Clodagh Finn: Let's carve our mothers’ names in stone

Mary Ann McCracken (1770-1866) was the energetic abolitionist, educator and social reformer who famously said that she would prefer to “wear out than to rust out”. There was no fear of that; Mary Ann was fighting for the rights of others until shortly before her death in 1866.

At age 88, bonneted and bespectacled, she was still down at the docks in Belfast telling emigrants about the abomination of slavery.

Winifred ‘Winnie’ Carney (1887-1943) campaigned for workers' and women’s rights and acted as James Connolly’s aide-de-camp during the 1916 Easter Rising. She was secretary of the Irish Textiles Workers’ Union and campaigned to get better wages for female mill workers in Belfast.

Ahead of Mother’s Day, let’s recall her mother, too, because she must have influenced Winnie’s activism. Sarah Carney was a separated mother of six who ran a sweetshop on the Falls Road in Belfast to support her family. Her husband Alfred Carney, a commercial traveller, had moved to London and, according to one account, little more was heard of him after that.

Imagine what it was like being Mrs Carney in the Belfast of the 1880s and 1890s. Indeed, at any time; raising six children alone is a daunting task.

Another mother — both a real and figurative one — is going to be honoured with a statue in Chicago. Mother Jones, born Mary Harris near Shandon in Cork in 1837, is finally to have a statue in the city she called home.

The redoubtable trade unionist was so effective that she was once labelled 'America’s most dangerous woman'

 Whenever I start to feel put upon, I reread the details of her life. She survived the Famine in Ireland, the trip to America, and then the loss of her four children and her husband to yellow fever in 1867 while living in Memphis, Tennessee.

Somehow, she managed to start over in Chicago and opened a shop. It went up in flames during the great Chicago fire of October 1871. Hundreds of people in the city died and thousands more were made homeless. Mary Harris started over yet again, this time joining the labour movement and beginning a lifelong fight to end child labour and improve the lot of workers.

My favourite story is her account of assembling an army of women who fought with mops, brooms and tin dishpans to secure better pay for coal workers in Arnot, Pennsylvania in 1899. Whenever the ‘scabs’ came near, the women hammered their dishpans and howled until the strike was won.

Speaking of winning, the committee that campaigned long and hard to have this resilient, hell-raising woman recognised posted this jubilant message when the statue got the go-ahead:

“We Did It! Mother Jones Sculpture/Statue to be Located at Chicago’s Iconic Water Tower.”

It was interesting to see that the campaign to honour one of the founders of the American labour movement began with a $36,000 (€32,800) grant from the Irish government.

A bigger celebration

You just have to wonder why she doesn’t have a statue in Cork. It’s not true to say that she is unheralded in her birthplace; she is honoured with a festival and enjoys widespread recognition. But isn’t it time to make her a little bit more visible too?

Who’s up for the Irish Mother Jones Sculpture/Statue campaign?

It would, as the people in Chicago have said, be pretty cool to be able to say, “Let’s meet at the Mother Jones statue.”

Another mother I’d love to see honoured is May McGee, a woman who has done so much for other mothers. Or should I say would-be mothers because she fought — and won — access to contraception for all.

When she was 27, she had four infants under the age of two; two babies born very close together, followed by twins. All three pregnancies were very difficult and she had a stroke after the second one.

Her doctor warned her that another pregnancy would put her life at risk. The pill was ruled out because of her stroke, so she was advised to use a diaphragm and spermicidal jelly.

She ordered the jelly from the UK and was gobsmacked when customs officials intercepted it. She and her late husband Seamus were warned they could face a fine or even jail.

May was not having it; she wasn’t going to allow the State to tell her and her husband how to live their lives.

The couple took their case to the High Court, arguing that the prohibition on contraception was an infringement of May’s personal rights and on the rights of her family and was, therefore, unconstitutional.

When May, who is hard of hearing and lip reads, took the stand, she said she was terrified. She said it was a scary place and the lawyers asked questions six different ways.

Anger spurred her on, though. When she was asked why she and her husband couldn’t live as brother and sister, she made a point of looking the judge directly in the eye before speaking. She said she wouldn’t do that: “We are husband and wife, and we cannot live as brother and sister.”

That must have taken immense courage. Just as it did for Seamus to take the stand and deliver this response when asked if he liked the idea of his wife taking contraceptives: “I’d prefer to see her use contraceptives than be placing flowers on her grave.”

She lost her case but went to the Supreme Court, sitting in the gallery day after day, knitting, as legal argument continued. It was worth the wait. On December 19, 1973, May McGee won her case.

On the 50th anniversary of that victory last year, Supreme Court judge Gerard Hogan said the victory was the “legal equivalent of the moon landing”.

He presented her with the Praeses Elit award, in recognition of her “immense contribution to Irish law and society”, and said the empty alcoves of the Four Courts should contain statues celebrating famous litigants such as May.
And so they should, but I’d love to see May McGee honoured in a public space. Just where that might be and how we might celebrate her is a perfect topic of conversation for a day between International Women’s Day and Mother’s Day.