I have come to have a true admiration for Trixie Mattel’s uniform, and how she perfects outrageously intricate makeup looks, because I have been there too. My Irishness has informed my understanding of performance, which only makes me more enthusiastic about queer artistic expressions like drag.
Bród (pride) is at the heart of what it means to be Irish. We are a country that has been colonised, persecuted and discriminated against, yet we still exist. Trad music still plays, the Irish language (Gaeilge) is still spoken, and jigs are still performed. St Patrick’s day is celebrated in over 200 countries in the world. In that same way, queerness persists despite every attempt to erase us. Over 100 countries proudly celebrate gay Pride, and we are finally being recognised at the places we work, live and party! Ireland’s patriotism is intertwined with the values needed to be a queer without shame. My frizzy red hair and entirely freckled skin makes me a proud exhibition of every Irish person before me. – I am eternally grateful to be queer in this body.
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