Friday 25th of May 2018 was the day we made history.

When the results came in, my mum said that she is thankful my sisters and I, and our future children, will grow up in a completely different Ireland to the one she had to endure: an Ireland where choice is a right, not a luxury. An Ireland where women matter, and that fact is confirmed by law. By voting Yes, we changed the course of our history and began to right some of the wrongs of Ireland’s past.

My mum was the same age as I am now when the 8th was introduced. As I went into the polling station, I could feel an immense solidarity with those gone before me. Those who were unable to vote, those thrown into the laundries, those who had their babies taken from them, those unable to divorce their abusive husbands, those unable to practice family planning, and so many more. Women of our mothers’ generation were happy to be allowed to have jobs, and to keep them when they married. Every generation demands a little more progress, but when I went in to vote alongside my mum, I could see the fear in her eyes that this might not pass. That fear was palpable with almost everyone I spoke with in the lead up to the vote. The entire referendum was incredibly emotional due to all the personal stories shared and particularly for me, the weight of Ireland’s past.

From 1922, under the Free State Constitution, all Irish citizens over 21, regardless of gender, were eligible to vote. Did this mean women were treated as equal citizens in the eyes of politics and socially? Definitely not. From the early 1930s to 1972, a marriage bar meant women in the civil service (and often in privately-owned businesses) had to leave work once they got married so that they would be available for their husbands and children. The State was practicing biopower, controlling its citizens through reproductive control and using legal and (Catholic) social norms to enforce this control. Contraception was banned until 1980, divorce illegal until 1996, and of course, abortion until now. In fact, refusing to have sex with your husband was practically forbidden: consent did not come into the equation in marriage during much of the early to mid-20th century.

The Magdalene Laundries were operating until the 1990s, incarcerating an estimated 30,000 women over the 19th and 20th centuries for the “crime” of being unmarried mothers. These women were ostracised, and subjected to slave labour and sexual, physical and emotional abuse. Many of these women and their babies died in the institutions and were buried in unmarked mass graves, like the 800 babies buried in a septic tank in Tuam. As well as making slaves of these mothers, these institutions illegally sold children to wealthy Americans, falsifying their birth certificates by failing to list their actual birth parents.

The 8th Amendment was the living legacy of the abuse that women in Ireland have endured: a stranglehold that the Church and the State held on all people with wombs in the country. Savita Halappanavar, an immigrant dentist, died on 28th October 2012 after a septic seven-day miscarriage. She was denied the right to abort the dying fetus due to the 8th Amendment. “This is a Catholic country,” she was reportedly told. Savita ignited the nation, and, after centuries of control, on Friday, 25th May 2018, Ireland finally went to the polls and two-thirds of the electorate marked X on the Yes box. Women stood up for themselves, and so did everyone who cares for them.

And we won.

When the votes were tallied, Simon Harris, the Minister for Health, said “For years we told women to take the boat or take the plane. Today we say take our hand.” The majority of Ireland voted to acknowledge the right to proper healthcare of those otherwise exported to England. For the first time, I felt that my country, my friends, my family, were all on the same page. This referendum forced Ireland to confront its biggest taboo, and have a conversation many would rather not have. It forced us to extend a hand of compassion for women in a crisis pregnancy. It forced us to understand that our say matters, our choice matters. It was moving to think about all those who went out to vote, regardless of whether the issue ever had or ever would affect them personally, like “the lads,” the rural farmers, the Grandfathers For Choice who had held banners on Grafton Street.

One thing is for certain, Ireland has finally accepted that women can make their own choices. It was the biggest “F you” to all those involved in the suppression of women in Ireland. And, mostly, it was an apology to those women who endured horrific abuse under the hands of the Church and the State. We are continually taught that women do not win, and both current affairs and our history perpetuates that. Whether it is being kidnapped and strangled in broad daylight, raped by a 13-year-old boy, or a 25-year-old one who is acquitted (Paddy Jackson, Stuart Olding, I’m looking at you). In the midst of these scary times for women, the Yes result made me realise that, just maybe, we are supported and loved.  

As the posters are being taken down, the Together for Yes sticker melting on my car, the profile pictures returning to happy non-political photos, I wonder if the country is returning to a certain silence it got lost in for so long. I wonder if any of us will truly remember marking our X in the box. I don’t know if I, or my future daughter, or my best friend, or my sisters, will ever have a crisis pregnancy. But I know if they do, with the support of our country behind me, I will tell her it is your life. It is your body. It is your choice.