Many ask what’s all the fuss about over there in Ireland? This constant struggle war between the Irish and the English, Catholic and Protestant and the centuries of killing. How long are they going to hang onto this hatred and anger. My God, they’re neighbors after all. Look at us! We’re a land of many peoples, different religions, but we’re getting along.
Well, some might say we could still stand a bit of improvement in our “getting along,” but our gains have shown the possibility of living in peace together. But it really hasn’t been too long ago that we were a land segregated. When I arrived as a young Marine in North Carolina in 1964, not every member of my platoon could go to town and share a meal together. We had to drink out of separate water fountains and we couldn’t sit together in a bus. But it was okay for us to die together if our Country asked.
About a hundred years before that, our country engaged in a war against each other and hundreds of thousands were brutally murdered in battles to make us reunited and free of slavery. And four score before that, we told the King of England that we would be free and insisted with rifles, bombs and paper that his army leave our land to our own sovereign destiny. Just about 60 years ago, we were appalled when we saw the German concentration camps and learn that millions of Jews had been systematically eliminated from life on earth. How could that have happened in our civilized world.
In Ireland, especially in the 6 counties in the north held hostage to sovereignty to the Queen and the Union Jack, rather than the Tri-Color and their own will, they still dream of a united Ireland. The history of Cromwell’s sword and torch and the Black and Tans rumbles deep inside their bowels. And like every living Jew in the world today who repeatedly says never again and never forget, the Irish repeat the same mantra.
Most of the world calls it The Great Famine. But in Ireland, it’s known as An Gorta Mor, The Great Hunger. During the period of Irish history, approximately 3 million were shipped away to distant lands and it’s estimated that 4 million died of starvation and disease. What makes the history so maddening is that there was plenty of food for everyone produced in Ireland, but it was shipped to England instead. For this month, I’d like to share with you this poem put together by Mike McCormack, the Deputy National Historian of the Ancient order of Hibernians.
An Gorta Mor
HOW MANY DIED IN FORTY-FIVE,
THE FIRST YEAR OF THE HUNGER?
WHEN STARVATION CURSED THE OLD ONES FIRST,
AND THEN TORMENTED THE YOUNGER.
AND WHEN WE CRIED AS THE PRATIES DIED.
AND TURNED BLACK IN THE SOIL;
WHO WAS THERE TO HEAR OUR PRAYER
FOR FOOD THAT WAS NOT SPOILED.
AND WHERE WAS GOD WHEN THE IRISH SOD
GAVE UP ITS PUTRID YIELD,
AND THE SICKENING SMELL OF A CROP FROM HELL
CAME UP FROM EVERY FIELD.
TWAS NOT GODS HAND THAT CURSED THE LAND,
BUT THE HAND OF A HUMAN MASTER,
WHO TURNED HIS BACK WHEN THE SPUDS TURNED BLACK,
AND CREATED THAT AWFUL DISASTER.
FOR THE LANDLORD’S FIELDS GAVE ABUNDANT YIELDS,
BUT WE IRISH COULD NOT AFFORD IT;
SO FATHERS AND SONS WERE HELD OFF WITH GUNS
WHILE THE HARVESTED CROP WAS EXPORTED.
AND THE MEN OF REKNOWN, WHO WORKED FOR THE CROWN,
TO ADMINISTER PUBLIC CARE,
HEARD OUR PLEA FROM ACROSS THE SEA,
AND PRETENDED THAT WE WEREN’T THERE.
HOW MANY FELL SICK IN FORTY-SIX
WHEN THE POTATO FAILED AGAIN,
AND MALNUTRITION ON FRAIL CONDITIONS
CLAIMED CHILKDREN, WOMEN AND MEN.
AND WHAT INTENT HAD THE GOVERNMENT?
DID THEY TRY TO EASE OUR PAIN?
OR DID THEY TRY TO KEEP PRICES HIGH
BY FORBIDDING THE IMPORT OF GRAIN.
