OUR DAY
In the more than fifteen years I have been writing Discovery, Democracy and Devotion, I've only mentioned or written about St. Patrick's Day twice. The first time was in 2016. On the actual day that year, I gave a lecture at Mt. Aloysius College in Pennsylvania entitled Voices of Immigration - Old and New. Two weeks later, a version of that lecture appeared here under the title A Terrible Beauty.
The next year . . .
I took on the day itself. . .
On the day itself.
On this St Patrick's Day, I wonder if either has stood the test of time.
So I dusted them off to find out.
And here they are.
Saint Patrick's Day from March 17, 2017.
Followed by A Terrible Beauty from March 30, 2016.
* * * *
SAINT PATRICK'S DAY
Today is St. Patrick's
Day.
This means the Irish
diaspora across the world will parade, drink and . . .
Talk.
All the parade go-ers --
and watchers -- will be festooned in sweaters, hats and shamrocks that
form a sea of kelly green. Whether fueled by grain or grape, or by their
own unquenchable desire to share, many will be loud. A large number will
sport buttons that read "Kiss Me, I'm Irish."
Pay those buttoneers no
heed. They don't mean it. What they're really saying is . . .
"Listen to me, I'm
Irish."
Talk -- I have
discovered -- is the activity that most closely captures the Irish soul.
It's an escaping soul. You cannot be the product of organized
famine, or suffer the pain of separation its survival ordained, without an
almost genetic need to run away.
So, we Irish have been
running away.
For centuries.
From the land and
language of our birth. And from the arms and British nation that enslaved and
impoverished us.
But you cannot run from
memories. You cannot escape them.
So ours is also a
becoming soul. We tell the stories of our history. We invent and regale.
We massage our past so that it does not poison our future. We . . .
Talk.
At home, I am known as a
storyteller. This is not always a compliment . . .
Essentially because I
tell the same stories . . .
Again and again.
Sometimes the stories
change. Actually, they change in some respect, minor or major, all of the
time. That's because stories are as much about what is happening now as they
are about the facts recounted from some far away (or near-away) . . .
Then.
My father once told me
that you "should never let the facts f**k up a good story." At
the time, I found this bit of advice either incongruous . . . or the product of
the martini he was then drinking. Later, however, and long after he gave up the
martinis, he soberly repeated the injunction. The oddity is that he was a
journalist. He made his money getting the facts right.
So . . .
Why this disdain for
facts, for the very bread and butter of his (and my) life?
I figured that out
today, St. Patrick's Day.
Fact must be respected.
They cannot be ignored.
But neither can they be
allowed to enslave.
They have to empower us,
not paralyze us.
In a weird way, the
current President of the United States gets this. That may be the reason Irish
Catholics voted for him in substantial numbers last November. He never
lets the facts get in his way.
But we Irish need to be
very careful here. Trump isn't engaged in Irish story telling. To the
contrary, he is massaging the past in a way that will poison the future.
In grossly distorting Obamacare, defaming immigrants, insulting his
opponents (all of them), belittling the intelligence services, demonizing
Muslims, and falsely accusing his predecessor of felonious wire-tapping, he is
inventing a past that did not exist and was not tragic in order to create a
future that will be.
And we Irish cannot
afford to aid and abet him in this effort.
Because . . .
Between hope and
history, the former is always the better choice when the latter is a tragic
one.
But only then.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
* * * *
A TERRIBLE BEAUTY
Here's the weird part.
I may have to thank
Donald Trump.
Who got me thinking
about immigration.
I am Irish and proud of
it. My full (and formal) name -- Cornelius Patrick McCarthy -- shouts
Irish from the rafters. I will regale any who listen with tales of great
grandparents and grand uncles and aunts from Cork who came and manned the mills
in Lawrence, Massachusetts and the precincts of New York City.
Of course, I am
not actually Irish. I am American.
And though Americans
whose grand parents were born in Ireland can become dual nationals, I am
not one of them either. All my grandparents were born here. In
fact, that fourth paragraph is a bit of a stretch.
Because, truth be told,
three quarters of my great grandparents were born here as well.
So, is this whole Irish
thing a big put on? Am I just one of those white-haired, fair-skinned,
unmistakably celtic-looking pretenders who wears green, eats corned beef
(which the Irish themselves do not eat), and dodges drunks on
Paddy's Day?
Or am I the real thing?
In fact, what is the
real thing?
And that's where The
Donald comes in.
After the insults,
adolescent narcissism and misogyny, Trump's signature move in this
presidential season has been his stand on immigration. There are three
parts to his dance. First, there is "the Wall." "A
nation without borders is not a nation," says Trump; what he really means,
however, is that "a nation which can't keep out illegals is not a
nation." So Trump will build a wall across the 1,954 mile border
between the US and Mexico, and every time Mexico complains, the wall will get
bigger.
Second, there is the
racist xenophobia. At the announcement of his candidacy, Mexican
immigrants became "rapists" and "criminals" -- who were
"not you" -- being sent north by a country off-loading its
undesirables.
Finally, xenophobia and
nativism on immigration is side-carred with religious bigotry as a tool in
the fight against terrorism. In this phase of Trumpism, the need for better
intel and -- in Europe -- interstate coordination and information sharing is
either jettisoned (or put on hold) as the principal approach in exchange for a
wholesale ban on non-citizen Muslim entrants into the country until the
government "can figure out what is going on." It is apparently
irrelevant that the government has already "figured out" that the
vast majority (99.99%) of Muslims are not terrorists.
