“You don’t get to hate it unless you love it.”
Being critical is what keeps your foundations strong.
There’s a part near the end of the movie The Last Black Man in San Francisco where the lead character sits on a bus. Across from him are two white women and they are complaining about the city in which he grew up. In which they work, earn, spend. One mentions moving to LA as a solution she can choose. He interrupts and tells them of San Francisco, his hometown: “You don’t get to hate it unless you love it.”
I saw a comment on social media from someone whose name I thought I had forgotten. My encounters with them back in the day were fleeting but when I realised I couldn’t remember their surname as my head waded through a memory involving them, I googled the facts of their existence I could still grab. Their career, their christian name, the city they ended up in. I found their Twitter where they were giving out about anti-Irish sentiment and the religion stick we get hit with.
I mean, fair enough really. Our schools, our hospitals, the percentage who vote for certain candidates and against certain referendums. The photos of nuns on election day as a cute thing we do. The rumour that priests flood the letters page inbox of papers. The trauma of a few generations. Philomena. The lack of sex education. The scars we’re still creating around adoption and finding out what happened. It isn’t racist to imply the Irish have a weird and problematic history with the Catholic church.
Sometimes someone insults you, and the response should not be hurt feelings. Sometimes someone insults you and fair enough. I once opened my bedroom door in an apartment in college to a girl who told me I was bitch. Yeah, I agreed. I didn’t apologise for my behaviour because it was intended to be a red rag. I can’t remember talking to her since. We left things on an honest footing, I tell myself. Another part whispers: you were a bitch.
You don’t get to hate it unless you love it. You don’t get to love it unless you hate it is how I think of Ireland. Being vocally critical is how you save a country. This is what is wrong, this is where I hurt. Let’s solve the fucking problem. Complaining doesn’t have to be negativity. It can be coming home and making toast and when the person you live with asks you how your night was you vomit up the truth you know needs to surface.
You don’t get to love it unless you hate it. Make it worthy of love.