Catherine Connolly: From Galway’s Council Estates to Ireland’s Áras

By_Suraj Karowa / ANW
October 26, 2025

In a landmark victory that has reshaped Ireland’s political landscape, Catherine Connolly has been elected as the 10th President of Ireland, defeating rival Heather Humphreys in a tightly contested race. The 68-year-old Galway native, a former barrister, psychologist, and Deputy Speaker of the Dáil, secured 52% of the vote in Friday’s election, with Humphreys trailing at 45%. The result, announced amid jubilant scenes in Dublin’s Phoenix Park, marks the first time an independent candidate has triumphed without major party backing since Mary Robinson’s win in 1990.

Connolly’s journey to the presidency is a quintessentially Irish tale of resilience, community activism, and unyielding integrity. Born the ninth of 14 children in a modest social housing estate in Galway city, she grew up in a household where seven girls and seven boys learned the art of compromise and the value of diverse voices. “Coming from a family of 14, I was shaped in every way—by the noise, the love, and the necessity of listening,” Connolly reflected in a BBC Talkback interview last month.

Tragedy struck early when her mother died suddenly at age nine, leaving Connolly and her siblings in the care of their widowed father, a plasterer who juggled small building jobs to keep the family afloat. “He was the most honest man I ever knew, working every week for us,” she said. With her two eldest sisters stepping in as surrogate parents—sacrificing their teenage years to raise the younger ones—Connolly credits this era with forging her commitment to social justice. “It taught me that integrity isn’t optional; it’s survival.”

As a teenager, Connolly channeled her energy into community service, volunteering with the Legion of Mary and the Order of Malta. She delivered meals-on-wheels to the elderly and cleaned their homes, earning a family jest: “I was out saving the world while dodging the housework.” This blend of empathy and action propelled her into academia. She earned a degree in psychology with German from University College Galway, then worked as a clinical psychologist for the local health board. But permanence eluded her; she declined a full-time role to pursue night classes in law, qualifying as a barrister in 1991.

That same year, she married Brian McEnery, her longtime partner and steadfast supporter. The couple, parents to two grown children, would become fixtures in Irish public life—Connolly often pictured with McEnery at her side, his quiet presence a counterpoint to her fiery oratory. In 1999, at 42, she entered politics, urged on by none other than outgoing President Mary Robinson and her husband, Frank. Running for the Labour Party in Galway City Council, Connolly’s platform centered on Ireland’s housing crisis, which she dubbed “the defining social scourge of our time.”

Her 17 years as a councillor included a stint as mayor in 2004, where she championed affordable homes and community revitalization. Yet, disillusionment with Labour’s refusal to back her 2007 Dáil bid led to a acrimonious split. Undeterred, she ran as an independent, enduring two electoral defeats before clinching a seat in 2016. Her parliamentary ascent peaked in 2020 when she became the first woman Leas-Cheann Comhairle (Deputy Speaker), a shock victory that bridged opposition divides against the government’s nominee.

Connolly’s presidential campaign echoed her lifelong ethos: standing against consensus. “Ireland needs a president unafraid to challenge the status quo,” she declared on the trail, drawing support from Sinn Féin, the Social Democrats, People Before Profit, and even her old party, Labour. Her platform emphasized peace advocacy, military neutrality, and urgent action on Gaza.

“Gaza topped every voter’s list—more than housing or unity,” she told canvassers. A vocal critic of Israel’s actions, she pledged to amplify refugee voices globally, drawing from a controversial 2018 fact-finding trip to Syria. Though her group briefly encountered an Assad supporter, Connolly insisted it was an uncontrolled encounter aimed at spotlighting displacement.

The campaign wasn’t without scars. Humphreys, the Fine Gael minister, accused Connolly of hypocrisy—representing banks in repossession cases while decrying evictions. Connolly countered that her barrister role was duty-bound, not ideological. She also defended employing a recently paroled woman with republican ties as a Dáil aide, calling it a calculated “risk” for rehabilitation, and rebuffed Taoiseach Simon Harris’s claims she “justified” Hamas, clarifying her stance as contextual critique.

Beyond the fray, Connolly’s warmth shone through. A fluent Irish speaker and former marathon runner, she dazzled on the stump, trading keepie-uppies with Dublin kids in a viral video that racked up millions of views on Instagram and TikTok. “She’s real— not polished, but passionate,” said one northside voter. Her athletic flair, from competitive badminton to impromptu basketball, humanized a race often mired in policy wonkery.

Now, as she prepares to enter Áras an Uachtaráin on November 12, Connolly eyes Northern Ireland for her inaugural state visit. “I’d love a united Ireland in my lifetime, but only by consent and peace,” she affirmed, aligning with constitutional bounds. Sinn Féin leader Mary Lou McDonald hailed the win as a “progressive pivot,” while Humphreys conceded gracefully, denying “smear” allegations but praising Connolly’s “unbreakable spirit.”

Critics whisper of challenges ahead: navigating EU militarization pressures, which Connolly decries as eroding neutrality, and bridging a divided island amid Brexit’s lingering echoes. Yet, supporters see in her a unifier— the girl from 14 who listened, the speaker who bridged aisles, the president who’ll “be a voice for peace in uncertain times.”

As fireworks lit Dublin’s sky, Connolly addressed the nation: “From Galway’s estates to these gates, we’ve come far. Together, we’ll go further—with honesty, heart, and hope.” In an era of flux, Ireland’s new guardian embodies that promise.