Ireland has never been so divided, and with immigration being a major point of contention all across the country, there is a good shout that a big chunk of 2024 will be spent arguing over the semantics of Irishness. I love a bit of Paddywhackery down the pub and a fairy story or two by a roaring fire, but generally I don’t identify with any of that. If there’s one facet of Irishness that I do, it’s the immigrant spirit. The brave ones who dared to venture, who made something of themselves and more pertinently, the countries they ventured to, using nous, wit, poetry, charm and sometimes fists. Many have since returned home, bringing with them new music, new books and new ways of seeing the world, which ultimately made many repressed Irish feel less isolated on this tiny island. 

When it comes to the current debate over Irishness, I’m left with a sense of, ‘I can’t be bothered with any of this. I’m done with ye, Ireland’. As a forty-something who lived in London for half a decade in the nineties and had to navigate my way back into Irish life, I still often feel like I’m at the back of a darkened cinema, watching an old movie I’ve seen a hundred times. Serendipitously, being the quasi-outsider has given me a unique perspective on Irishness.

It’s undeniable that most Irish identify with one clear and obvious facet of our collective identity, our image as a charitable and kind nation. One’s capacity for charity is worthy of pride. It signals compassion and altruism but overall, strength of character. Ireland has displayed that strength for over half a century by sending money to Africa, by standing up and supporting the oppressed and happily welcoming waves of refugees here—sometimes with big dopey smiles.

However, has something changed about our character? In this age of diversity, openness and cultural drift, is our image something we now hide behind?

In regards to immigration, many Irish felt the sting of our charitable nature long before the current anti-immigration furore. Many of us think the image is wearing a bit thin, or has completely eroded. That’s not to say we aren’t a strong or charitable people. Our kindness is a big part of who we are. Past generations handed down the sense of what it’s like to have nothing. Helping others is in our blood, probably because it helped us to redefine ourselves as humans after the bitterness of centuries of oppression by our now friendly neighbors. 

Consequently, the working classes have always reflected the sentiments of charity and warmth the most, and Ironically, it’s the working classes making the most fuss about mass immigration. 

To make matters worse, we have somehow drifted into a perfect storm where those who did well during the Celtic Tiger perhaps aren’t too proud of their past avarice. They lost their charitable identity and want to claw it back in a kind of redemption by proxy, blindly flinging open the gates, and on their knees, begging hoards of unprivileged immigrants to forgive their sins, assuming that their countrymen won’t.

Hearing that section of Ireland talking about immigration fills me with a myriad of emotions, most of them rooted in dread and anger. It’s too easy nowadays to sling around words like racist, bigot, xenophobe and the now infamous ‘Far Right’. In my humble opinion, that comes from a small cohort of contrite, ultra-left-wingers that take umbrage with the Irish working classes standing up for themselves. They’ll also have you believe that Ireland’s growing divide is due to a streak of horribleness running through the working classes. The working classes have always been the most charitable but they’re not stupid. They see that many of the so-called refugees have come here for a free ride.

I would ask these post Celtic Tiger Redeemers, where do you draw the line for charity? When is it acceptable to stand up and say, ‘hang on, I think we’re being taken advantage of now?’ Have you noticed how those who argue for immigration overlook the many social crises at home, you might even call them legitimate humanitarian emergencies. Just because bombs aren’t falling on heads does not mean people aren’t dying. Ordinary Irish pass away on the streets every night. Thousands of us are the hidden homeless, stuck and waiting to die poor and alone. Yet the bleeding hearts in this country think it’s more important to stand on O’Connell street, outside the GPO, waving the flags of other nations. They’ll tell you Ireland is rich and can share. You’d swear the trees were burdened with glistening fruit and the streets flecked with gold—the waves of economic refugees arriving here seem to think so. I would remind those post Celtic Tiger Redeemers that Ireland is one of the most taxed countries in the world.

Immigration is widening the divide in Ireland. One half wants to slam the door shut on scammers hanging up their headsets and catching a flight here from Pakistan. The other half shoves open the doors with big dopy smiles and gives the aul: ‘Ah sure come into the house and warm your aul feet by the fire. Will ye have a cup of tea? Leave your machete by the door.’

