We've no idea what the grandmasters of the Irish Catholic church had in mind. Perhaps it was to set a revival in motion. Like, as in the Dark Ages, the Irish would draw a line and then return to save Christianity. Perhaps it was to set a bulwark against change.
Whatever it was, just two years after Hot Press was launched - perhaps that was a factor, he laughed - they invited the Polish Pope John Paul II to Ireland in 1979. It was a success for them and a right regal pain in the ass for us. Some of our number were effectively barred from their home in Kilmainham. Cordoned off, they had to choose between staying at home for 36 hours or leaving. We all effed off into exile in Wicklow for the weekend, snarling at the presumption and inconvenience...

Picture it. 1979 was the high point of punk. British youth were gearing up to battle the new Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. But in Ireland 300,000 young people attended the papal Mass in Galway, whooped up by - Jaysus, can you credit it now - Fr. Michael Cleary and Bishop Eamonn Casey. Both, of course, were subsequently discredited.

Overall, events involving the Pope were attended by maybe 2.5 million people. No wonder the godfathers of the God squad thought they were in the saddle for the long haul. Arrogant in the extreme, pompous too, and almost all men, they started thinking about how to capitalise on the papal feelgood factor to entrench their values in Ireland. Hence the 8th Amendment to the Constitution of Ireland, and its saleability to the Irish voters, waved into being by Charlie Haughey and Garrett FitzGerald, politicians whom the godfathers despised. Each was more eager than the other to be seen to be 'pro-life', and not-out-of-step on holiness, notwithstanding that they themselves were often less than virtuous...

Perhaps the godfathers thought they'd forestall legislation similar to the UK's. But people forgot, if they ever knew, that the British introduced abortion to get rid of a sordid culture of backstreet and self-administered abortions - and the consequences, including death. It was a humane decision, a responsible response to a dreadful problem. They introduced it to save lives, and it did.
It opened a door for Ireland too. By 1983, when the amendment was passed, the steady stream of Irish women travelling to the UK for abortions was already in full flow. It didn't abate.

On and on it went, and tens of thousands who needed a straightforward service were denied here.
Pregnancy counselling services that provided information on UK clinics were harassed and hounded. We salute them today - people like Ruth Riddick and later Ivana Bacik - but they endured a bombardment of vilification and litigation.
Yes, there were protests and there were marches, before and after. Brave and principled people resisted. It was often a forlorn pursuit. Protest didn't have a great name in this jurisdiction when Hot Press launched in 1977. The late '60s wave of activism had faded. True, the proposal for a nuclear power station at Carnsore Point generated protests and festivals on the site in 1978 and 1979. But the focus had shifted to Northern Ireland where democratic protest, having been met with violence and repression, was replaced by bomb and bullet.

In truth, what looked like a rising tide for the Church and its aims in Ireland was nothing of the sort. A steady stream of revelations, mostly uncovered by great and diligent journalists, began to dismantle almost every aspect of the Ireland that had entered the 1980s. Look at the long list of tribunals and enquiries into planning corruption, backhanders and brown envelopes, offshore accounts. Think of the almost endless procession of disgraces and scandals.

The treatment of Joanne Hayes in the Kerry Babies Tribunal. The sacking of teacher Eileen Flynn for being an unmarried mother. Think of monsters like the paedophile priest Brendan Smyth. As for the 8th, its flaws were exposed, as we predicted, and the judiciary was unsparing in its decisions.
Other equally significant changes were afoot deeper down, like increased participation in education; a growing presence of high-tech industry; a proliferation of media outlets; a decline of interest in religion; and a growing number of people willing to take on the system.

This often took shape through tightly focused local activism, a powerful complement to the wider battles at national level. There was a festering, stinking cesspool under the rocks of respectability and piety. A bishop who fulminated against extramarital sex who had himself fathered a child out of wedlock. We thank Annie Murphy, mother of Eamon Casey's child, for refusing to go quietly. A priest who gave school retreats and hectored schoolgirls about shame, but had none himself. On and on and on - the list is almost without end.

Church arrogance and male arrogance: marches against one were really marches against both. Not against masculinity, but against toxicity and secrecy - and what better examples are there than the leaders of Irish Catholicism? Not to mention the various medical and legal eminences, many of them members of secret societies, who worked assiduously to advance the Church's interests.

Some of us were opposed to the hegemony. Others knew of the dark secrets. We never stopped fighting. Milestones, like the election of Mary Robinson in 1990 and the elevation of Michael D to the ministerial ranks in 1993 gave great heart. Block by block, foul-smelling pit by foul-smelling pit, the hegemony has gradually been dismantled. We will not be free of its stain for generations, but it is happening. We will get there.

We think again now of those who did not live to see the rout of the 8th Amendment: well-known advocates, quiet canvassers and marchers alike. We salute too those who fought and have now been vindicated. We are proud to have stood shoulder to shoulder with you. And to this new generation, who swept us all over the line, we offer a heartfelt thanks. A new era has dawned.