THE FACT OF THE MATTER
BY PAUL HOPKINS
After decades of unimaginable, unbearable hurt for the families of the 48 young people who never came home, the Stardust inquest jury recently returned an unanimous verdict of unlawful killing – akin to manslaughter – for each person who was snatched from under our watch that St Valentine’s night, and early Sunday morning, in 1981.
Forty-two people died in the inferno, six later in hospital. More than 200 others suffered life-changing injuries. No one escaped the psychological trauma charged by the events of that night. Survivors, loved ones, and an entire nation – the ‘80s in Ireland, like the past, was another country – were left bewildered and stunned by the depth of the devastation.
The young woman, herself just 19, I was to marry later that year was in hospital that weekend with a broken foot. She still recalls “the stench of burnt human flesh overpowering the hospital” as the many survivors were brought in. She was discharged to make room for the victims.
The verdict for which the families had campaigned for so many years is rightly justifiable, given the evidence during the 122 day inquest from 370 witnesses. When the verdict was announced such were the tears and the crying in the packed Pillar Room at the Rotunda that the coroner had to gently ask for a little restraint. The emotions at the press conference later were palpable.
Justice took a long time coming. The verdict sees the families vindicated but, ultimately, of what consolation? That lauded Harris apology? A State redress?
There’s a natural order to things: we are born, we grow, we get old and we die. At least that’s the way it is supposed to be. Often though, fate, unexpectedly cruel, intervenes. Most of us have, over a lifetime, lost loved ones. In general, the old go first — a parent, an aged aunt, a favourite uncle. And, generally, in the scheme of things, they depart from us one at a time.
When fate steps in and changes the order of things, through illness, a wanton act, or a freak, inexplicable disaster like The Stardust and snatches 48 loved ones from life, tragedy takes on a humongous, heartrending guise. Reactions like “devastated, broken” are natural and understandable. Inevitable.
When such tragedy occurs, the loss is devastating to those left behind, but sometimes too a collective numbness can set in and desensitise the rest of us to the pain of those left to pick up the pieces. It is, perhaps, a coping mechanism of sorts. Having said that, there can be few on this island who have not felt for what was visited upon the parents, families and friends of those young people that fateful night in 1981.
It’s every parent’s unuttered nightmare — the thought that your child might die before you. They’re young, they’re healthy, with their whole life seemingly before them and, then, in an instant death snatches them from you. The world is, literally, their oyster … first loves and school pals and dances on St Valentine’s night and maybe that drink or two.
As family we break fast of a morning and go our separate ways, to school or work, and instinctively expect to gather round the home hearth come close of day. It should have been so for the families of those 48 young souls.
If our young are intent on going to that dance or whatever good and decent thing they wish to collectively do, then go they must. Hundreds of young people that night, in homes across Dublin city, suburbs, and beyond. Some married, some dating, many single. Clutching handbags and dressed in glad-rags, heading out for a night of dancing and the craic with friends.
However, it only takes an electrical fault, locked exit doors and a desperate crush from a heaving mass of energetic young people – and the lack of an immediate response from staff – to make it all go horribly wrong.
Something the families of those young people – aged between 16 and 27 – learnt 43 years ago. And something they – one mother lost three children – had to learn to live with for the rest of their days. Some never lived to hear the outcome of last week’s inquest. Justice may seemingly have been done… but it was never going to, nor would it ever, bring back those 48 souls.
Tánaiste Micheál Martin said: “The Stardust tragedy is seared on the collective consciousness of the Irish people and the tenacity of the families in securing this inquest has been a service to all in society.”
Cicero once said: “The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.”
