“Most people I know, they don’t know what to do.”
Angy Skuce arrives first.
She props her bike against the railings at the base of the Pepper Canister Church and begins to unroll a flag.
Some mornings, just one person makes the walk from the church to the Office of the Taoiseach. On others, it’s more.
They always carry post with the same demands, that the Irish government do more to push for an end to the war and atrocities in Gaza.
Paul Stassen, a friend and also a doctor, started the walk on 14 March, Skuce says. “Every weekday since then, somebody has done it.”
Skuce, a GP, walks on most Thursdays. A few minutes later, a couple, Leo Stassen and Laura Stassen, approach.
Leo is Paul Stassen’s dad, he says.
They all wear the badges of the Irish Healthcare Workers for Palestine. But anyone is welcome, encouraged even, to join, says Skuce.
Skuce comes across so many people who support the end of the war and see that it is wrong, she says. “They’re good, kind people.”
But many are uncomfortable with protests, or afraid of offending or being labelled as antisemitic, she says. “Most people I know, they don’t know what to do.”
This is low-key, says Skuce. Small, but something.
“Yes, Ireland is doing a lot,” says Leo. “But they need to do more. The problem is talking is one thing and action is another thing.”
It is 8.30am in Dublin.
It is 10.30am in Gaza. Where, already today, 38 more people have been killed by Israeli air strikes. And 71,000 children still face a desperate hunger and acute malnutrition.
More than 50,000 people in Gaza have been killed, says Leo Stassen. More than 15,000 children.
Skuce has colleagues who confront that daily, she says. “A group of paediatricians who are giving remote advice to paediatricians in Gaza.”
They also know how the dead are counted, she says. “To count it has to be a violent death. The body has to be brought to a hospital and certified dead. And it has to be identified.”
Those make the tally. But there are all the bodies that aren’t counted, she says. “All the children that die of diabetes because they have no insulin. They don’t count.”
The premature babies in the abandoned Al-Nasr Children’s Hospital, their tiny bodies found decomposing in incubators, still connected to machines. “They didn’t count,” she said.
Skuce doesn’t work in emergency response, she says. “I don’t think I would be useful over there. But this is my role.”
At 8.45am, they start to walk.
Skuce pushes her bicycle, and the flag unfurls with its stripes of black, white and green and a triangle of red.
They pass down Mount Street Upper past the old Georgian buildings with office plaques and over the road, and through the gates of Merrion Square.
They walk between flower beds planted with purple allium. “Did you see an Irishman won gold at the Chelsea Flower Show?” says Leo Stassen.
They walk past empty gazebos and set-up food stalls. Events staff in high-viz are readying for day seven of the International Literature Festival Dublin.
They pass under shady trees with still leaves. The sky is normal blue.
Leo Stassen, a surgeon, comes when he can, he says, working it around when he has to drop his daughter into school.
As they near the offices, he pulls out his letter. The wording is his. But each day, the demands are the same.
The Irish government must stop the transit of arms to Israel through Ireland.
They must pursue diplomatic engagement with countries such as the United Kingdom, who are sending arms and parts to Israel.
They must enact the Occupied Territories Bill.
It takes less than a minute to hand over the letters. The guard at the gate knows them. As does the man in a shirt and blue tie at the service desk.
“Even if nobody listens to us, even if nothing changes, we are bearing witness to people in Palestine,” says Skuce.
The group is in daily contact with people in Palestine, she says.
Doctors who are trying to treat with nothing, she says.
Teachers giving classes in the sand.
Writers refusing to give up on the creation of culture, she says.
“They’re doing everything to keep their people alive,” she says. “Hope is what keeps people alive.”
“They know what people in Ireland are doing for them,” she says. “And that gives them hope.”
On the footpath, Leo turns to leave.
“I’ll try and see you next Thursday if the war hasn’t stopped,” he says.
“All these little things in collective consciousness, maybe will –,” says Laura Stassen.
Skuce talks too. “People say, oh you’re only one person. But when I vote in an election, I’m only one person,” she says, “and that’s how our government is chosen.”
“– make a difference,” says Laura.
An essay for the two women on the Dublin Bus.
Increase fines for the offence, and boost parking enforcement so people begin to fear getting caught, they say.
But the passport office wouldn’t budge.
The council is planning to put the job of operating it out to tender, and also move its location.