Is it naivety or an image? 

I believe its image. Our politicians and others with influence are the worst offenders. The truth is, modern Ireland is less like Mother Theresa and more like Seabiscuit. We quietly fancy ourselves as smarter and more enlightened than other nations and we dam well work hard to make those ambitions a reality; you only have to look at our anomalous global sporting achievements. 

Look, being strong and charitable is all well and good. It’s certainly a persona worthy of aspiring to. In regards to immigration, without considering all the nuances of adopting the myriad of problems less advanced cultures bring, we throw the baby out with the bathwater. We will further erode our way of life and culture. Let’s not forget how young Ireland is, as a free nation. It could be argued that we aren’t ready for the world at large to be on our doorstep day and night. Even though our Seabiscuit mindset might be sure we are; we have only begun to find ourselves.

I am baffled that any Irish person can soberly argue against being vigilant in regards to immigration. Desperate people easily take advantage of nice people. You can see it in the eyes of those arriving that we are viewed as the nice friend that nobody really respects but keeps around out of necessity. The friend with benefits—in the sum of two-hundred-and-thirty-odd Euros a week, free housing and free medical. They laugh at our social anxiety that permits them to be racists and compels us to self flagellate. 

I would ask those Irish natives who are on the other side of the divide to take a seat with me in the back row of my darkened cinema to watch a movie about the Trojan Wars. On screen, some naive soul throws open the gates of Troy and gazes up in awe at the unique and culturally impressive wooden horse left on the sands. I lean into my new companions and say, why is it that in the last two years our historic and symbolic Croke Park was used by a religious group? Why did that group insist on that particular park and not a local park? Why did we allow it? Kindness? Or perhaps fear of what might result if refused? That’s weakness! 

Isn’t it reckless to shut down all politically incorrect conversation, given how much blood is still spilled in the name of religion—when some openly operate like sex/death cults (not naming any names, but the fact I probably don’t have to says it all). Our kindness in this instance looks to me like weakness.

In the cold light of day, the true strength of Irish identity is fading. It’s deeply saddening when you consider how we were a multi-faceted yet united people, not so long ago. Ireland, due to her people, was a beautiful place to live, travel and just be. Now we are at each other’s throats over, let’s be honest, a certain section of society playing God with the lives of complete strangers, who together create a dissonant sense of Irishness. 

Integration at school age will only work in the short term. If you really look at multiculturalism from all sides, in all countries, the efforts of trying to blend cultures and homogenize identities is often an exercise in futility. It’s a law of nature that we choose those most like us. Yes, there are tenacious individuals who achieve success and status by assimilating the identity and culture of their adopted country or culture. When cultures don’t interact, suspicion grows, which leads to tension and ultimately violence. 

If Ireland is to move forwards in a healthy and socially responsible way, a few basic things must happen: 1) stop the name calling and unite under a renewed identity based around common sense, hindsight, insight and foresight. 2) take a back step and really look at where uncontrolled immigration has taken other countries and what it will do to our unique people and culture. And 3), be strong enough to admit mistakes and do what is necessary to correct them. 

If both sides of the Irish divide can’t have an honest conversation about immigration; if we can’t admit to how other, formerly peaceful countries, are spiraling into violence; if we can’t agree on a sane and stringent immigration policy; if we continue on this course of showing our Irishness as an image of strength through charity, we will have to face the very real possibility of perpetual division in Ireland. Ireland’s beloved cities and towns, that are already veering into cultural dissonance, will be overcome by widespread civil disobedience and habitual bloody violence. Political correctness cannot guide Ireland on the matter, because walking amongst the truly needy are the enemy. 

If we can’t come together as a people again, we will be remembered by future generations as foolhardy and bickering idealogues. The Trojan Horse is well inside the gates, but night has not yet fallen. 

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(I am a writer of short stories and novels. Please help me make my passion a full-time job by sharing this, checking out my website and sharing a story, or you can buy my debut novel—details on the website. Sláinte.) 

www.darranbrennan.com