I’ve been thinking a lot about Sinead O’Connor. I’ve been listening to her music, how her voice jumps between a mythic wail and a shattered whisper on “Troy.” It feels almost vulgar that her career is often reduced to her 1992 appearance on Saturday Night Live, where her protest against the enablement of child abuse by the Catholic Church — tearing up a picture of Pope John Paul II as she finished an a capella cover of Bob Marley’s “War” with a cry of “child abuse!” — was seen and heard around the world.
No one wanted to watch or listen. O’Connor was cast as the dangerous one, a radical shrew who deserved “such a smack,” according to Joe Pesci, Saturday Night Live’s host the week after.
She was eventually vindicated — child abuse scandals involving the church began to unfurl in the mid aughts and haven’t yet stopped.
Most people who know her story knows that she was right, but so what? Even if few people believed the truth, it wouldn’t have lessened what she did, an act that represents the best of humanity.
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