Róisín Ingle: Am I a Karen? Are you? It’s impossible to know these days

Living close to Croke Park means you get to share in the excitement of crowds on big match days. I’m not much invested in the GAA myself but I like to see people enjoying themselves in any capacity. Last weekend, we watched happy crowds of Derry and Galway girls and boys descend on our area for what I believe was some class of a semi-final in the big football championship. There was great good humour on the streets. Lots of flag waving and tinfoil packages of sandwiches eaten on the boots of cars. Any GAA sandwich activity always makes me think of Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh and his ham sandwich video. If you have not watched the video of him making his perfect ham sandwich then I suggest you remedy that immediately. Go on. No honestly, you’re grand. I’ll wait.

Now, as previously mentioned in this space I don’t have any interest in watching GAA matches myself. My children were not born with the traditional team sport following genes either, so my partner remains the only person in our family invested in the outcomes of ball-related endeavours. “Why do people care so much about this? It’s just a game,” wondered one daughter incredulously as we drove through Summerhill, watching the crowds make their way to the stadium. My partner gave them the old Bill Shankly line about football not being a matter of life and death, “it’s more important than that”. But they didn’t understand and they probably never will.

The only downside as far as I can see to hordes of GAA fans descending on a small area of the city is the parking issue. Despite the fact that it is entirely predictable that at certain times of the year, about 100,000 people will need to be accommodated by public transport, parking facilities or a park and ride system, the parking situation is chaotic. As residents, we know that if we move our car on match mornings we’ll be stuck for somewhere to park when we return. Worse than that minor inconvenience though, is what happened in Drumcondra where GAA fans were parked up on the pavement across the road from a school for the visually impaired. (The cars were clamped, I was glad to see.) And worse again is what happens on the streets around Croke Park with unscrupulous people trying to exploit the families who are up for the match.

On Saturday, a man wearing a yellow jacket with “security” printed on it was waving cars into our avenue, looking for all the world like he was an official from either the GAA or Dublin City Council. As we passed by, we asked him what exactly he thought he was doing but he shouted at us that he was entitled to be there. Outside our house a friendly family from Derry were parked up, having their GAA lunch. I asked them whether they’d had any dealings with the man in the “security” jacket. “He said we had to pay him to park here,” the Derry father said. “So we gave him a tenner,” said the Derry mother. This Dublin mother was raging. I ran outside to have a word with the “security” man only to see he was being chased off the street by an even more irate neighbour. I love our avenue at these times.

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“I’m calling the police,” I said at which point things took a turn. My children accused me of being a Karen. This is not the first time they have called me a Karen. When I complain about any injustice — from a sexist remark on television to a ridiculously priced salad at a train station delicatessen — they use the K-word. And so, we need to talk about Karen.

For those who have not come across the Karen phenomenon, which really took hold here during the pandemic when “Karens” were spotted in supermarkets refusing to wear masks, I give you the Wikipedia entry for Karen: “Karen is a pejorative term for a white woman perceived as entitled or demanding beyond the scope of what is normal. The term is often portrayed in memes.”

One recent real-life example happened in the US only last week, at a car park in Long Beach, California. A woman with a short, asymmetrical haircut — the traditional haircut of Karens — wearing a white dress stood in a car park space. She was, by her own admission, reserving the space for her own car and was blocking anybody else from parking there. A stand-off ensued. Eventually, the woman moved out of the space giving the finger to the disapproving crowd. I don’t know the actual name of the woman in the white dress but everyone immediately called her Karen and the video went viral.

Now I am confused. That woman in the white dress was obviously in the wrong but was I a Karen for wanting to tell the gardaí about the exploitation happening on my street? Are you a Karen for complaining when something unfair happens? It’s hard to tell these days. I called the gardaí anyway, figuring even if I was being a Karen it might stop other families down from the North being ripped off.

As it happens I had met an actual person called Karen a few days earlier in Cork. She told me she was proudly reclaiming the name Karen as a positive force for good. (According to Central Statistics Office figures, hardly anyone is naming their babies Karen any more for obvious reasons.)

This Karen from Cork, told me she’s had enough of the name-shaming. She is proud to be someone — major Karen trope ahoy — who asks for the manager if something needs to be sorted. “I will also ask to speak to the teacher, the principal, the Board of Management, the bully, the bully’s parents — the lollipop person if needs be — if my children’s school is not a positive learning, living and playing environment. I’m happy to speak to the next-door ****hole, beach litterer, puppy farmer, pregnant smoker, do-no-gooder. That’s not being a Karen; that’s being this Karen and long may I continue.”

She also claims to know a number of other Karens named Karen who are “incredible humans creating positive social change in very different ways. They’ve had to raise their voices to be heard when fighting against all kinds of injustice. They are also the best craic”. In conclusion, won’t somebody please think of the Karens? (And sort out the match-day parking issue. Please.)

roisin@irishtimes.com