Or that most terrorist
acts since 1985 have been committed by non-Muslims.
It's very easy to chalk
all this up to Trump's inherent flaws. He is a clown, a charlatan and a
con-man. He has no respect for truth or facts. He is immature in ways
that are both clinical and scary.
Nevertheless, his views
on immigration are shared by a large group of Americans who share none of these
flaws. Which begs the ultimate question.
Which is . . .
Why?
Here is my answer.
Trump is plowing very
fertile ground.
At least three myths
define the story of immigration in America. The first is the myth of the
melting pot and its first cousin -- assimilation.This is a myth about history.
It claims that, in our nation of immigrants, everyone who came somehow morphed
into an androgynous American whole. The second is the southern border
myth; this is the one Trump highlights with impunity in his "a
nation without borders is not a nation" mantra; it treats the line between
Mexico and the US as inherent (and sacred) when in fact it was accidental (and
utterly profane). The third is the illegality myth, the notion that the
number of illegal or undocumented aliens is increasing and reeking economic
havoc, principally in the form of wage suppression.
These are myths because
none of these claims are factually correct. As a general rule, immigrants
historically have learned English and integrated into the American economy. They have not, however, assimilated, at least not in the sense set forth
in the dictionary, which defines the word to mean one who conforms to or
resembles the group. In fact, to the contrary, immigrant groups stuck together
and still do. Each group brought its distinctive cultures, foods, and
prayers to these shores. They may have acquired a new identity, but they did
not lose their old one.
The southern border myth
is equally mistaken. There was nothing pre-ordained about our southern
border, and it certainly cannot be used to define the nation. The
border itself was the product of a war -- the Mexican-American War of 1846 --
fought largely as a consequence of a linguistic dispute over which river
properly constituted the Rio Grande separating the two countries. Texans
thought it was the southern Rio Grande and Mexicans thought it was the northern
one, which Texans called the Nuesces. Today that dispute would be
arbitrated. In 1846, however, it became the pretext for a show of
force designed to provoke an attack that would allow the US the seize the greater
part of what was then northern Mexico (and is now our southwest plus
California).
It did.
And then the US did.
One of the ironies is
that the Mexican-American War was itself rooted in the earlier war between
Texas and Mexico, an earlier war caused by Mexico outlawing slavery in 1829 and
making American immigration into Texas (then a Mexican province) illegal.
This, however, did not stop the Americans, who entered illegally anyway
and then later fought for and won their independence. (Remember the Alamo!)
The irony, of course, is
that Americans were illegal immigrants into Mexico long before any Mexicans
violated "our" southern border. Another irony is that, once the US
prevailed in the war, the largest part of the new southwestern US and
California was composed of hitherto Mexican citizens and was marked by an
Hispanic culture that left its imprint on law, architecture, and names.
Today, the oldest capital city in the US is not located in New England or
Virginia. It is located in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And the coast of
California is not dotted with cities and towns named for dukes or English shires.
The names are largely those of Catholic saints provided by Spanish
missionaries.
In any case, so much for
the sanctity of the southern border. It definitely established a
boundary. It did not, however, define a culture or a nation.
Then there is the
illegality myth, the myth that more illegals are entering than leaving and that
they are doing some kind of permanent damage to our economy. It is false
on both counts. On the one hand, the population of undocumenteds or
illegals has declined significantly over the last nine years and more are now
leaving than coming. On the other, economic studies have shown that
immigration -- including the work of undocumented immigrants -- is a huge plus
for both the economy as a whole and even for low income workers. In fact,
President Bush's own Council of Economic Advisers estimated in 2008 that
American workers actually make $30 billion annually in wage gains as a result
of immigration.
So, where to from here?
Trump is only the latest
xenophobe.
There is, however,
no way we can even hope to make him the last unless we eliminate the
myths.
And tell a new -- and
more accurate -- story about our "nation of immigrants."
In that new narrative,
America is not a melting pot. It is a mosaic. It is stitched
together to be and remain whole. But its parts are distinct --
multi-colored and multi-textured. Each of us who claims immigrant
heritage (and, since most of us must, even those who blindly ignore it) is a
hyphenated American. (Or, as Will Ferrell put it in a recent SNL skit,
"Unless your name is Running Bear, we are all anchor babies.").
What makes me American are the values enshrined in the Declaration of
Independence and Constitution, not the the line drawn between me and Canada or
me and Mexico.
And what makes me Irish
are my ancestors and (therefore) my genes. There is nothing phony about it.
The poet William Butler Yeats once wrote:
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Though he was speaking of the Irish Rising of 1916, his words are
as apt for the Irish immigrants who peopled these shores by the millions in the
19th century. In art, literature, music, politics and sport, those
immigrants changed the face of America.
Which today basks in the "terrible beauty" they -- and all their
immigrant neighbors -- created.
PS -- A larger
version of this essay was presented as the Spring Honors Lecture at Mt.
Aloysius College in Cresson, Pennsylvania on St. Patrick's Day. For any
who are interested, the link to that lecture is available here
* * * *
In the 2017 piece, I said we like to talk.
We like to write too.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.