A Modest Proposal
“I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious number of children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is, in the present deplorable state of the kingdom, a very great additional grievance.”
– Jonathan Swift; A Modest Proposal; 1729
I attended the funeral of one of my cousins this weekend. He was 88, and in poor health, including suffering from dementia. One of the things I will remember the most about him was that while running the 1960 Democratic headquarters in this county, local police gave him the only six tickets he ever got, on consecutive weekends. “We don't want your type here,” they told him each and every time.
His son gave me a family heirloom – a three gallon whiskey jug with the family name, from when my great grandfather's brother was a major bootlegger in western New York. Uncle Tom had a series of hardware stores that fronted for the family's primary business. I wish my father was alive to see it, though he would complain that it is empty.
Tom was among the family members that came to the US at the time known as “an Gorta Mor,” or the Great Starvation. It is also called “the potato famine” by those unfamiliar with the actual history, in which the Old Sod produced record amounts of other crops and meats, the vast majority of which were exported by “absentee landlords.”
A few of Tom's sisters remained in and around New York City. He moved to upstate New York, where other family members had taken up farming, as well as working on the canals and then railroads. Some, like Tom's brother Patrick, had trades – he was a marble-cutter – that were sought after. Pat was a “boomer,” and went west; I have the photograph, with his hand-written note to a sister on the back, from when he ventured out, following the new railroads as they were constructed.
My grandfather came to the US in the late 1870s, among the last waves of our extended family. Those already here had helped finance the trip, and had things set up for each family unit that arrived. An interesting thing, at least in my opinion, is that after saving up, and/or attending college or learning a trade, quite a few family members moved back to Ireland. They were able to buy properties that had previously been owned by our family, but were stolen by the invaders who later starved our people.
By the time my father was born, the extended family in the US had a doctor, a lawyer, a university professor, union leaders, detectives, military veterans, and a construction company owner. It wasn't that they were not confronted with the hatred of Irish Catholics – they certainly were, but they leveled the playing field. By the time I was a youngster, and my cousin was getting ticketed for campaigning for JFK, the neighborhood kids where my father built our house were insulting my siblings and I about being followers of the pope. I had no idea who or what the pope was. After we leveled those kids a few times on our playing fields, we all became friends.
I think about that, when I consider what the federal government is doing to the human beings from Central America that seek refuge in this country. They are attempting to come to this country for the same reasons my family came from Ireland. I recently saw an interview with the Dalai Lama, where he noted that immigrants are looking in part for the education and job skills that will allow them to eventually return to their homelands, and I recognize that dynamic from my own family history.
It takes a special level of perverse cruelty to put children in cages. That type of inhumanity leads to denying them toothpaste, tooth brushes, soap, and food that is not dissimilar to starving the native population of Ireland, or any of the other extreme examples of man's inhumanity to man. It may be true that it is improper to compare Trump to Hitler, at least yet. So I'll go back to when I was a child, and compare him to the stories I heard in church about Herod.
Somehow, this madness must stop. Obviously, Trump and his ilk aren't going to stop it on their own. And we really cannot wait until November of 2020 to start leveling the playing field. A growing number of our elected representatives are in favor of impeachment proceedings. Others believe that the public isn't invested in that yet. We are the public. It's time that we send a clear signal to them that we are prepared to do the hard work necessary to level the field.
Peace,
H2O Man
= new reply since forum marked as read
look at the color of your skin........... 
years ago! 
Nice family story, btw. I really enjoy hearing stories about immigrant families - where they came from and how they progressed over generations. One side of my family immigrated around the turn of the 20th century (Italian) and the other side had been here a bit longer (English/Dutch migration) but not exactly sure when they came over.
Thank you for this recollection. 
Whenever you talk about history and our past, I see a door opening. You illuminate your stories so well, it is like a door suddenly opening and the light bursting through.
Thank you so much!
...I looked Irish, as such. Sure, I looked like my immediate family, but who doesn't? Same in California. 
Then in my 30s I visited Boston, and saw "cousins" on every corner. Oh. So in my 50s when I got a chance to visit Ireland, I was ready. I just was not prepared for how melanin-deficient my people are, in the aggregate. 
I was really taken aback in Ireland. I knew my mother's people came from the south of Ireland. I just didn't expect everyone to look like family members.
As for the melanin-deficiency? You should have caught me on the Jersey Shore as a kid. I was the one who looked like a lobster. I still need to be careful in the sun.
