Summary

Sinéad O’Connor is remembered for her courageous activism against the Catholic Church's abuses and her impact on public discourse about HIV/AIDS, despite personal struggles and public controversy.

Abstract

The article reflects on the life and legacy of Sinéad O’Connor, acknowledging her tumultuous personal life, her activism, and her role in raising awareness about the HIV/AIDS epidemic and the Catholic Church's sexual abuse scandals. O'Connor's fierce opposition to the Church's legacy of abuse and her willingness to speak out against powerful institutions are highlighted as key aspects of her public persona. The author expresses a complex mix of emotions about O'Connor's life and death, recognizing her as a figure who inspired others to fight against injustice and who remained resilient despite numerous challenges. The piece also touches on the broader implications of the Church's historical actions and the importance of continuing to speak out against such abuses.

Opinions

The author admires O'Connor's bravery in confronting the Catholic Church's sexual abuse scandal and acknowledges the difficulty of being a pioneering voice in that space.
There is a recognition of the complexity of O'Connor's personal life, including her struggles with mental health and the tragic loss of her child to suicide.
The article criticizes the Catholic Church as a powerful institution that has caused harm through colonialism, war, trauma, racism, greed, homophobia, and transphobia.
The author emphasizes the importance of not being complacent about the Church's historical abuses and suggests that O'Connor's legacy should inspire continued resistance and protection of future generations.
There is a call to action for readers to withdraw financial support from the Church and to be more vocal in their opposition to its abuses.
The author expresses a desire for O'Connor's memory to be honored by perpetuating her spirit of defiance and advocacy for justice.

Sinéad O’Connor Did Not Go Quietly

Nor should we.

Photo by Kate Garner. It was used in a fictional commercial in a 1986 BBC special called “AIDS: The Last Chance.” Condom advertisements were still banned by the BBC at this time, the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. The Pope as well as the Church in Ireland continued to call condom usage a sin, a move that was harshly criticized by public health experts and likely led to the deaths of millions worldwide. Sinead O’Connor would go on to help raise money for HIV/AIDS charities as her own star rose.

I wanted to write something about Sinéad O’Connor later today, but felt I was at a loss for words. As I pause and turn that last sentence over in my mind, I realize I am not bereft of words but, perhaps, overly burdened by them. I shall attempt to explain further here.

I am sad, certainly. I am not gutted by her death, or devastated, but rather quietly certain that she lived a lot longer than many in her inner circle likely thought possible. One of her children died by suicide just last year. She wrote that she was lost without him. I believe she told the truth. I also believe it is folly to neatly tie one person’s death to another’s suicide, to say things like, “Now she is with him, where she wanted to be” or “She would have gone on if not for that loss.”

Hers was not an easy life, and there are a thousand reasons we may have lost her earlier than we did. That she lived to 56 is a testament to her ferocity and a willingness to fight on.

By her own admission, I do not imagine she always was an easy person to live with, or to love, and in this way I suppose many of us can likely see a bit of ourselves or our own family members in her, though we did not know her.

I do not know all of her music, though I certainly enjoyed much of it. This is not an elegy by a music fan, but by a faraway observer, a listener and, at times, a great admirer.

She helped save lives and she gave people hope. Our heroes are not always or often angels, though she happened to be born with the face of one.

How confused people were when confronted by her rage. How shocked and betrayed they felt when this porcelain doll with Precious Moments eyes opened her mouth to scream at the injustice of the monsters who raped and humiliated the people of her own country, and of so many other countries.

Why is she so angry? She’s so pretty. She’s so beautiful. Why did she do that to her hair? She could be a model. She could sell perfume, or clothes, or more records. She’s rich now, isn’t she? She must be. Why is she still so mad? She’s mental. She’s selfish. She could do so much more good if she were just nicer.

I cannot imagine the bravery it took to do what she did earlier than so many others: speak out against the Catholic Church’s horrific legacy of massive childhood sexual abuse. It is the world’s oldest, largest and most successful continually operating for-profit international corporation, and its primary concern is to hurt people in a myriad of ways while dressing that hurt up in ritual, incense, stained glass and solemn tones, all in the service of making money.

Don’t believe me? Look at the real estate. No modern tycoon could ever be so successful. Look at the art, the jewels, the palaces called “cathedrals.” Look at how your grandmother still gives them money, still, and thinks “it goes to the poor.” Look at how they say, “This Pope is the best one yet. He lives in a humble apartment.”

Every successful cult needs a CEO who understands the value of public relations.

Sinead O’Connor never avoided a chance to discuss how that corporation has done endless damage in the countries in which it operates. Colonialism, war, trauma, racism, greed, homophobia, transphobia — these elements are its legacy, no matter how nice your Jesuit priest was at your very nice private liberal arts college; no matter how sweet the nun at your elementary school who served as the kindly contrast to your cruel mother; no matter how lovely the outreach program where you may have volunteered to help migrant workers, as I myself did one summer in college, long after I should’ve left any aspect of the Church of my childhood behind.

There are better ways to help people, better organizations to join, better methods of providing love and care.

I am angry, and she was angry, and so many of you are angry, and we should be. We are meant to be. We are not meant to act as if it only happened over there, or over there, or over there, or that once the movie came out that talked about it — or that other movie, or that other one — it was okay.

It is not okay.

We who were raised in the Church and we who suffered for its sins, who carry a legacy of shame and worry and addiction and horror about the most fundamental and beautiful aspect of our human lives — we all owe Sinéad O’Connor a great debt. She was not the only one who stood up, but she did it earlier and louder than many.

Her personal and private legacy is, I’m sure, as complex as any of a parent who suffered greatly from mental illness. Her public legacy is clear: beyond the music, she left an example of how to fight back, and how, for a time, to endure.

She told them all to fuck off.

May they all fuck off. May we all keep our dollars out of their dens of sin and abuse. May they never know peace.

May her legacy be that we all yell back oftener and with more gusto, that we get bigger and scarier and even less compliant, that we should make life quieter and safer for the children who come after we are gone.

Some angels are awfully loud. I hope she’s making a ruckus up there, with a devilish smile on that heavenly face.

***********************

This essay was originally published on Substack.

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