These are people for whom an apathetic shrug of the shoulders is not an option. They're the ones huddled in the cold with placards, petitions and megaphones , protesting even in the face of downright hostility. Born or made, activists will do whatever they feel necessary for their cause . Sinead Mooneyand Therese McKennatalk to seven activists about what motivates them to keep going and at what cost
TONIE WALSH
Gay rights activist
Politically speaking, Tonie Walsh has form. His great-grandfather was Labour MP Hector Hughes, and his family were prominent in the Irish Labour movement. "Politics was our Sunday morning diet," he says. So when Tonie came out in 1979, being out and proud also meant being political.
"As much as I enjoyed discos, I wanted to get involved in something with a cultural and political edge. At the time there were very few openly gay people in society. With the arrogance and foolishness of youth, I felt I could be one of those people. I have a big mouth and didn't mind standing up and being counted."
Being counted involved working with the Lesbian and Gay Youth Congress, and standing for election as an openly gay candidate for Dublin City Council and, later, the Dáil. All this was while he was founding and editing the publication, Gay Community News, in a 1980s Ireland that he believes was rife with homophobia.
"For people who have grown up with equality and anti-discrimination legislation, it's difficult to imagine how little protection there was then. We had institutionalised homophobia that in some cases was actively encouraged. These were factors that motivated me in my sense of political outrage. Any sense of fear was smothered, dampened down by the exhilaration that came from expressing oneself and taking those tentative steps to personal liberation. It was quite exciting - we were fired up."
Walsh is now curator with Irish Queer Archives and Reference Library and gives talks to schools and gay groups around the country. It's a changed Ireland, but challenges remain. "On an official level, bigotry is no longer tolerated, there's still prejudice out there - as long as two men or women cannot walk down the street holding hands or kiss in public, gay rights remain an issue. But, looking back, I feel privileged and blessed to have been a part of living history." SM
WILLIE CORDUFF
One of the Rossport Five
If you were to design the quintessential media-friendly David and Goliath battle, the Shell to Sea campaign would be perfect - a small farming community in the west of Ireland versus a large oil company. It certainly made headlines.
In 2005, five men spent 94 days in jail in a bid to prevent the oil company Shell laying a pipeline on their land. They became known as the Rossport Five, and their dogged determination galvanised support for their cause across the country.
Now, though, time and the media spotlight have moved on - so where does that leave the campaign - and the campaigners? "I think they [ Shell] believe they are getting their way, but they're not. They're no further ahead than they were seven years ago. We go there every morning and we show our presence at the gate. We take every day as it comes and hope that someone will listen," says Willie Corduff, one of the Five.
Corduff, who is a farmer, was propelled on to the international stage in 2005 when he won the Goldman Environmental Prize, which honours grassroots environmentalists.
"When I started this, I didn't think I was going to get a prize from it. The only thing I wanted was to keep the environment clean and pollution-free for my children and grandchildren. I make no apologies for getting it, but there were a lot of us involved."
It's more than a year since the altercations between campaigners and gardaí at the site - some of which turned violent. Does he believe this was necessary?
"We were shocked that they were going to use force to try to stop us from getting our point across. We weren't out to use force."
Rumours that the campaign was hijacked by political parties is dismissed as "spin". Corduff says he is not a political person, and he laughs when asked if he considered running for the Dáil in the last election.
"I'm not that type of person. If I did run, or get elected, I'd probably be like most of the rest of them - I'd be silent."
And would he go to jail again? "Yes, definitely." SM
SEOIDÍN O'SULLIVAN
South Circular Community Garden
Community artist Seoidín O'Sullivan helped set up the garden, with the blessing of the owner, on an old car-park site that has been disused for 20 years.
This project is about bringing nature to city folk who, O'Sullivan says, are deprived of green spaces as they are constantly being taken away to make room for development. It's about becoming aware of how our food is produced - reconnecting it to actual growth, taking out the chemicals, the air miles, the extortionate mark-ups. Crucially, it's about having a shared space, about creating trust and support and forging communities.
