Chicago Irish, brawny, brawling, political, tough, savvy, street smart; searched my history here and there, it's the same. A strange account of an unusual and gifted people.
I am a cliche, an Irish alcoholic and writer; I guess stereotype is based in fact.
Romantic identity with the old country, images of Kings and Sons of Kings.
Rolling green expanse, rock walls and streams, impossible and impassable roads.
Ready to defend her honor, knee jerk reactivity to criticism, or just like to fight; a little bit of both.
American Irish, more Irish than the Irish. Inherent identity with suffering and rejection; feeling forever the responsibility and guilt of the victim.
Irish ethnic wound, blanketed and saturated with repressive shame.
Inbred rebellious, natural suspicion, hatred for authority. Defiant to the core. Fused in our souls is a love of land, no matter how bleak and barren it may be, it belongs to us; so get the fuck out, go kill someone else.
Vanquished to the 4 corners; cast out and outcasted.
Continually conquered but never subjugated. True to themselves.
Suckered by their Church, souls owned lock stock. The only complete control ever allowed over their character. Sold a line of shit, bought whole cloth for mellenia. Guilt swallowed and digested becoming part of our marrow. Forever never good enough. Redemption is only a death away; let us know how that works out for you.
Natural violence, cold blooded, stark, committed, target driven hatred. Rebels, always with a cause; obsessively patriotic; instilled with an inherent brutality. IRA as common and accepted as life itself, for they will not be ruled. English bit off much more than they could chew when it came to the Irish. They had no idea how much hatred they could sustain or the duration and depth of that hatred.
Be careful, if you are Irish and start to read about our history, especially since 1850. I guarantee you will be shocked, infuriated, saddened, hardened, and chilled by what you read. You'll understand the why of the IRA.
The "Troubles" always the troubles.
Slick, conniving, bitter and conning; look you right in the eye and stab you when you turned.
Powerful ethnic identity, one that adheres like a skin, no matter where you were born. So similar to one another in outlook, personality, pathology, intellect and mannerisms.
Shocking history of pain, oppression, starvation, rejection and attempted genocide. The Potato Famine, contrived and created by the English to obliterate and exterminate the Irish. Why were the Irish such a favored target to release hate upon; they have no resources except a ready population that could be used to murder just for the hell of it. Odd human trait that unconscious self hate needs to be directed at an external target, the Irish, always favored.
How did they survive? A country of 3 million people, and yet they did survive. The Irish character was formed by that history and the fallout of losing their people not only to murder but to attrition to other lands, esp America.
The American Funeral was created. Coffin ships filled with the dead, or soon to be, headed for the US. If all were consumed on board, so be it. Barbarous tyrannical savagery. Even the negro slave ships had cargo that was valuable. The Irish received no such consideration. The hardness, cold, calculating, emotionally isolated, and strong personalities were welded by such overpowering experiences. The exodus of its citizens to other lands, just to survive the English purge. American Irish "need not apply." The land of dreams started as a nightmare for the arriving Irish. From rural squalor to big city ghetto.
Protectors of civilization. Lovers of the written word; great deference and respect for great writing, and they know the difference. People living in stuperous poverty, degenerated to eating grass; deprivation and starvation but literate to a man. The famed Irish poets, playwrights and story tellers. Ability to feel intimately through the word, yet unable to express it otherwise. How does a bunch of unsophisticated potato farmers live in such awareness, recognition and awe of high culture? Odd, isn't it? To this day, artist can live in Ireland and pay no taxes.
No great Irish painters, canvas and oils were too expensive; too much a luxury.
Uniquely suited for America. The "machine" political structure was a creation from Ireland, where the people built a power system within the English imposed system. A natural to simply insert that system here. The machine and the gangster, arm in arm, into the new world of America they strode and prospered.
Ireland, the "terrible beauty" has left a lasting scar on the Irish soul. That wound has been passed throughout the generations whether here or there. The cynicism, the wariness, suspicion, clannishness, unpredictability, gallows humor, and violence are all inbred as if a part of our very genetics. We all feel it, identify with it, and respond to it.
Politically astute and manipulative.
Love to inflict harm on the unjust. Vengeance be theirs, saith the Lord. Idealists. They must be if they really thought they could move the English out of Ireland forever.
Passionate when driven by cause. Brooding, mercurial, and dark by nature.
Education and the written word used as weapons against oppression and tyranny; a way out and up.
Cunning, cold, cruel; an extremely dangerous brand of killer we can produce. Watch your back if you betray us.
Educated, sophisticated bunch of hillbillies we are. Strange brew, we Irish. Quick witted, quick fist ed.
Irish sense of humor; we chose to create it out of sadness and pain; a wonderful choice. We can laugh at anything and find humor in the strangest of places. The most fun I had recently was at my cousins funeral, it was hilarious. My brother was on his game and I couldn't stop laughing; it was the eulogy that did it.
The Irish "glow." Their personalities can be so damn likable; a beautiful blend of smart, funny, witty, sharp, honest, and cynical. A powerful energy they can carry and manipulate. They can con the pants off you, and leave you stunned and laughing while they walk away with them. It's amazing to watch an Irishman hold court and enthrall an audience. Natural actors and showmen.
Great story tellers and spinners of fabled yarns; fanciful, improbable, irrational, but who cares?
