When I set about publishing What Does Law Mean, Mumu?, I noticed that I began referring to my "little" book, probably due to the fact that, originally, it had been envisaged as a much bigger work.
At the outset, the intention was to have a glossary and an index and even illustrations; but I worried that a heavyweight book about law for young people would, in fact, be a law book and, unless a young person had an ambition to study law, there might be little appetite for taking on such a book.
Given that my intention was to engage young people with some underlying principles of legal topics – stimulate their curiosity and deepen their awareness of the link between law and our everyday lives – I needed a way of bringing them into the subject. I hoped to get young people to see how law was integral to democratic society, as we live it, so it was important that the readers were brought closer to the topics to see them as relevant to their world.
With that in mind, I decided to revisit the resource of exchanges with my granddaughters (who call me Mumu), when they had asked me questions about law. I had always noted their questions and observations, from which I learned so much myself. I took soundings, one Sunday afternoon, by reading out a list of proposed topics to my eldest granddaughter – who was nine at the time. I was taken aback by her positive response.
When I came to the section about police forces and their relationship with communities, she stopped me and said, “Oh yes; and what about baddie policemen?”, looking at me searchingly, and then, with a swift move, she popped over, took my pen, and added “baddie policemen?” under that section.
There was no shortage of material for this book, but the main dilemma was how to present some necessarily detailed sections of information – illustrating links between law and the administration of our society – at a pace that would engage the interest of my reader. It was with this in mind, that I took the decision to present the book as a story.
I would be the first to say that the style of the book is rather eccentric. I describe it as a “walk and talk”, through which a group of young people, guided by a trusted older person, gain some understanding of what law does and why we need good laws.
Lockdown and a Ticking Clock
Last Christmas, I read Derek Mahon’s latest collection of poems, called Against the Clock. I had met Derek Mahon when I was a student in Trinity, in 1969, when we were teaching English in the same language centre.
So powerful were those poems that I struggled to silence the sound of a large grandfather clock ticking in the back of my mind – one of those clocks set to make a foreboding sound as the hour strikes. So, as the new year approached, I had resolutions, by the score, to do many things with a renewed sense of urgency.
Then all our plans were hijacked by the merciless pandemic. Connections to our families were curtailed by lockdown. Like most others, I was isolated, transfixed by world news, glued to the World Health Organisation daily briefings, stunned, frightened, sad…
I do not suggest that my story was unique; far from it. As the horrors unfolded in Italy, and closer to home, a deep sense of guilt pervaded at feeling so upset. Rapidly, in the words of novelist Brian Moore, I was facing a “down tilt”. I knew that I was in deep trouble. Not being able to hold or touch my children, and my grandchildren, was more than I could contemplate being able to bear.
Something drew my gaze towards the What Does Law Mean, Mumu? manuscript on my desk. The little book had been eventually finished by the end of 2018, largely due to regular requests from my fast-growing granddaughters for progress updates. It was when the eldest, having acquired a mobile phone, sent me a text asking when it would be ready (as she and her nearest sibling would love to review it) that I had quickened my step.
Now, with the threat of this virus – not knowing when I would be able to cuddle my grandchildren again – and having left the project unfinished, I was propelled to embark on publishing the book, feeling it would give me a positive focus during lockdown.
Thus, began the project. Enlisting help from some skilled people, I got magical cover art, someone to typeset, and built a humble website. I learned online how to record and upload MP3 files; I narrated an audio version of the book; and I recorded a podcast series as an accompaniment to every chapter – just talking to the listener about further aspects of the topics. I launched my little book on July 6th.
‘Wild Erratic Style’
Returning to the nostalgia of Trinity days, I wrote a term essay once for which Brendan Kennelly gave me a D (that is for distinction). Under the mark, he had written, in rather flamboyant handwriting, “You have a wild erratic style – I love it!”.
I brought that experience forward with me over the years: to have a teacher, whom you respect so highly, affirm your work bestows a sort of “licence” to progress. I hope I have not taken too much licence with this work!
For the theme music to the audio book and podcast series, I used a piece of music given to me by my friend, the late Jolyon Jackson, entitled Fledgling, which seemed so apt.
In the book, Mumu tells the group of young people about Seamus Heaney’s reference to every generation being on its own “conveyor belt”. One of the desired outcomes of the book is that young people step off the conveyor belt of their generation from time to time; scrutinise information; confront “group think” and peer pressure; speak truth to power; hold to account the systems and administrative processes; and test them against all the good criteria of justice – independence, transparency and fairness – with a view to testing whether they sustain a landscape for social justice and peace.
The heroes of the book are the fledglings. I give the last words to one who offers a tone of optimism. After a sad discussion about the cycle of conflicts and people not listening to the words of wisdom from first World War anti-war heroes like "the last Tommy", Harry Patch, she says: "But, like the acorns that were planted by Harry Patch, we will grow".
Paulyn Marrinan Quinn, a Senior Counsel, was Ireland's first Insurance Ombudsman and, subsequently, the founding Ombudsman for the Defence Forces. She has been a founding member of the British and Irish Ombudsman Association; established a postgraduate diploma on Conflict and Dispute Resolution Studies at Trinity College Dublin; and worked with the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe on issues such as gender mainstreaming and human rights for armed forces personnel.