It's an abundant little space, welcomed by locals who drop by to weed, plant or just enjoy the lushness of it all. It's all there: crunchy celery stems; round, fat beetroot; bright red chillies. In another section, there are characterful carrots, plump strawberries, coriander, potatoes, broad beans, peppers, even proud yellow corn. The soil-bank is sprung with wild poppies, tall grasses and purple blossoms. All around is bursting with life.
"It's unbelievable to think that your dessert, your dinner, your everything is here. To think what it was five years ago, I'm amazed," says local woman Dee Harte, getting stuck into some rather expert weeding. "It used to be a dump, literally. There were wrecked cars, and people would leave rubbish here instead of paying for their bins. I can't believe the change."
The project is linked with Dublin's St Andrew's Community Centre and there are plans to invite youth groups, drug support groups and others to help in the garden and benefit from it.
Permaculture classes are being set up to share skills and ideas. All the work and the produce are shared out. "There's an understanding. You realise that what you've put in, you can take out. And it works. Everyone's here for completely different reasons, which is what's really lovely," O'Sullivan says.
"For some it's social, for some it's about green politics, for others it's about watching things grow. We all see it as something that is necessary and important, as an alternative to profit and individualism. Showing that something can be done. We can do something."
See www.dolphinsbarngarden.org, or call in on Saturday mornings from 11am to get involved with the garden.
RAY KELLY
Unmarried and Separated Fathers of Ireland
Ray Kelly is nothing if not committed. As founder of Unmarried and Separated Fathers of Ireland, he has been at the forefront of a cause that has often been seen as controversial. When I speak to him, he is having a cigarette outside the group's office in Tallaght, Dublin 24. The group inside are discussing their website; the recent 'G' case; and how best to help some Irish fathers living abroad.
"I don't get a day off. My phone is constantly on. One Christmas morning I took a call at 3.25am; at 11am on Christmas Day, I was standing in my office. It is hard, and there are times I can't cope, but once I get a good night's sleep, I'm okay. But it's 24 hours a day."
The group's website receives more than 15,000 hits every year, and Kelly says they are contacted by between 50 and 100 people a week. He set up the group in 1995 after his relationship broke down and he lost custody of his children. As he freely admits, he was depressed, and went to his local newspaper to tell his story. The group started small - just four guys in a room. "People were laughing at me when I talked about 'unmarried fathers'. There was so much for unmarried mothers, but this came out of the blue. It was anger and frustration that propelled me. God brought me into this world to create, and I created my children. I said to myself: 'What do I do?'"
He protested - loudly. He has dressed as Santa Claus on O'Connell Bridge, and carried a coffin representing the men he believes committed suicide because they had lost their children. "I will protest anywhere. I wasn't fighting for something that was trivial or had a monetary value. I haven't been arrested yet, but I have been threatened. I would go to the death. When I look at my children's eyes, I know I'm right." SM
SHONAGH STRACHAN
Anti-Authoritarian Kids and Parents Group
Shonagh Strachan got together in the autumn of last year with a group of parents who don't want their kids to be bombarded with the messages of a consumerist society that sexualises youth and expects children to be old before their time.
"We talked about how everything that's made for kids is really commercialised and loaded with lots of weird messages. We wanted to ask: how do you step outside of that?" she says.
They set up the Anti-Authoritarian Kids and Parents Group, which, until its recent closure, met on a drop-in basis at Seomra Spraoi on Dublin's Abbey Street. The group can now be e-mailed at: aakidsgroup@yahoo.ie. It's a forum for adults to talk about issues around raising children, such as how to approach discipline without "disciplining", or whether censoring the bad ideas in children's books and films is counter-productive.
They are keen to explore the possibility of creating a school or kindergarten that fosters more progressive ideas than the norms passed on in mainstream schools. It is also an opportunity for the children to get together and have fun.
"There is a lack of community today," Strachan says. "There's a lack of being able to open your door and let your kid out to go and play with the local kids. Everybody is in their family units and it's up to each nuclear family to raise its own child and there's no sense of collective raising of kids.
