EMIGRATION
When Ireland desires to sup the sweeter drops out of the cup of sorrow,
she has a way of babbling about exiles from Erin, and that kind of thing.
That her population has been greatly reduced by emigration cannot be
denied; neither can one get away from the fact that the true-blooded
Irishman has a peculiar affection for the soil on which he was born,
and that the pains of expatriation have for him a special and almost
intolerable poignancy. But excepting as it bears upon the peace of mind
of individuals, on the breaking-up of homes, and the wrenching of family
ties, I do not think that the emigration which it is the fashion so to
deplore has been at all a bad thing for Ireland. It is clear that if the
country is incapable of supporting adequately the mass of the people now
resident in it, the persons who have left it for fresh woods and pastures
new are on the whole to be congratulated. If it be contended that it
is shameful that a man should be compelled to leave his native country
because that country does not offer sufficient scope for his energies,
and fails to provide for him the means of rational human subsistence,
I should say that Ireland is by no means singular in such failure. The
Scotch emigrate, and boast about it. “Scotland is a stony country,” they
say, “there are plenty of mouths and little wherewith to fill them; lo,
we will go forth into the undiscovered places of the world, and seek food
and fortune where they are most likely to be found.” The Irish, on the
other hand, weep and wail, and keen about it. “We are leaving the ould
counthry, ochone, wirra, wirra, and wirras-thrue! I’ll sit at the top
of Vinegar Hill, and there I’ll weep till I’ve wept my fill, and every
tear would turn a mill; for, bedad, it’s acrost the say I’ll be afther
goin’, and, glory knows, when I’ll be afther comin’ back again. Good-by,
Terence, and Bryan, and Pathrick, and Judy, and Kathleen, and all the
rest of yez. It’s me that’s got to leave yez, and may all the leading
fiends assail the dhirthy Government!” And so on and so forth. Tears and
howls are the Irish emigrant’s stock-in-trade. I do not deny that this is
wrong, but it seems possible that a great deal too much capital has been
made out of it, both by the poets and by the politicians. Excepting at
the immediate hour of embarkation, the Irish emigrant makes a very good
emigrant indeed. If his emigration takes him only so far as England, he
becomes at once an industrious, and not infrequently a fairly prosperous,
member of the community. If his emigration takes him to America the
same thing happens to him, and he has been known to blossom out into
millionairedom. Why weep for him, why recite touching poetry about him,
and why call the Government names on his behoof? It is the people who
are left at home who should be cried over, and recited over, and whose
condition should provoke the obsecration of the Government. Of course,
the real truth about the Irish emigrant is that when he gets into a new
country, he is compelled to fall into line with a scheme of existence
which is far in advance of anything which has been considered possible
in his own country. The great stumbling-blocks of his life, namely, the
potato patch and the pig, pass forthwith out of his purview. In England
he must live like a civilized being, in a house erected and maintained on
lines which conform to the requirements of County Councils and sanitary
authorities; very naturally, too, he drops into the English view as to
diet, clothing, recreations, and the like, and to secure these things he
is compelled to work, maybe twelve, or it may be fourteen hours a day.
If the work be hard, it is more or less regular, and the pay is sure,
and, from the Irish standpoint, princely. In America, with anything like
luck, the Irish emigrant finds himself even more favorably conditioned,
and if he possesses an ounce of sense—and he usually does—there are
chances for him which lead to prosperity.
At home, in Ireland, the Irishman of the poorer class, and even of the
middle class, is absolutely without opportunity. He must take things as
they are, and if he ever thinks about such matters at all, resign himself
to the mean, and uninspiring facts. There is nothing in Ireland that
a man who wishes to get along in life may do; the fact being that the
country is exhausted, and devoid of the elements which are necessary to
activity. And it seems more than likely that this state of affairs will
continue for many years to come. Capital that is not backed up by arrant
greed has become extremely rare of late. There is little hope for Ireland
in the modern sense, unless she be exploited, and for some reason or
other, exploitation is nowadays attempted only by persons without bowels,
who, with all their exploiting, succeed only in enriching themselves,
and degrading the persons who toil for them. I have said before that
Ireland’s true regeneration must come from within. When she took to
emigration she began practically this work. For years it has been the
only way for her; it will go on just as long as it is necessary and good
for her. Meanwhile the people at home must be roused from their apathy.
If the gentlemen who periodically stump the country with a miscellaneous
selection of political and religious shibboleths would direct some of
their energy and oratory to the social and intimate life of the Irish
people, they might yet accomplish for Ireland a work that would be of
real benefit to her. There is far too much complacency, even in the ranks
of Ireland’s best wishers. It is taken for granted that the main body of
the people of Ireland are peasants; everybody speaks of them as peasants,
and everybody talks of them as peasants. When Goldsmith wrote about “a
bold peasantry, their country’s pride,” he did not mean peasantry in the
same way that the glib writers and talkers of our own day mean it. The
word “peasant,” like many another good word, has had its ups and downs,
and for the last half-century, if not for a longer period, “peasant,”
as applied to an Irishman, has amounted really to a condemnation and
an excuse. “Ah, my dear sir,” cry the wise, “you do not know the Irish
peasant!” If one is to believe all that one hears, the Irish peasant is a
sort of inferior, inhuman creation. Anything is good enough for him, and,
like the dog in the adage, the less you give him and the more you kick
him, the better he will like you. One never hears the slackest politician
of them all talking or writing about “the English peasant.” It is “the
sturdy men of Kent,” “the hardy men of Yorkshire,” and “comrades,” and
“fellow-workers,” all the time. These men eat bacon and cheese, and as
much beef as they can lay tooth upon; also they drink beer in and out of
season and by the bucketful; also their children are reasonably well-fed
and reasonably well-clad. There’s not the smallest boy in England but
travels in his shoes. Hence the English peasantry retain those qualities
of boldness and masterfulness and independence, without which a peasantry
cannot thrive. And nobody dare call them “peasants,” nor offer them the
treatment which peasants are commonly supposed to delight in. The Irish
need to be taught that they are a race of men, and not merely dreamers,
and martyrs, and kickable persons. And the first thing for a proper
man to do is to make sure that himself and his family live like human
beings and compass the food and shelter and decencies which are nowadays
considered necessary to human beings. The Irish politicians have helped
Ireland to something in the nature of reasonable government; they might
now conveniently lay themselves out to help her into something that
resembles reasonable living. At the forthcoming General Election, we are
told, great political and party play is to be made with that ancient and
bedraggled question, Home Rule. The friends of Ireland, and the friends
of England, fancy that they see in it something which is going to be
very good for Ireland. In point of fact it is a matter of which next to
nothing would have been heard, had not Mr. Balfour stood in sore need of
a red herring to drag across the idiot noses of the electorate. From Mr.
Balfour’s point of view, no doubt, the resurrection of the Home Rule bogy
is a singularly adroit move. It will confuse the fiscal tariff-mongers;
it will placate the dunder-headed Liberal party, and it will tickle the
Irish to death. But any man who believes for one moment that it will
be of the smallest benefit to Ireland is just a fool. England made up
her mind long ago that Home Rule for Ireland was a sheer impossibility;
and what is more to the point, Ireland proper, and in the mass, is of
the same opinion. If she desires to take advantage of the opportunities
which a General Election is bound to provide for her, she will let
Home Rule severely alone, and base her demands on less political, but
considerably more urgent and vital things.
THE END