Where Do We Go From Here?

The Care referendum, which was ultimately defeated by the Irish voting population earlier this year, caused much hurt for disabled folk, who felt overlooked and excluded by many community organisations and activists. In the aftermath, Alannah Murray discusses the damage done, as well as how best to move forward. All portraits by Steven Peice.

So now that the dust has settled and the immediate hurt of the referendum has died down, I’m ready to talk about repairing bridges and starting conversations on how both my disabled identity and my queer identity co-exist.

For full transparency, I campaigned for a Yes No vote. My background is in the legal field, but readers of the magazine will know that I regularly advocate for disabled queer people. We can be both — and often are.

The reason for my No in the Care referendum has been splashed across social media, so I don’t feel the need to rehash the whole thing again. In summary, it’s that disabled people weren’t encouraged to live autonomous lives and it reduced them to objects of care.

I thought once momentum gained and more disabled people spoke out that the organisations, particularly queer ones, would get behind us. Surely they would recognise the idea of being misaligned by society, not given the rights to live life as they deserved, and they would stand shoulder to shoulder with us in solidarity.

I was, unfortunately, naive. Some of the largest organisations that are meant to protect queer people like me, were campaigning to take away my rights and autonomy. I know it didn’t seem like that, and I harbour no long-term resentment towards them. They were probably sold the same progressive golden goose that the other organisations were. That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt all the same.

The resulting campaign was brutal for disabled queer people. They had to watch those whom they considered to be allies just a few short weeks before campaign against them, while the government and the other organisations in the coalition misaligned us as supporting the religious right. Anti-progress.

Suddenly it felt like my place in the movement for queer disabled liberation was gone. Was this what people would think of me after the referendum? That I was antiprogress? Do all my articles and my stances on issues about accessible queer nightlife, accessible sexual health services, and the fact that marriage equality still doesn’t exist for disabled queer people simply melt away?

I released a statement saying that I would never write for this magazine again. How could I? But after everything had settled, and statements released and stances changed, I figured it was time to start mending the bridges that I thought were burned.

In the final few weeks, people began to change their minds after listening to the disabled people in their lives. The referendum was defeated. That didn’t make me unsee the comments from people at the head of queer organisations, though, that anyone campaigning for a No vote was less than. Somehow less part of the community.

Some people changed their stances, but a great many others kept their place in the Yes Yes coalition. So the big question is: what can the larger queer community do to ensure that this doesn’t happen again, that they do not fall into the trap of not looking beyond their able-bodiedness and start recognising that disabled people are part of the liberation movement too?

Engagement has always been lacking, if we’re to be honest. In the quest for marriage equality, disabled queer people fought for their non-disabled community members. When we asked for the same solidarity, it was nowhere to be seen.

Did you know that even though the campaign was called marriage equality, disabled queer people still cannot get married if they receive benefits? Because they are assessed jointly, something as simple as marriage could impact disability allowance entitlement. For example, when I eventually go on to be a barrister, the State thinks that not only does my disability disappear, but that by being in a relationship with someone who has an income, my partner also loses his disability allowance.

Disabled people have been fighting for more accessible spaces to be disabled and queer. Most events advertised for queer people do not have accessibility information. Any kind of gatherings and marches for queer liberation have not included masking requirements. Most organisations on social media still aren’t including alt text on their images. All of these things in both the digital and in-person space have been telling disabled people that they are not wanted.

Disabled people don’t feel safe. All that’s needed? Talking. Invite disabled people to give their take. Consider them as speakers. Pay them for the emotional labour that it takes to educate the community that finds it easier to pretend we don’t exist for the sake of a bop and a kiki.

There is a massive overlap between the disabled and queer communities, yet only one community is expected to shoulder the fight. We have so many heroes of the LGBTQ+ movement in Ireland who are disabled: Ollie Bell, co-founder of Trans and Intersex Pride Ireland; Alber Saborio, an artist associated with the collective Gender.rip; Áine O’Hara, artist and festival director for the Disrupt Disability Arts Festival; Éabha Wall, a disabled educator. We exist, and we are fighting the same fight, just in a different way.

So, I encourage non-disabled queer people who are in the events space: if you’re organising a rally, a talk, anything, talk to a disabled queer person about it. Let them guide you on how you can be more inclusive. Be radical and ambitious about inclusion. Don’t do it just because it looks good — do it because it’s the right thing to do.

I’m not expecting everyone to know about the barriers that exist for disabled queer people from the get-go, but in the interest of inclusion, by not consulting us you are excluding us. You are doing exactly what non-queer people tried to do to our communities for so long. They are the real people we should be fighting, not each other.

Intersectionality is a word that gets thrown around a lot. The term was coined in 1989 by Kimberlé Crenshaw and has been used since to describe intersecting identities. As a white person able to advocate for myself, I recognise the privilege that I have. I would, however, be remiss if I didn’t recognise the glaring issues with intersectionality in both the disabled and queer communities.

The idea that we can only be one identity just isn’t true, and I feel the need to choose between being disabled and being queer a lot of the time. I am also perceived as either disabled or queer, never both. The lack of intersectionality can lead to internalised biases in the communities, and nobody wants to start the conversation that maybe they’re not as inclusive as they could be.

So what’s next? Start by getting out of the habit of hiding behind your queerness. Queer people can and have been ableists. Queer people are the same as any other grouping; we all have our flaws. This is not a call out; this is a call in. Multiply-marginalised members of the LGBTQ+ community shouldn’t feel that they have to pigeonhole themselves into one identity or one group.

Follow disabled people on social media, buy their books and subscribe to their newsletters. The more educated people are on disabled issues, the more recognition they will have of the disabled issues in their communities.

Organisations that advocated for a double Yes in the referendum will have to do a lot of work to repair the hurt caused to the disabled queer community. How are we supposed to trust that you have our best interests at heart and that we can depend on you when your lack of intersectional thinking leads to you actively campaigning against us? Disabled people shouldn’t have to come to you; you should be actively seeking us out.

I welcome these conversations happening promptly, accessibly and intersectionally. At the end of the day, I am a proud disabled queer person, and my identities don’t cancel each other out.

Recommended educational resources:

Legless, A Substack by Louise Bruton

Unsettled by Rosaleen McDonagh

Break The Mould by Sinéad Burke

Blezzing Dada @blezzingdada on Instagram

Louise Bruton @itsloubru on Instagram

Éabha Wall @eabhas_exosyms on Instagram

Alber Saborio @principite on Instagram and X

Áine O’Hara @misc.aine on Instagram

Ollie Bell @classconsciousqueer on Instagram

Cír Doyle @queer_cir on Instagram and X