This last post regarding Ireland was delayed due to a nasty illness upon my return (as one friend suggested, I’m allergic to leaving Ireland). However, as today the Irish hold special elections in the wake of the financial crisis and EU bailout, it seems appropriate. Regular blogs return in March.
An Irish friend called his mother in Dublin a few weeks ago. Noticing a bit of a clip in her voice, he asked the almost 90-year-old if something was taking the piss out of her (irritating her).
“Why shouldn’t I be cranky?” she responded. “Here I was born from under the thumb of the British and I’ll die under control of the Germans!”
Today’s elections are set to oust those at the political helm during the Celtic Tiger’s birth, as well as its recent public declawing and neutering. It’s a mess in the simplest of terms, an Irish tragedy in the most poetic, and something one election won’t change. For more on the crash of the Irish economy, there’s a nice Vanity Fair piece this month at this link.
When I first visited Ireland, she was at the beginning of the good years. It was if the Irish woke up, rubbed their eyes and found the fairies did indeed leave them the long-promised pot of gold: a pot of EU- and foreign-financed gold, but gold none the less. Shiny cars zipped down new highways. McMansions popped up in mile after mile of housing estates outside Dublin, and Grafton Street was filled with gum-popping teens sporting Burberry and channeling Lily Allen. The culture of wealth took a bit longer to spread throughout the country, but it did as simple farmhouses were refurbished with master suites and Jacuzzi tubs. Home prices soared to unimaginable levels, leading the Irish to feel they had a royal flush in hand and the confidence to literally bet the house.
Then, someone slammed on the brakes. Hard. With one giant dashboard hit to the noggin’, the Irish were thrown back into the ranks of near-poverty with a government in debt for billions. The almost third-world stigma returned in less than a generation.
By the summer of 2009, the white-collar jobs were leaving. The Irish found themselves in a bit of a situation as Eastern European immigrants snatched most of the blue-collar jobs they abandoned during the boom. Chatting with a metal worker in rural Co. Galway one day, I asked him if that was causing tension.
The man in his late 50s simply shrugged.
“Eh, I can’t see how we can complain at them much. It’s the same thing we’ve been doing in America for hundreds of years,” he said. True, and an example of Irish country pragmatism.
Eighteen months later, that attitude is not as easily found. Walking the streets of Galway, you find many of the trendy, new-Irish-cuisine restaurants either pasted with For Let signs or replaced by simple, cheap, ethnic food. A barista at one of the surviving European-styled coffee shops told me a different story this January.
“Oh, God. I feel I can’t even sneeze around here for fear the job will be gone,” said the young man who emigrated from Africa fifteen years ago. “I work two jobs and feel I’ve got a target on me when Irish come in looking for work. It’s gotten a lot worse.”
As the Vanity Fair article notes, you pick up hushed clues of discontent, but far from the Greek marches or Italian shouting matches. For the most part, those my age and older seem to hold the, whattya’ gonna’ do? attitude about the country’s dire straights. It seems to be accepted that they’ve been poor before and they can do it again. Of course, many of those older also avoided the massive credit lines.
It’s the younger generation that’s having a bit of a harder time. Those who grew up in the boom seem offended at the thought of not having a bedroom of their own – a far cry from the old Irish tales of two or more in a bed in crowded Catholic households. Although the money is gone, the Tiger left behind a legacy of expectations.
“Isn’t it funny that we gained all that money and at the very same time we lost the church (referring to the sexual abuse scandals which have sent mass attendance spiraling)?” one man I spoke to said. “The Irish stopped worshiping in the church, but started worshiping the money with the same fervor.”
When questioning the continued building of a few large houses on the small, ever-shrinking island of Inis Meáin, the older residents simply shook their heads and raised their eyebrows. It’s a few of the young ones they’d say, stating they’d no idea from where the money was still coming. The wariness of the tone made me think it was a comment I should simply leave be.
Another person in his 30s answered a bit defensively.
“Why shouldn’t they have nice things like everyone else?” he said. “Why shouldn’t the
Irish enjoy beautiful things like the rest of the world?”
The response made me feel a bit hypocritical. I’m American. I’ve seen material excess most my life. It’s easy for me to point out the financial and emotional bankruptcy of materialism, because I’d enjoyed many of the perks. It’s hard to explain that their country was much more beautiful than a Porsche’s interior to someone who’s only smelled the manure and not the finely stitched leather. Their ride didn’t last long enough to experience many of the troubles extreme wealth can bring.
Yet, the question of whether Ireland was better off returning to the simplicity I originally admired is moot. Most Irish already returned to pinching their pennies, like it or not. Their children are once again leaving to find fortunes in other countries, propping up envy of real estate and luxuries recently close to the grasp at home.
No, my opinion would simply hit as the stinging, “maybe it’s all for the best,” strikes an athlete who’s come up short or, “It’s God’s plan,” slaps a grieving widow.
So I kept my thoughts to myself as I saw the remains of Ireland’s wealth slip away. However, I felt a bit of comfort that the return to a simpler life may indeed prove to be the Luck of the Irish.
May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been
the foresight to know where you’re going
and the insight to know when you’re going too far.
-Irish Blessing
Very nice – each post is better than the last!
Wonderful reflective piece.