To the average person, Christine Buckley was an ‘Irish hero’, but to Conor she was just mum

It’s a bright, early morning on Paddy’s Day week, and Conor Buckley, son of the late trailblazer and activist Christine, feels a little worse for wear.
“I’ve just gotten the two red lines on an antigen there,” he laughs. “Covid’s finally gotten me!” he says. “Ah I’m grand though. I was out at the weekend and just thought I couldn’t drink anymore!”
It’s a far cry from his earlier days, co-managing celebrity hotspot Krystle on Harcourt Street (“pure Celtic Tiger stuff,” he laughs, adding how he often opts for coconut water in the pub now) and heading up Business Development for Paddy McKillen’s hospitality group, Press Up.
He continues to work with the latter ––”It’s just what I’ve always loved doing, I’m really passionate about hospitality and looking after the customer, but when the pandemic kicked off and my son was born, I began asking myself whether this was what I wanted to do for the next 10 or 15 years, whether I was going to learn anything else from this role, or what my kids (Jonah and Chrissy, named after his late mother) would be proud from what I’ve achieved.”

The brainchild that followed was Human Collective, Buckley’s latest venture, a new Irish clothing brand with a cause. You may have already seen it across social media and across the chest of some of Ireland’s more prominent activists and sportspeople.
“It all came about because I wanted to be challenged more,” he said.
“And at this stage, I happened across a woman called Jane Elliott on YouTube. Basically, at the time of Martin Luther King’s assassination, she conducted a number of anti-racism experiments and talked about how there is only one race — the human race — and that really got to me.”
Elliot’s influence, and the influence of a number of outspoken activists, are embedded in the essence of Buckley’s work. The brand’s logo, an equals sign (“it was originally going to be her human race quote, but we felt this works better”), denotes their commitment to equality, diversity and inclusion through fashion. Team members include The Circle winner and disability activist, Paddy Smyth, as well as former Dublin footballer and community sports engagement manager for the North Inner City, Michael Darragh Macauley. And ‘allies’, as the group calls them, range from Laura Whitmore to Jarlath Regan to Nicky Byrne.

The company is Fair Wear Foundation (FWF) certified, meaning that the workers who produce the clothing are ensured safe working conditions; and the brand’s commitment to charity is also strong. Originally, Human Collective’s plans were to contribute, donate and amplify one organisation, but shortly into the developmental stage, three causes close to the team’s hearts (all three gain €1 from each sale) became undeniable fixtures.
“The first is Sports Against Racism Ireland (SARI),” Buckley shares.
“They do discrimination workshops which really exemplify what we’re about. The second is The Irish Youth Foundation, and they provide hot meals for disadvantaged children and mentorship programmes, especially for young women. That really hit home for me with my mum. The third is LGBT Ireland, which was interesting because I didn’t have an immediate connection to the LGBT community in the way that the other two charities really hit me, but I know a lot of people who have either struggled to come out, or benefitted from their helplines so I really thought it fit our space of inclusion and tolerance. There are also a few members of the team who consider themselves part of that space, so we wanted them to feel at home too. And that’s the thing, as soon as you create something like what we have,” he says, “you attract good people who want to support you and help. They keep you grounded and that’s what the business is all about.”

For Conor, activism started in the home. But deftly, softly and subconsciously, akin to osmosis. To the average person, Christine Buckley was ‘a 21st century Irish hero’, as recently parlanced in a newspaper article, but to Conor, brother Darragh and older sister Clíona, she was just mum. Born in London in 1946 to a separated Dublin woman and Nigerian medical student, Christine, at just three weeks old, was placed into the care of a mother and babies’ home. It was here she suffered systemic physical and psychological abuse under the Sisters of Mercy.
In her teens, she left for Drogheda to train as a nurse and a midwife. In the late 80s and early 90s she made a name for herself as a tireless activist, fighting for those who suffered at the hand of institutional abuse. She doggedly fought this cause until her untimely death in 2014, and earned herself the title of one of Ireland’s most bravest warriors.
“She was really affectionate,” Buckley says. “Every time you left the house, she’d hug you like you’d never see her again. She was always telling us how great we were. Something she never would have got herself, which is quite remarkable. That’s how I remember her,” he remarks, his eyes welling lightly as he does. Her legacy is irrefutable, we agree, both in the home and the world around it.
“She was just this really strong person and would just stand up for anyone in trouble. As kids, there were times where we were like ‘Mum, please don’t’, but it was just in her, she couldn’t let injustices slide. Like, one time, my brother came home from school and my mum got wind of a teacher saying something to him that they shouldn’t have, and even though we’d all just got out of a car in rush hour traffic, she put us straight back into it and went to go sort it. Those are the qualities I remember and the ones that come back to me, because I’ll often think to myself, ‘what would mum have done?’, before taking on anything.”

His green eyes begin to well up again.
We speak on a Wednesday, and the previous Friday was Christine’s anniversary. The wounds are fresh, catching Buckley in the throat, but the conversation turns to happier times, too.
“Mum was always bringing people home,” he laughs. “She instilled in us the importance of generosity and care, and would always be inviting people in from the [Aislinn] Centre (an organisation established by Buckley and others to help survivors of institutional abuse) and we’d always be saying things like ‘ah, mum, there are too many people in the house’ and she’d say ‘these people have nothing’ and that’s always playing in my head in her voice — to give to others the time of day, always.”
The conversation shifts to discrimination, both the discrimination he and his family have faced and discrimination in wider society. It’s his dream to see discrimination quashed and that’s what Human Collective and its mantra are all about.
“Ideally, now this sounds crazy, but we’d really love to have the equal sign [the brand’s logo] to be in every household in Ireland,” he told me. “And what I mean by that is that someone would have it, recognise it and begin to unravel the biases we have grown up to expect. It’s to remind people that we’re all one race, the human race, and I just loved the simplicity of that.”
The Human Collective team’s hope is also that the sign, unfussy, unambiguous, and easily legible, would bring about a tenacity, a strength that would allow anyone to stand up and call out acts of injustice. “Because that’s not easy,” Buckley expresses.

“I know what it’s like in pubs or WhatsApp groups where one person says something and no one wants to be the person to call it out and be the reason the momentum drops. It can also be putting yourself in a dangerous position, and no one should do that. But we want there to be a little sign people can wear literally on their chest to show others that they’re on their side and willing to stand up for them if they need it.”
For Conor, the spirit of his Christine lives on. And he has one simple tactic to thank for this. “I carry a picture of her everywhere,” he smiles.
“She came with me in the suitcase on a recent trip to England, she’s on my laptop, I brought her in with me to see the kids be born. I have photos of her around the house, too, and, in a way it’s sad because I’m kind of aware of how much she’s missing — like my little boy Jonah’s curls have just started to come in and she’d have loved to see that — but it also makes me feel like she’s always around. And because of that, I’m going to keep them up. I think she’d like to stay there.”
- The sale of every Human Collective sweatshirt sees €3 divided between SARI, LGBT Ireland and the Irish Youth Foundation. Available to buy online from wearehumancollective.com

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