Being Irish is a complex thing

WHAT does being Irish mean? Does it, in fact, mean anything?

For instance, I’m Irish. I was born and raised in Birmingham in England.

I’m now 58 and I came to live in Ireland when I was 34.

My parents had emigrated from Cork in the 1950s and I was raised amongst a huge Irish community. I always say that I didn’t really mix with any English people until I went to University in the mid 1980s.

I say all that as factual recounting not as explanation or justification.

What those using the ludicrous Plastic Paddy jibe never seemed to understand was that being Irish wasn’t an aspirational thing for the second generation.

It was just being who you were.

Did anybody think that an Irishness, the Irishness of 1970s and 1980s England, that was associated with being thick and violent was something you wanted to be?

If we were going to fake an identity why would we choose an Irish one?

I first went to Ireland, by the way, as a baby in my mother’s arms to my grandfather’s funeral.

James Connolly didn’t set foot in Ireland until he was well in to his teens and did so as a member of the British Army.

Being Irish? It’s complex, isn’t it?

My Goddaughter has lived in Ireland since she was three and her childhood consists of the local town whose accent she carries.

She was born in Africa of African parents. In what way is she not Irish? She certainly sounds Irish. More so than me. She certainly lives an Irish life.

Reactionaries, racists, bigots, always seem to me to completely lack an understanding of what being Irish means.

They hark back to some frozen in time notion of what Ireland is.

They seem to think there was one historical moment when Ireland was Ireland and the Irish were the Irish. It simply doesn’t make sense.

If, for instance, we pick a random year, say, 1952, and say Ireland then was the real Ireland and any year since, any other version is not the real Ireland, it is clear what nonsense this is.

I, for instance, have an old Irish surname but my friend whose surname is Fitzgerald only came over with the Normans in the 1100s so is it okay if I suggest she’s less Irish than me even though she grew up in Macroom and I grew up in Small Heath?

It doesn’t make sense does it?

After all Irishness can’t just be birthplace because that excludes James Connolly, and it can’t be bloodline because that excludes Padraig Pearse on account of his Brummie father.

It can’t be being Catholic because that excludes Wolfe Tone and I’m not sure how the ultra-Irish are faring if they’ve excluded Connolly, Pearse and Wolfe Tone.

Of course I may well be making a fundamental mistake in that I’m attributing to the reactionaries, the racists and the bigots a thought process that is probably not even present.

If your overriding sentiment is hate and resentment it is hardly going to be underpinned by coherence.

So what does being Irish mean?

Does it mean liking Tayto and Tanora?

Does it mean once liking Eurovision? Does it mean the GAA?

Does it mean knowing who put the ball in the English net? Does it mean Fianna Fáil or Fine Gael? Does it mean Sinn Fein? Does it mean Dublin or Cork or Limerick?

Does it mean the rural townland?

I was brought up in and by the Irish and I’ve lived here for over twenty-four years.

I studied Irish history and literature at university.

I went to Italy in 1990 to follow Ireland at the World Cup.

My children were all born and raised here and argue in Irish when they don’t want us to know what they’re saying.

I’ve written about identity and belonging and Irishness for nearly a quarter of a century.

I’ve had books published by Irish publishers. I’ve won a major prize in Irish poetry.

I’ve buried my father after walking his coffin up through the local town.

I tease my brother whenever I can about his trove of Irish dancing medals.

My nephew runs a local pub. My other nephew is a star player for the local football team.

My niece’s lad plays for St. Pat’s up in Dublin.

I’ve worked in the Irish healthcare system for about twenty four years.