Saoirse don Phalaistín

When I was little, I noticed my name was painted on walls across Belfast and I would feel famous: Saoirse na hÉireann

Till I realised my name was a light used during darker days: a political force throughout The Troubles. Two heavy words that many know as a time of terrorism: we turn a blind eye to the colonialism. Just remember what the Irish did to Britain. And the word ‘Freedom’ felt anything but free. It felt trapped on this part of the country that still wasn’t free. My name confined to a period in history. None of this felt like me.

When I was 18, I tattooed the word ‘freedom’ with a bird across my ankle: a symbol that I was now able to fly away and get by on my own, didn’t need other people to make a home. A group of drunk lads in the tattoo parlour pointed and laughed, one of them had ‘Dave is a prick’ etched on his knee. And I felt frustrated that they didn’t get me: the little bird with its English word.

I’m now learning that there is strength in unity and community. In experiencing cultures locally and globally.

Ní neart go cur le chéile

Running away doesn’t mean that you’re free. But I acknowledge that I can run away, I am not trapped and confined to one place. Unable to escape. Not a part of an inferior race. I was just born in the right place, or at least at the right time. 

The fact I hold an American passport is no longer said with pride. And when English or Americans roll their eyes at how to spell my name, I remember why our language had to be changed. The people who died because they didn’t want to hide. They knew this was bigger than them.

Convenience can be ignorance. Silence and comfort come at the expense of another sufferer. We buy excessively and consume constantly, scrolling mindlessly, while bombs are killing babies. But it doesn’t feel real if it doesn’t affect me.

We turn areas of horrific war crimes into tourist sites where you can fly with your family, buy a tour guide and take a picture or get a t-shirt where people were once tortured. We build it into a blockbuster. Busy ourselves and move faster. Caught in a rat race chasing to be free: for a week sitting on a plastic chair in a country whose language we don’t speak. But google translate makes it all so easy. I don’t have to worry. It doesn’t feel real if doesn’t affect me.

Look, I do and I don’t understand. I know I’ve played my own hand. We’ve all had our trauma on our own land. Some of us have endured unimaginable pain it’s sometimes just easier to blend in and be the same. Not want to scream and shout and complain. Just live simply and gently. Embody love and peace.

But what about others? Those who suffer? Mourning the loss of a mother or brother? The bodies trapped under rubble? The bestselling brands that come at the hand of little kids. And maybe this is just the way it is, how the world works, but what kind of world are we all dying for? One that’s only built for me or for me and you? Why does it feel we’re all living out of fear not wanting any trouble to come here? And if ‘politics’ and ‘history’ are two words that justify terrorising innocent civilians, what kind of world do we live in?

I’m learning that the scariest people aren’t hidden down alleyways sleeping rough, but the men in suits looking down from above. The people who run countries, companies, and are money power hungry with no regards for the rest of humanity. Seeing us as a commodity. I think only about me. Fear anything that tests my superiority.

I’m learning that ‘Saoirse’ does not just mean freedom for Ireland or freedom for me, it means freedom for all. It means being able to be yourself, stand tall even when you feel small, connecting with your lineage, heritage. It also means ‘us’; not just on one part of the world but all parts of the world. I’m proud of how my name is a light used during darker days. Being heard and misunderstood is a lot more important than being quiet and appearing good. Nothing is good about the way this world works. I am not saying it’s mine or your fault. I am not blaming or shaming. Most humans if not all don’t want suffering or hurting — we want to love and be kind. We don’t want war and we don’t want to hide. Maybe this is why suicide is on the rise. But why? Why are we feeling so out of place we’re taking our own lives and why is there a genocide happening before our eyes. Palestine, I did not know you before this year now your name is one I seek to hear. I am sorry that you’re being tortured, traumatised living in constant fear while we sing Christmas songs and drink beer. I’m sorry that we don’t know what to do. I’m sorry for other oppressed parts of the world feeling as unseen and overlooked as you do. But I’ve decided to write this to you. For you. Because no matter your skin, religion, history, story, nobody deserves to have their people, culture, homes and identity shattered and debated on the tv. To be facing extermination while we’re planning our new year celebrations.

It doesn’t feel real if it doesn’t affect me. But this does affect me.

It’s affecting all of humanity.