Witnessing a State apology delivered by the Prime Minister in the House of Commons is a highly impactful occurrence. The victims who have been unjustifiably sidelined for a considerable time can feel quite overwhelmed once they finally obtain acknowledgement. This moment is theirs to cherish, a memory they will hold tight forever.
Being present to witness these events is a significant honour – an emotional and unforgettable experience. Regardless of whether one has witnessed these apologies once, twice or even five times, the sanctity remains intact. The concentrated emotion in the public’s response and the echoing silence throughout the chamber underscore their significance.
Although familiarity may not create contempt with these extraordinary events, it can breed some doubts. As the Stardust families genuinely accepted Simon Harris’s heartfelt apology on behalf of the country, those seasoned in public acts of contrition began contemplating the future.
The real task begins now, although not for the Stardust families. They have, for four decades, shouldered the heavy burden – some have even lost their lives in the process. Their work is hopefully now complete.
It is the State who must take up the mantle. The previous heads of government have stood in Harris’s place, sincerely begged for forgiveness for serious failures of the State, pledged fair recourse and vowed not to repeat past mistakes. The reality though, is that these promises have often been broken.
Five consecutive prime ministers, five State apologies, and another milestone for Harris, delivering his State apology merely two weeks into his term. The fact that the Stardust tragedy occurred six years before Harris was born hasn’t gone overlooked. At 37, his comparative youth might position him as a trustworthy intermediary in this challenging chapter of Irish history. After four decades of avoidance from political and legal dignitaries, anyone would be skeptical.
Harris had only held office for a mere few days when the inquest into the deaths of the 48 young individuals who perished in the 1981 Stardust nightclub fire ruled they were illegitimately killed. This marked the start of the justice their families have been fighting for since their loved ones were incorrectly implicated in causing the fire.
To his merit, he acted promptly, arranging a meeting with the family members within two days after the court’s decision. A mere 72 hours later, these families occupied the seats in the public and eminent guests’ viewing areas of the Dáil to receive the long-awaited apology they genuinely deserved.
Four hours were allocated for statements from both the Government and Opposition, with catered refreshments for guests before and after the event. After addressing the house, the Taoiseach vacated his regular place. As discussion continued, he ascended to the upper level, taking his time to circulate among the lined-up seats. His hand was offered to nearly everyone, with a few receiving an embracing hold. This act was a first of its kind gesture in the Dáil’s records.
Not a compulsory act, but his decision to engage in this act resulted in a good outcome. His words of apology, uttered on behalf of the nation, lingered freshly in the atmosphere as he navigated through the room.
“Unquestionably, we are truly sorry. We failed you at a critical time when you counted on us the most. From the start, we were supposed to stand beside you, but instead, we ended up opposing you,” his words offered a clear admission of the state’s failure, something the families knew but never believed to hear.
Calling out the names of the deceased along with a brief description of each, he humanised them in the Dáil records, proving they were not just mere statistics. This inventory of names included gut-wrenching facts:
“He was 17… He was 17… She was 19… She was 18… He was 23… She was 16…”.
A young usher tried to control his tears at his station above the parliamentary railing. Across the aisle, Anne Rabbitte, Minister of State, gave up the fight, wiping away her tears. Lynn Boylan, who contributed significantly to helping the Stardust victims, shed tears leaning on the Senators’ reserved railing.
It took the Taoiseach almost a quarter hour to read out the list of names, with each name he announced stirring identifiable reactions among the relatives. The ceremony ended solemnly without applause after the Taoiseach’s thoughtful address where he unflinchingly conceded the continuous and horrific treatment endured by the victims’ families at the hands of the authorities.
The Leas-Cheann Comhairle, Catherine Connolly, initially welcomed the congregation to the Dáil. Previously, she had launched a scathing criticism of the establishment, accusing them of maintaining their tarnished reputation by treating those they deemed socially inferior with disdain. The parliamentarians gave them a standing ovation, a memorable moment, despite the exchanged wry grins amongst those battle-weary from years of struggle.