THE ONLY FOOD THAT THEY DIDN’T EXCLUDE
WAS AMERICAN INDIAN MAIZE;
FOR IT POSED NO RIVAL FOR THE LANDLORD’S SURVIVAL,
AND FOR THAT IT WAS GIVEN HIGH PRAISE.
BUT AMERICA WARNED THAT INDIAN CORN
WAS TOO HARD AND HAD TO BE GRATED;
BUT THEY GAVE IT AWAY TO THE POOR ANYWAY,
AND IT CUT THROUGH OUR BELLIES LIKE RAZORS.
THEN, WHEN A MAN DIED, HIS CHILDREN AND BRIDE
WERE WENT TO THE WORKHOUSE FOR HIRE,
WHERE LICE AND FLEAS SPREAD DREADFUL DISEASE,
AND FEVER SET THEM ON FIRE.
AGAIN WE IMPLORED, AND AGAIN THEY IGNORED
AS OUR DEAD WERE HAULED OFF IN CARTS.
UNCARING, THEY SLEPT, WHILE MOTHERS WEPT,
AND THEIR APATHY HARDENED OUR HEARTS.
THEN, DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, CAME BLACK FORTY-SEVEN,
A YEAR THAT IN HORROR STILL STANDS;
FOR THE CROWN ORDAINED THAT THE LANDLORDS MAINTAIN
THE TENANTS THAT LIVED ON THEIR LANDS.
SO WHAT DID THEY DO, THESE FAITHFUL AND TRUE,
DEFENDERS OF CHURCH AND OF CROWN;
THEY DISPOSSESSED OUR FAMILIES LIKE PESTS,
AND TOE OUR WEE COTTAGES DOWN.
WITH NO FIXED ABODES, WE WONDERED THE ROADS
THROUGH THE FIERCEST WINTER IN YEARS;
CLAD ONLY IN RAGS; OUR POSSESSIONS IN BAGS
WITH NOTHING TO TASTE BUT OUR TEARS.
WRACKED IN PAIN, WE WONDERED THE LANES
IN SEARCH OF BERRIES AND ROOTS;
TIL THE CROWN RUSHED THROUGH AN EVENING CURFEW,
AND ARRESTED ALL THOSE ON THE LOOSE.
ALONE AND FORSAKEN, OUR WOMEN WERE TAKEN
AND SENT AS INDENTURED SERVANTS,
TO LANDS FAR AWAY FROM THEIR OWN NATIVE CLAY,
IN SPITE OF THEIR PLEAS, GRIM AND FERVANT.
AND PITY THE CHILDREN, THE INNOCENT CHILDREN,
WHOSE PARENTS WERE LAID IN THEIR GRAVES;
TO YOUNG TO PAY RENT, THEY WERE HSATILY SENT
TO FACTORIES AND SWEAT SHOPS LIKE SLAVES.
THEN CAME THE DATE IN FORTY-EIGHT
WHEN LANDLORDS CRUEL AND CLEVER,
TO AVOID BEING FORCED TO OBSERVE FURTHER COST
DISCARDED THEIR TENANTS FOREVER.
THEY CONSIGNED US TO TRIPS ABOARD COFFIN SHIPS,
NOT SUITED FOR MAN NOR FOR BEAST;
IN HOLDS DARK AND DAMP, WE WERE CROWDED AND CRAMPED
THE LIVING BESIDE THE DECEASED.
AND AS WE LAY DYING, SOME PRAYING, SOME CRYING,
LIKE LIFELESS CARGO ALL STACKED,
THE SHIP’S ROLLING MOTION ACROSS THE WIDE OCEAN,
MADE OUR EMPTY BELLIES CONTRACT.
THOUSANDS WERE DROWNED ON SHIPS THAT WNET DOWN
NEVER AGAIN TO BE SEEN;
IF TOMBSTONES WERE FLOATING FOR EACH DEATH NOTED,
YOU COULD WALK FROM BROOKLYN TO SKIBBEREEN.
