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| The bosses' wouldn't be so eager to paint stuff green or dye the Chicago River green if this was the theme for St Pat's day. |
John Throne (Sean O’Torain)
3-17-2013
I do not call it St.
Patrick’s Day as there are no such thing as Saints. I call it an Irish day.
When the Christian ideas come to dominate in Ireland they crushed the much more
democratic society which was based on the Brehon laws. Women had much more
rights under these laws. Christianity imposed the male dictatorship of the Catholic
church. It used this to grow fat and rich and also to try and reimpose its rule
in England and Scotland and Wales. The last few years have shown
the disaster Catholicism has been for Ireland. The disaster of child abuse
and the economic collapse of the capitalist system which the Catholic
church ferociously propped up. If there ever was a Patrick and he converted the
Irish he was a catastrophe.
So what does somebody like myself do on this day, an atheist, a
socialist, an Irish emigrant in Chicago, and somebody who misses my home
land so much that there are times driving home after work that I howl in
anguish. I cannot go to the Irish American societies with their nonsense of
dying the river green and dressing as leprechauns and praying to priests. I cannot
go for another reason. The Irish events are in the main parades and gatherings
which spout right wing ideas. The Irish American organizations are dominated by
right wing business people. They are trying to claw their way up in US
capitalist society. To succeed in this they must abandon the best Irish
traditions. That is the traditions of struggle, of Henry Joy and the
United Irishmen, when was the last time you heard him mentioned on an Irish
parade, of the Fenians, of James Connolly, of Jim Larkin, of Liam Mellowes. To
mention these fighters and this tradition would damage their efforts to
advance in US capitalist society. So not able to celebrate these they dye the
river green wear green shirts and bow to the Catholic priests. This Irish day
is not a good one for me.
Before my heath failed me I used to organize an alternative Irish day. The last
one was with my friend and African American blues player Jimmie Lee
Robinson. The theme was to thank the African American people for what they did
to help Irish culture. The idea was that the black revolt in the US in the
1950's and 1960's inspired the civil rights movement in Ireland. In the initial
period before nationalism took over, the movement there marched under the
African American civil rights song "We shall overcome." The civil
rights movement in Ireland inspired by the black revolt in the US in
turn increased interest in Irish culture and revived it dramatically.
Jimmie Lee and I went to the theatre where the event was to take place. It was
closed and the door locked. The people who had said they would get it for
us and help us with the event did not turn up. I would later find out that they
were close to the Daly machine and when they thought more about helping
me and Jimmie Lee they thought it would not be good for their careers.
Not defeated we went on to an Irish pub where I knew there would be a session.
Sure enough about a dozen people were sitting round playing and singing. I
asked them could Jimmie Lee sit in. It was like I threw a grenade with the pin
pulled in amongst them. They went into a frantic whispering huddle. Then they
sent two of their number over and said that Jimmie Lee could not join because
the rhythm of Irish music and African American music was different. I could see
by their pathetic expressions and tone of voice that I was listening to
lies. It was the different color of Jimmie's skin that was the problem.
I apologized profusely to Jimmie and turned to leave. As we went a man
jumped up from the session and followed us. I know where you can play. At
Mary's. Come on. Hesitantly as I did not want a repeat of the racist insult to
Jimmie we followed our new acquaintance. Mary's was a tiny pub and was
empty except for Mary who was behind the counter. Sure Sure set up in the corner
there. Jimmie Lee with his guitar and spurs which he used for percussion
and Neiley our new friend with his bodhran got going. With Jimmie leading and
encouraging Neiley very soon the music was flowing. The blues with a whiff
of the Irish now and then. It was beautiful.
Then the door opened and in came three bikers, leather, chains, big boots the
lot. With my stereotype I thought ah no racism, trouble. I said to Neiley
if they insult Jimmie Lee we will have to fight. I will not have him
insulted twice in one night. Neiley momentarily went white and then recovered
and said okay. I knew then I had made a genuine new friend.
The bikers came with their bottles in their hands and stood around the corner
where Jimmie Lee and Neiley were playing. Watching. Listening. Then the most
wonderful thing happened. After about ten minutes the bikers were singing and
shouting and dancing to the music. Mary was clapping her hands behind the bar
and laughing with glee. The music had done it.
I still miss Ireland very bad but every now and then I get a moment like this
and the US is bearable. Just as long as I do not go to the parades with
their Chicago cops pipe band, these cops with their tradition of killing
workers and African Americans, marching with their bagpipes wearing
Scottish tartans and pretending to be Irish. It is a tough life.
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