"This puts a lot of pressure on an individual parent. You're constantly their source of everything. You and their teachers, if they're school age, are their only source of guidance in the world. Aside from that, it's exactly their own peer group - there isn't a mixture - and it just doesn't seem very holistic. That sense of mixing or sharing influences within a social space is important," Strachan says.
The group holds book swaps, there's lots of painting and playing, and children's parties. For the adults, there's an online discussion group online for raising topics of debate and bringing ideas to the table. TMcK
SIOBHAN McNAMARA
Magical Girl
In an Ireland where people are persuaded to pay €500 for a Barbra Streisand ticket, and the Spice Girls can inveigle €250 from quarter-life-crisis victims, Magical Girl offers a return to earth.
Siobhan McNamara runs this lively and principled music collective, which charges €9 at most to see a full bill of great bands, both local and international. Take yourself to a Magical Girl gig and you'll encounter an atmosphere quite unlike any that hovers over less karmic concerts - free home-made cookies, a zine-store offering self-published alternative literature, lots of creative women on stage, and a sparkly hand-drawn banner asserting that "you are a magical girl".
Somehow McNamara has got the alchemy just right for a night that means much more to punters than just entertainment.
"I wanted something a bit more personal," she says. "I wanted to create what would be a queer and straight, a whatever-goes, type of space, where people know that it's okay for them to be there and to be themselves. And I'm assuming they feel what I feel, which is this sort of openness to good feelings and support. It seems to attract a crowd that is there to be a part of things."
The bands that Magical Girl gives a stage to are quality acts that prominently feature women. This isn't about reverse sexism, McNamara asserts. There are plenty of fantastic male bands out there and, in turn, there are plenty more promoters to give them a leg-up, as well as plenty of DJs to playlist wall-to-wall boy rockers on the radio. There is much less encouragement for girls to showcase their musical creativity, so the playing field is sorely in want of some levelling. "The Magical Girl stage is there to show that there are women out there in bands. It's important for that visibility," McNamara says.
Magical Girl has staged five Dublin gigs so far, one in Belfast and one in Cork. There has also been a free compilation of girl rock, distributed to teenagers in Temple Bar and in Cork. Groups of women got together to design and draw the CD covers.
A collective in Manchester has also taken up the idea, as has a group in Olympia, Washington. There have been craft days, picnics and all sorts of get-togethers that have inspired like-minded women to get something going in their own towns.
McNamara's plans include a rock 'n' roll school for girls that she hopes to run in Drimnagh, a night for older women to stage their music, and an event that aims to marry a gospel choir and Ballymun rappers. TMcK
CELINE O'DONOVAN
Animal Rights Action Network activist
Celine O'Donovan became a vegetarian aged seven, when she saw photos from Compassion in World Farming. Her mother soon followed suit. However, if you have visions of kiddies in cheesecloth listening to right-on lectures around the kitchen table - you'd be wrong.
"We were absolutely not hippies - absolutely not. But we were brought up to respect animals and to look after stray animals. It wasn't a political household - it was about treating animals correctly."
Now Chair of the Animal Welfare Policy Group for the Green Party, O'Donovan is also active with Animal Rights Action Network, an animal rights group working to end all forms of animal cruelty. She has manned a multitude of animal welfare information stands (including one at a Morrissey concert - Meat is Murder, remember?), and lobbied councils over allowing circuses in the area. She is not one to strip for the cause, but ever the diplomat, she recognises the need for protest at all levels. But she draws the line at paint-balling fur wearers.
"I wouldn't want to be dragged into extremist activities - my frustration at seeing nothing done through general campaigning brought me into the political arena. For other people, it might drive them another way. For me, policy-making is the best place I can use my talents. You have to instigate change on a national level."
Working full time and spending evenings and weekends on policy documents, is she not just a bit jaded by it all? "It's my hobby. I would never get tired of it. I have an ingrained realisation that I'm fighting for those who have no voice. All it requires is dedication and organisation - and that you don't give up. I never give up." SM