Being a woman in the wake of Ashling Murphy's murder: safety cannot save me, or any woman from the same fate

 By Ruby Hegarty

Ashling Murphy was murdered in Tullamore as she jogged along the Grand Canal in January 2022. The 23-year-old Irish school teacher was stabbed 11 times in the neck, by a man she had never met before. But it also was not surprising at all. Not for me anyway.

Only in November was Ashling Murphy’s killer, named as Josef Puska, convicted of the brutal murder in co. Offaly. The tragedy adorned the front page of every newspaper in Ireland, and with public discussion arose a significant emphasis on gendered violence in Ireland. Ashling was young, a teacher, a musician- and she was also a woman, subject to violence at the hands of man she did not know.

As women we have been walking the streets with keys between our fingers, phones in our hands and often our mother’s advice of ‘keep under the streetlights’ ringing in our ears- for what feels like forever. Ask Angela posters adorn cubicle doors in bars like a cruel reminder that we are prey for men who are ‘just acting like men’. The fear of harassment, assault, rape, and murder plagues the women in all our families, so much that we don’t pay it any notice. Ashling Murphy’s murder while out running along the towpath in Tullamore was the very real manifestation of that fear; she was young, a woman- and sure she only went for a bit of exercise.

Ashling’s death bears resemblance to the murder of Sarah Everard in London the year prior: they were both women, and they were both victimised and killed after leaving their homes to go for a jog. They probably both spent evenings with a glass of wine in hand, Netflix on the TV and talk of nights out with friends, littered with the gossip alongside acknowledgement that oh no- that girl shouldn’t have walked home alone, or oh no- you should always watch your drink!

One of my good friends often laughs that she “would rather just be murdered” if someone attacked her on the street, “because the possibilities of what someone could do with me alive are far worse than dying”.

As women we are all well-versed in precautionary actions, safety on the street and what not to say to strange men in the pub. I’m sure they were too. The towpath in Tullamore was lit by streetlamps, and Sarah Everard styled a hi-vis jacket on her jogging route in the dark. Being a woman is saturated in safety advice from friends, mothers, aunts, and grandmothers.

I was lucky I grew up with brothers because I could leave the house with them feeling that I was safe. Because the only defence you have as a woman is the man by your side.

But that does not save me, or any woman, from the same fate as Ashling Murphy. Being a woman is knowing that you are at risk of violence, no matter where you are or who you’re with. As a woman it is built into you from the time you are a little girl.

For many it is before that.

Last week I heard that women who go drinking “wearing nothing” can’t expect to get home unscathed from the perils of misogyny- they’re “being irresponsible on purpose”.

Ashling Murphy’s death importantly illuminated the realities of violence against women in Ireland, understandably hitting close to home for many.

But I don’t think the lesson to be learned here is that women should be more concerned with their safety. The extent of our rigorousness when it comes to safety is enough evidence that the violence experienced by Ashling Murphy was a piece of a wider picture.

Josef Puska’s portrayal in the press focuses on the fact that he is an immigrant, yet my feet move faster, and my heart rate quickens on my walk home from work regardless of the man-behind-me’s native tongue. Comments of a sexual and intimidatory nature occupy every local pub in Ireland. The problem is a male one, not an immigrant one nor a female one.

And I know it is not all men because I share these things with my brothers- but the patriarchy has seemingly mitigated an understanding that Ashling Murphy’s murder has not rocked the world for women in Ireland. It has not brought such an awareness of gender-based violence that I feel safe, or that I can go for a run along the Lagan towpath alone.

Being a woman in the wake of her murder just feels like time is ticking before I am the next.

Edited By David Williamson