HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY

On one day a year, they congregated outside St. Patrick's Cathedral off Prince Street in New York City and marched in celebration. To some of these "Famine Irish" and their American born children it was a religious occasion, but to most the gathering was an affirmation of their right, not only to survive, but to thrive in their adopted country. That's what I sense on St. Patrick's Day - an echo from a time when the Irish were despised outsiders. And that's why I go along with the raucous energy, the excitement and even the green beer, the plastic shamrocks and the ubiquitous leprechaun.

I didn't always feel that way. When I arrived from Ireland, these manifestations of Irish-America were at best embarrassing. Back home, our own celebrations were rigid and religious; we did sport actual sprigs of shamrock but there was no beer, green or otherwise, on this gloomy church holiday. The Parade up Fifth Avenue and the ensuing bacchanal seemed downright pagan by comparison.

 

I had other immigrant battles of my own ahead. Black 47 was formed to create music that would reflect the complexity of immigrant and contemporary Irish-American life, and to banish When Irish Eyes Are Smiling off to a well earned rest at the bottom of Galway Bay. This idea met with not a little resistance in the north Bronx and the south sides of Boston and Chicago; but when irate patrons would yell out in the middle of a reggae/reel "Why can't yez sing somethin' Irish?" I would return the compliment with, "I'm from Ireland, I wrote it! That makes it Irish!"

 

With time and familiarity, Irish-America came to accept and even treasure Black 47, probably more for our insistence that each generation bears responsibility for solving the political problems in the North of Ireland, than for recasting Danny Boy as a formidable gay construction worker. I, in turn, learned to appreciate the traditions of the community I had joined along with the reasons for the ritualized celebration of our patron saint. And now on St. Patrick's Day, no matter what stage I'm on, mixed in with the swirl of guitars, fiddles, horns, pipes and drums, I hear an old, but jarring, memory of a people rejoicing as they rose up from their knees.

 

Our battles, for the most part, have been won; Anti-Irish sentiment, not to mention Anti-Catholicism, is a thing of the past. But a new breed of uninformed nativism threatens our Republic.  Such views are on the wrong side of hope and history, for we are an inclusive nation - that's what makes us great. We close the gates and pull up the ladders behind us at our own economic and spiritual peril. And we must always honor the memory of those who paved the way for us.

 

Part of that responsibility is that we never forget the new immigrants from other lands. Many, like our forebears, are fleeing tyranny and are striving to feed and educate their families. It would be the ultimate irony if an Irish-American were to look down upon the least of them; for, in my mind anyway, there is no place in the Irish soul for racism, sectarianism, homophobia or even dumb old Archie Bunker type xenophobia.

 

I once heard Pete Hamill ask: "What does the Pakistani taxi driver say to his children when he gets home after 12 hours behind the wheel?" I can't answer for certain, but I'll bet he echoes many of the sentiments of those "Famine Irish" who gathered outside St. Patrick's Cathedral so many immigrant tears and years ago.