There are thousands of them, and more are coming in every day. They tend to congregate in the same suburbs.
They’ve taken over some of the restaurants which sell their strange-smelling food, and on certain days they take out their instruments in public and sing their exotic folk songs loudly.
Some of them rarely mix outside their community, preferring to socialise with their own countrymen in venues that look just like the ones in their home country.
They refuse to assimilate, insisting on speaking their language and playing their own sport instead of their host country’s.
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Their national flag hangs out of balconies and off cranes on building sites in what can only be assumed as a display of aggressive nationalism, a reminder that they dominate certain industries and they’re not going away.
Even if they have settled in their adopted country for years and have children born and raised here, they still indoctrinate them in the backwards practices of the old country.
They force even the smallest of children into classes where they practise the same dance steps over and over again, and make them jump over chairs or a broomstick while being shouted at if they dare move their arms.
Afterwards on a Sunday, they are made to eat roasted meat and vegetables cooked in a way that ensures all the nutrients and textures are safely removed, even if it’s a 45 degree day.
I don’t remember First Nations people issuing invitations to the hundreds of thousands of Irish free settlers who turned up
It’s easy to forget the Irish in Australia are also immigrants when debates around “how many is too many” and “the need to look after our own first” circle in Ireland on the issue of migration.
The Sydney Irish community is my home, and I am traumatised at having to eat molten gravy in the middle of summer because of “tradition”.
We have “county” Coogee and Bondi, where you can’t spend more than two consecutive hours without hearing an Irish accent.
We have Taytos in our major supermarket chains because of your bizarre love of the disgusting-sounding combination of cheese and onions on fried cold potato.
Gaelic Games are played on a Sunday, and there are enough clubs to field state teams and national championships.
I am not blind to the prejudices this community has faced over the years. The certain venues that are hesitant to accept Irish events. Certain pub bouncers who assume there will be trouble when Irish clientele are present. Ignorant comments. Dusty attitudes. Jobs not offered or leases not approved.
But it has never been openly said, at least in my time, that Irish immigrants were responsible for the rental shortages and accelerated house prices in Australia. They’re generally not seen as “taking all the jobs”, or as a danger to the safety of local women. It’s not like the comments around foreign immigration to Ireland – a country whose main unofficial export throughout history has been its people.
“But Brianna, we have to get visas and show proof we can work,” people will say, as if I have never met an Irish person living illegally in Sydney.
“We were allowed to come, they wanted us.” That’s odd, because I don’t remember First Nations people issuing invitations to the hundreds of thousands of Irish free settlers (which were the majority, contrary to popular belief, not convicts) who turned up and, at the very least, benefited from colonisation of stolen land.
“The people coming to Ireland aren’t real refugees, they’re economic migrants.”
Nothing is sacred, not even my name. I respond to ‘Bríd’ now because many acquaintances decided ‘Bri’ and ‘Brianna’ were too anglicised
So were my grandparents, my mother and the thousands of Irish people headed to Australia this year. They felt they couldn’t get ahead in their home country, and decided to take the risk and endure the heartache of setting up in a foreign place far from home.
It’s not easy being an immigrant, people rarely do it “just for the craic” – they often do it because they don’t feel they have a choice.
Another misplaced fear of immigration to Ireland is based around the fear of “losing our culture, our Irish way of life”. As if Irish culture isn’t one of the greatest soft powers in the world. Ireland eats other cultures up and spits them out while wearing the Tricolour and whistling the Fields of Athenry.
Look at what you did to Chinese food. You took the cuisine of a global superpower and went “nahhh, needs chips”. I have seen my Irish compatriots try to order a three-in-one or a spice bag in other countries, only to be met with confusion and disappointment.
They hadn’t realised it wasn’t actually a Chinese food – that the third emperor of the Qing dynasty hadn’t popularised putting rice and chips together with curry sauce.
Instead, centuries of culinary tradition changed in Ireland to accommodate someone who probably didn’t trust rice to fill him up, and insisted on spuds being thrown into his Chinese.
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I’ve seen what you’ve done to the Australian staple of avocado on toast. It’s like one person came back from a few years abroad, had seen the table opposite order it and gone, “Yeah, I know how to make that”.
I’ve been presented with guacamole on a soggy bap as I softly wept, “what have you done to my beautiful boy?”
Nothing is sacred, not even my name. I respond to “Bríd” now because many acquaintances decided “Bri” and “Brianna” were too anglicised and took it upon themselves to “Irish it up a bit”. They don’t care if I try to correct them. Sure that’s what they’ve always called me.
You’ve even got American presidents proudly declaring their Irishness and becoming the face of a petrol station.
Irish culture is too powerful – when will it be stopped? How much is too much I ask you?