WE BARELY SURVIVED ON THE SHIPS THAT ARRIVED
IN THE NEW LAND ACROSS THE WIDE SEAS;
BUT WEARY AND SORE, WE WERE STOPPED AT THE DOOR,
FOR THEY SAID THAT WE CARRIED DISEASE.
AS THE BANSHEE KEENED, WE WERE QUARANTINED,
AND MORE CAME ON EVERY WAVE;
THEN, SOME WERE FREED; ALONE AND IN NEED,
WHILE THE REST FOUND AMERICAN GRAVES.
THEN CAME THE TIME IN FORTY-NINE
WHEN THE RST OF THE WORLD GREW CRITICAL,
AND LOUDLY DECRIED SUCH GENOCIDE
FOR REASONS THAT WERE ONLY POLITICAL.
SO THE GOVERNMENT TRIED TO STEM THE TIDE
OF THE WORLD’S ADMONISHING BLAST,
BY PRODUCING A FEW POTATOES THAT GREW
AND DECLARING THE CRISIS HAD PASSED.
BUT THE OFFICIALS VOICE DIDN’T MAKE US REJOICE
THAT THE LAND HAD FINALLY BEEN BLESSED;
FOR AS WE CHEWED ON NETTLES, OUR SPUDS FED THEIR CATTLE,
FOR BY NOW WE’D BEEN ALL DISPOSSESSED.
THEN CAME THE GROUP WITH THE WATERED DOWN SOUP
TO SET UP THEIR CHARITY KITCHEN;
BUT THE PRICE WAS TOO HIGH, FOR TO QUALIFY
WE WOULD HAVE TO GIVE UP OUR RELIGION.
TO SEE PARENTS DNYING, AS CHILDREN WERE DYING,
TO TAKE THE SOUP OR THE PORRIDGE,
WAS BOTH DEMONSTRATION AND DOCUMENTATION
OF A PEOPLE’S FAITH AND COURAGE.
NO MATTER WHO STATED THE CRISIS ABATED,
WE STILL KNEW DISEASE AND STARVATION,
TIL THE FINAL AID THAT HELPED IN TO FADE
CAME FROM IRISH IN FARAWAY NATIONS.
THEY’D DISPERSED OUR KIN TO THE STORMY WINDS,
AND THAT BECAME OUR SALVATION;
FOR THOUGH THEY TRIED TO COMMIT GENOCIDE,
THEY FAILED TO ACHIEVE LIQUIDATION.
AND TO UR DEFENSE CAME OUR OWN EMIGRANTS,
NOW SCATTERED ALL OVER THE EARTH;
WHO’D IMPROVED THEIR LOT, BUT NEVER FORGOT
THE LAND THAT HAD GIVEN THEM BIRTH.
SISTERS AND BROTHERS WROTE BACK TO THEIR MOTHERS,
OR ANYONE THEY HAD LEFT LIVING;
EACH LETTER RETURNING AS MUCH OF THEIR EARNINGS
AS THEY COULD AFFORD TO BE GIVING.
AND THE GREEDY AND SINISTER GOVERNMENT MINISTERS,
WHO’D THOUGHT THAT THEY’D FINALLY ERASED US,
WERE ASTONISHED TO LEARN THAT OUR SONS WOULD RETURN,
AND THAT IN THE END WAS WHAT BRACED US.
TODAY WE RECALL THE MEMORY OF ALL
THE DISEASE, THE STARVATION AND SORROW;
OF THOSE WH PERISHED FOR THE FAITH THEY CHERISHED
AND THE HOPE OF A BETTER TOMORROW.
BUT NOT LET OUR FATE BE GUIDED BY HATE,
FOR THE LORD WILL HAVE TAKEN FAIR VENGEANCE;
REMEMBER INSTEAD, OUR OWN IRISH DEAD,
AND SAY A PRAYER IN SILENT REMEMBERANCE. 2