A warning. What follows will be rambling, disjointed and emotional.
As I write this it’s half an hour passed ten on May 23rd, the morning after the referendum and since nine o’clock an army of dutiful citizens have been counting votes for the first election of its kind in the history of the world: a popular vote to allow marriage for our gay and lesbian countrymen. We were told we wouldn’t know until around three this afternoon. Turns out they didn’t need that long.
It was a walk. No contest.
Love took on the forces of bigotry, inertia, prejudice and fear and love kicked their asses like Captain America in an elevator.
Dublin went Yes by 75%. The victory was not a surprise, the margin was. But even in the rural areas, the “real” Ireland, it’s been a landslide.
Even Donegal, who usually vote against the rest of the country out of spite because they still don’t have trains, are 55% in favour.
The final tally is still being counted but we’re looking at 2:1 in favour.