Several members of the government spoke after; two of them belonged to Dublin’s northside’s Stardust constituency. Fine Gael’s Richard Bruton acknowledged candidly and directly: “We who were their representatives in the constituency let them down, and we must fully accept that.”
Seán Haughey from Fianna Fáil’s contributions were both regretful and uncomfortably defensive. His father Charlie Haughey, a political heavyweight in the area and the nation back then, had close ties with the Stardust’s owners. He wasn’t of any assistance to the grieving families.
As his son took the podium, the mood in the gallery altered significantly. People’s nonverbals showed discomfort and whispers filled the air. Seán claimed he did his best, always prepared to lend a hand whenever called upon. But confessing, he admitted, “that was not enough.” He alluded to having a difficult relationship with the Stardust committee. Unbeknownst to him, he admitted to a different era, a society based on hierarchy, revealing much to the listeners.
The visibly emotional Mary Lou McDonald made a fervent address. Her party, Sinn Féin, stood by the families when the principle parties discarded them. With Sinn Féin never having been in government, they can’t be held responsible for past administrations’ harsh decisions. Thus, McDonald had the luxury to politicise, which she did, rebuking previous administrations for having separate laws for wealthy and impoverished citizens.
McDonald then introduced the “Big Lie”, a fallacy alleging that the nightclub’s young patrons started the fire, which disseminated as rapidly as the flame itself. The leader of Sinn Féin received potent applause.
Denise Mitchell, the parliamentary representative for Dublin Bay North, has vivid memories of the catastrophe at Stardust. Living in Darndale at the time, she heard the unfortunate news over the radio, which she immediately relayed to her father sparking worry over the safety of his nephews and nieces who might have been present at the incident. The absence of a phone forced them to rush to closest house possessing one, where they met a line of apprehensive individuals waiting to phone in.
Mitchell and her audience, mostly relatives of the victims, were seething in anger as she recounted the incident. Her associations with the victims made her sentiment echo strongly amongst the attendees. Following her were a slew of speakers, politicians who discussed their early years when they used to enjoy evening socials, filled with prospects of reckless fun and forthcoming exploits. They grieved over the young ones who did not return.
The overall sentiment from the opposition was resentment against the injustice faced by the innocent – individuals overlooked due to their location or lack of influential contacts. They debated about the several decades wherein governmental institutions appeared to have conspired against the legitimate pursuit of justice.
Families affected by the Stardust tragedy appreciated the long-overdue apology from the State, voicing that there should be retribution. Catherine Connolly’s impassioned yet coherent rage was striking as she meticulously examined inquiries and compensation protocols dating from the Kerry infants case to the culpable mother and baby homes.
“Regrettably, every single report I’ve investigated in my tenure in the Dáil reveals a vested narrative: the influential shield the influential. This incident highlighted a clear case of classism”, Connolly pointed out.
In the preceding year, there were debates in the Dáil regarding the unlawful stripping of disability benefits and the illicit overcharging of ageing individuals in care homes, who found it almost impossible to recoup their legally owed money. The opposition argued that this formed a part of a “harsh legal tactic” forcing people to assert their rights through legal action, only to reconcile outside of court. Most of these individuals are either too aged or impoverished to opt for this legal course.
Ivana Bacik of the Labour party pondered, “Perhaps tomorrow will bring yet another tale of a group of people let down by the State.”
Currently, the brave Stardust community consider acknowledgment and validation as sufficient. They were rightful in their imaging and deserved their triumph. However, they understand that this is not the conclusion.
It’s crucial that Simon Harris, who turned heads with his performance on Tuesday, maintains this level of brilliance. He is obligated to meet the expectations of his associates at Stardust. Despite one more public admission of guilt, echoes of a certain Peggy Lee tune stir unease in the atmosphere. “Is this the end…?” Let’s hope not.