"Luck of the Irish." Nice to think we are lucky in some way. People make their own luck and the Irish were never afraid to work for what they wanted.
Catholic redemption and forgiveness? The church watched without assistance the carnage and decimation of the Irish and offered platitudes, sermons, and guilt. I'm not sure what a victim of injustice may need any redemption for anyway; you tell me. They needed guns and money, not confessionals. The idea of heaven sounds great, but we are living in a hell without end right now. Shame on the Catholic Church for standing by idle while genocide was committed against her own people. You pompous, arrogant, distant, and insulated fucks. Another bit of slick trickery was how they populated and fed the ranks of the priesthood. Each family was to give one up. It was the unspoken and unwritten law. As the kids grew, there was an unconscious weeding process and
manipulation of one or more of the boys. "That one there, he's headed for the alter." As if you
had no choice in the matter. The family could purchase wholesale redemption for everyone through
this selection process. Give one up, to get all of us in; a small price to pay, unless you are the one
being given up. Clever huh? And we didn't have to do a thing except throw an innocent on the pyre.
Leaders and doers. The most successful ethnic group in America, riving even the Jews. MD's, JD's, PHD's, Masters, and college education and per capita income are the highest in the US per 1000 inhabitants. We flock to Law and Medicine; the power occupations. The Irish like being in control and law always offered that avenue. Money is good, but power is better; power is protection.
The Irish women. Maybe the man was either working or drinking and not around often, but Irish women are a powerful force to be reckoned with, in the home and away from it. They can be the most stunningly beautiful and captivating creatures on earth, especially the "Black Irish." The soft sensuous Irish features with brilliant light eyes; skin of cream without blemish; flowing black hair and eyebrows, and a strong willed energetic presence. Lovely and enticing but dangerous all in the same moment. Perfect contrast of the sacred and profane. It may be hard wired in, but I love Irish beauty.
I have been lost in my affection and love for a couple of them throughout my life; enchanting, sexy, smart, fearless, and strong. The other side; cold, distant, disdaining, mercurial, and sexually manipulative. Well, you can't have one without the other. If you can handle them, complete, complex, and exceedingly good women. Solid and tough.
Naturally suspicious. You can only get so close to the Irish; hard to grasp and hold down; ethereal and smokey. They know how to nurse a grudge and chew on a resentment, sometimes forever. Not a very forgiving lot.
Clannish to the extreme. South, West, and North side Irish, area clans; all slightly different and overly protective of their turf, usually their parish.
Natural fighters. The toughest kids I knew growing up were all Irish; my brother being the cream of that crop. They love to mix it up and feel strangely satisfied when their bodies feel the wounds of battle. It feels so good to hit someone and get hit back by them. We love a good, healthy bit of blood letting; It's good for the soul.
Lovers of death; ideation and preoccupation with death. The celebration when someone slipped the mortal coil. Release from the pain and anguish of life; escape forever the curse for living, sentence served. The body on display in the home while the keeners wailed. The wake, a 3 day affair. Maybe it was the only time we could show any soft emotion; so guarded and suspicious otherwise. Mortician was a chosen occupation of many Irish; makes sense, the dead don't need anything and don't want anything, and they don't talk back. Odd hobby reading the obituaries daily, the Irish Scratch Sheet. Obituary Box. My mother had one on her desk which contained the obits of everyone she knew who had passed; unusual proclivity or just the fanciful musings of a young Irish girl; take your pick.
The desire for escape and release may account for why the Irish drink so much. They do love to imbibe. Chicago AA, filled with Irish alcoholics; a dubious distinction; but better here than the alternative. Pub life was the social center for the Irish, and may account for the mythology of their heavy drinking. Many old country Irish did not drink at home or on Sunday. Irish do like to drink, and when they have a problem with it, it is an exceedingly ugly one. It is the demon, and it can run wild in their natures; it breeds violence, bitterness, and self hate. It horribly disfigures their offspring and destroys all loving. My father was such a drunk. It killed his beauty and heart and poisoned his soul. It altered and deformed his tenderness and humanity until it was completely extinguished. I have felt the lash of Irish alcoholism; I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. The strange preoccupation with death may also breed the self destruction that many Irish display. The alleviation of sorrow and spiritual deliverance may be what is sought, rather than destruction. Whatever it is, the Irish are better off not drinking. Interestingly, the name they have given alcohol is the "creature." Is that not an ominous and foreboding label? Think about what is conjured up by that name. Powerful and frightening images attack the senses, darkly consume, shadow the heart, terrify and bewilder. Because that's what it is, and what it does.
So we are an odd and beautiful lot, we Irish. Funny, engaging, cunning, brooding, violent, tender, artistic, vengeful, enchanting, witty, hateful, smart, quick, patriotic, sinful, brutal, bitter, stoic, warm, friendly, cruel, ruthless, compassionate, detached, distant, cold, strangely loving, educated, rebellious, handsome, lovely, successful, poetic, political, manipulative, grudging, captivating, complex, resentful, unreachable, and human. I am flushed with a deep pride when I think about what happened. Who we were, where we came from, and what we have been able to accomplish in the world. For the Irish are everywhere. A group of potato farmers saved European literature and became the most successful people on the planet. They truly have become Kings and sons of Kings. Be well all you kin and kindred out there. You belong to a unique and complete lineage, be proud of it.
Yours in kinship
Mike C.
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