Following news of her passing, former GCN Editor Brian Finnegan recalls fond memories of Deborah Ballard, the Irish activist who shaped Ireland’s future and took charge of GCN’s famous ‘Lesbian Pages’, before becoming editor of the publication.

I first met Deborah Ballard, or Debo as she was known to her friends, in 1993 at the offices of GCN. She had come from an organisation called LOT (Lesbians Organising Together) to join as a contributing editor for what were to be called the ‘Lesbian Pages’. At the time, there wasn’t enough lesbian focused content in the publication, and this was envisaged as a way of ensuring inclusion.

I can remember expecting a firebrand to appear at that first editorial meeting, somebody angry and dismissive at the terrible job we’d been doing thus far. Instead, a woman with a twinkle in her eye and an enormous smile took her place at the table with a mix of quiet confidence and care. Deborah Ballard instantly became everyone’s friend (there were 20 people on the GCN Fás Scheme at the time) and under her fiercely intelligent watch, the ‘Lesbian Pages’ weren’t needed after a time. Content for and about lesbians spread out beyond their confines, until it was completely embedded, with Deborah eventually becoming the overall editor of the newspaper before the decade was out.

Deborah’s impact on GCN was considerable. She understood how to make the political palatable, how to take ideas born in deep thinking and discussion, and turn them into content that appealed across the board. She wasn’t driven by the yoke of commercialism, the demands of what was then known as ‘the pink pound’. GCN under her care was about grassroots activism and political thinking, it was about the power of community and care for readers across the country, for many of whom GCN was their only connection to our community. She had a way of cutting through the bullshit, of naming things for exactly what they were. Yet she did it with great warmth, humour and style.

In the mid-90s, the Dublin Lesbian and Gay Film Festival was in trouble, with its key organisers falling away. Deborah and I attended a meeting about how it might be saved, and somehow, we became the co-programmers for the first two years of GAZE. We had many busy and happy meetings watching films, arguing over what to include or not, talking about what made a good queer movie.

I pushed for films that put bums on seats, glossy rom coms and the like; Debo wanted the avant-garde, rooted in the history of queer filmmaking. We were a good team, precisely because of that push and pull. She went on to programme alongside Paul Connell for a number of years and was foundational in making GAZE the hugely successful festival it has become today.

In the 2000s, Debo and her partner, Carole, moved to Borris in Carlow, restoring a farmhouse and its gardens and setting up a home that welcomed many people over the years for dinners and parties and get-togethers. Debo loved her garden, she loved people, and she loved her family. She also loved to put pen to paper. She was a talented writer, who had misgivings about that talent, as most writers do, and we became encouragers of each other for a time.

When queer people who were at the heart of activism and organising in a city move to the country, they are often forgotten. The pace is fast, new faces and fights come along; the work grows and grows. And the names of the people who made a real difference fade. But it is important to remember. It is on the shoulders of people like Deborah that the Ireland we have now was built. An Ireland where queer people back in 1993, when Debo edited her first ‘Lesbian Pages’, couldn’t have even imagined.

Over the years, Debo and I began to lose touch. I remember the last time we met. It was the opening of an exhibition of queer photographs at the National Photograph Archive. She had her iconic bob and bangs, her eyes smudged with black make-up, enhancing rather than hiding the ever-present twinkle.

We talked about writing, and GCN, which I was by then editing. Carole was by her side and I spoke about what role models they had been for me in my 20s, a committed and grounded queer couple in a world that had told me that gay men and lesbians couldn’t form real relationships, that we couldn’t form families of our own. Deborah was a role model to me in so many ways, and I wasn’t the only one. She was also a great friend to have in your corner, as the many friends who are missing her today will attest to.

I write this also for Carole, who has had to say goodbye to the life partner who was at her side for so long, and for Deborah’s daughter Carla, her son-in-law Johnny, and beloved grandchildren, Olivia and Max. Our hearts are with you.

As Debo’s co-programmer at GAZE, and great friend, Paul, said when I messaged to give my condolences, “a mighty tree has fallen”.

Author and academic Michael G. Cronin, who worked closely with Deborah at GCN, pays tribute to the editor below. 

In the 1990s and early 2000s, queer cultural life in Ireland was enriched immeasurably by the creativity, passion and witty intelligence of the late Deborah Ballard.

Regular GCN readers adored Deborah’s ‘Mediawatch’ column. With an elegant touch, Deborah skewered the hypocrisy and homophobia of mainstream media, while also celebrating any signs of progress. Gem-like shards of incisive political analysis nestled in hilariously funny writing.

Deborah also edited GCN’s books pages, dynamically creating a community of reviewers and readers. Remarkably well-read, Deborah recognised the power of fictional stories to help us understand and frame our lives. And stories in which queer people could recognise their own lives, desires and hopes were vitally essential in a culture where such stories were scarce.

As Brian Finnegan reminded us in his moving tribute, he, Paul Connell and Deborah co-curated the Dublin Lesbian and Gay Film Festival (now Gaze) for several years. The Festival flourished under their direction. For many of us, it was a real highlight of the year. An opportunity to be entertained and engaged by queer cinema, as well as renewing old friendships and creating new ones. (And, of course, temporarily turning the IFI foyer into Dublin’s most densely populated cruising ground.) Deborah’s commitment to the Festival expressed her unwavering belief in the potential of art to move and console, but also to transform people as well as their society.

Those of us lucky to work at GCN during Deborah’s editorship knew a calm and reassuring presence, a courageous journalist, an astute and generous mentor, a compassionate and entertaining friend. Deeply serious about her work, equally serious about relishing life’s pleasures and joys.

Deborah’s voice was incisive, wise, warm and so loved by those who knew her personally as by her many readers. Carole’s unstinting care and devotion to the last encapsulated that marvellous, life-affirming, passionate love they had shared over many years. The community of family, neighbours and friends who came together to care for Deborah and sustain Carole was a powerful testament to how Deborah had always lived her life. Her openness, warmth and solidarity are now inspiring those qualities from others when most needed.

In 2024, Deborah fulfilled her ambition to publish a collection of her poetry, A Small Candle. Many of those poems are wonderfully moving meditations on grief and loss, including a magnificent elegy for her beloved aunt.

In her poetry, Deborah describes lighting a candle as a vulnerable gesture of hope. “Tiny flame feebly growing…ousting the greyness with living light.” Deborah’s living light is now quenched. But the warmth resonating from a life lived with courage, integrity and grace will long remain in many hearts.

Rest well, Deborah Ballard.