33. Two Nations

© Robbie O’Connell 1987 Slievenamon Music (BMI)

The question of national identity has always been a thorny issue and never more so than at the present time. Racist stereotypes abound on social media platforms. Right wing television programs are rife with racist tropes and dog whistles. It saddens me to see Irish people, in particular, succumb to these fascist tactics considering that for hundreds of years they were the victims of similar campaigns.

When I first went to the USA, I found it strange that so many people told me they were Irish even though they had never set foot in Ireland. Having spent more than half my life living in the USA, I think I understand it now. The confusion appears to lie in the difference between ethnic and national identity. Many people in the USA identify with the ethnicity of their immigrant ancestors, just as many people in England identify as Irish and many in Northern Ireland identify as English. It seems like a vestige of some deeply embedded tribal instinct. We are all inhabitants of planet Earth yet we tend to only identify with small portions of it. It’s a complex issue but it seems to come down to which tribal affiliation is strongest and which cultural heritage was most present in our formative years.

I wrote Two Nations following a panel discussion at the Augusta Heritage Arts Center in Elkins, WV in the mid 1980s. There were six of us panelists, all Irish-born instructors making our living as Irish musicians in the USA. We were asked by the moderator how we all came to be doing this. It was an intriguing topic for us because it was something that we had never discussed among ourselves and we were fascinated by each individual story. However, when it came time for questions from the audience we were stunned by one particular query. One man, who appeared to be trembling with anger, asked why we native born Irish looked down our noses at the American born Irish. We all vehemently denied that his assertion was accurate as we certainly didn’t feel that way.

However, on my long drive home I was thinking it over and I realized that there was a grain of truth in what he said. The “Irish American” culture that we saw at festivals, with all the green hats and leprechauns, seemed inauthentic and kitsch to us. It was the stage Irish version of our culture invented by Vaudeville and nourished by Hollywood. We found it just as offensive as African Americans, or other ethnic groups, found the way their culture was portrayed in the media. In short, we saw it as a form of racism. The subtle distinction was that we didn’t blame the Irish Americans for it but felt they had been unwittingly duped by it. So maybe we did feel a bit culturally superior or at least a bit more genuinely Irish. Since I had two children born in Ireland and two in the USA, it got me pondering about national identity. All of them are Irish passport holders so how could some be considered more Irish than others.

I also remembered my own reaction as the first wave of Americans began to appear in Ireland, in the 1960s, when affordable flights became widely available. It didn’t matter if you were from Texas or Alaska, to the Irish you were a “Yank.” To my young eyes, these visitors seemed like they were from another planet and to them we seemed like we were still living in the nineteenth century. We were both partially correct. Ireland was just beginning to shake off the medieval mores of religious domination and America seemed so liberal and secular to us. Funny how things have completely reversed in 60 years.

Having grown up in a small country hotel with a bar, I was well aware that, apart from religion, the main flashpoint for public argument was the Irish civil war. Even though it was included in our school curriculum, the details of the conflict were rarely taught, fearing it was still too sensitive a topic after only forty years. Some families were still known as Free Staters and some as anti-treaty supporters so it was a topic judiciously avoided.

As I sang the song at venues around the States, it frequently led to interesting post concert discussions about national identity. One man told me that the exact thing that happened in the song also happened to his brother. I believed him as it seemed to me more likely than not that it could happen.

This recording is from my 1989 CD, The Love of the Land. It also appears on my 2002 CD, Recollections.

Lyrics:

TWO NATIONS

© Robbie O’Connell 1987 Slievenamon Music (BMI)¹

My name’s James Michael Ryan and in Southie I was born.
Named after that great man who once made Boston town his own.
My father came from Kerry and my mother from Mayo,
And I longed to see the land they left so many years ago.

My father always told me that he’d take me there some day,
But I was only seventeen on the night he passed away.
He took one bullet in the leg and another in the jaw,
Killed in the line of duty, in the service of the law.

He always said I should be proud to be an Irishman,
That I should never be put down by any other man.
And in his will he set aside some money, just for me,
To travel back to Ireland when I would reach eighteen.

I read every Irish book I found as my excitement grew.
I read about 1916 and the treaty and ’22.
When the plane touched down on Irish soil, I said a silent prayer
And I thought about my father and I wished that he was there.

Those first few days In Kerry they were like a dream come true.
I’d never seen fields so green or even skies so blue.
My cousins made me welcome and they took me all around
And we laughed about our accents and the funny way we sound.

Then one evening in a pub where we’d been drinking all the day,
Somebody asked me what I thought about the IRA.
I said that 1921 was when it all began,
When Collins signed the treaty that divided up the land.

Then someone said that I’d some nerve to say a thing like that.
And what the hell would I know, I was just a Yankee brat.
I told him I was Irish and as good a man as he.
I’d a right to my opinion and that he need not agree.

For a moment there was silence, then a glass fell to the floor.
“You Bloody Yank” was all I heard as he pushed me out the door.
Now I’m not sure what happened next, I was in a blinding rage,
But I left him in a pool of blood when the crowd pulled me away.

My cousins said, next morning, that it wasn’t wise to stay.
And if that other man should die, I’d be surely sent to jail.
So, against my will, they put me on the first plane going home,
For to run away is something that I’d never done before.

Now, I’m a cop in Boston like my father was before.
Like him, I don’t think I’ll be back in Ireland anymore.
But there’s two great Irish nations though, 3000 miles they span
And though I’m across the ocean I am still an Irishman.

1. Production Information:
Robbie O’Connell—Vocal, harmony vocal and guitar
Tim Britton—Uilleann pipes and whistle
Eileen Ivers—Acoustic and electric fiddle
Recorded at Wellspring Sound Studio, 960 Beacon Street, Newton, Massachusetts
Engineer, Eric Kilburn • Additional engineering, Cyril Lance
Produced by Robbie O’Connell