Earlier this year, I visited Ireland for the first time to trace my family history. I spent nearly one month traveling around that amazing country, and after a lifetime of trying to find myself by looking in all the wrong places (read about that here), I had finally found what I have been searching for.
Now, as anyone who has visited Ireland will tell you, it is a stunningly beautiful and magical place, with some of the warmest and graciously welcoming people anywhere in the world. Most people who experience Ireland fall in love with it, and many dream of living in one of those calm and quiet villages that dot the lush green countryside. I certainly know I do.
I must admit, however, that I am not a fan of international travel. Going someplace new and unfamiliar to me, especially a place where I don’t speak the language, causes me more stress and anxiety than it does provide me with a sense of adventure. That was not my experience in Ireland, and it wasn’t just because everyone speaks English.
From the moment I arrived, everything just seemed…right. Natural. Strangely familiar. With each passing day, I discovered something about myself that, as it turns out, is typically Irish. I had already suspected that my sense of humor, passionate temper and tendency to talk people’s ears off might be genetic. I was surprised to find out there were many more things I had never even known about Ireland that actually resonated deeply inside me.
I was born in the United States, but my ancestors bones are buried in Ireland. As I traveled around the country, I felt a strong sense of connection to various places, a feeling unlike anything I ever felt while living in Japan or Hawaii, and unlike anything I have ever felt in any other country where I have traveled. I walked the same streets where my great-great grandfather walked. I visited the birthplace of my great-great grandmother. I saw the places where my uncle lived and got married. I met people with the same surname and first name—I was often told I had a “good Irish name.” At a pub in Wexford, where my family is from, a local man I was enjoying a pint with told me “you’re Irish—welcome home!”
In Dublin, I spent an afternoon at the National Museum of Archaeology, which is fascinating and highly recommended. As I slowly worked my way through the exhibits, it suddenly occurred to me that, for the first time in my life, I was looking at the history of a people that I had a blood and soil connection to. These were my ancestors. Up to now, every place I have lived has been someone else’s native home. I have been fortunate to have studied and become familiar with the history and culture of American Indians, Japanese and Hawaiians. I respect and admire them all, but none are my history or culture. Thus, I felt a deep sense of connection and meaning in the museum that day that I will never forget.
When I go back to where I grew up in the U.S. today, I don’t even know it anymore. That is not only because the places themselves have changed, but in particular, because the people have changed (myself included). I don’t recognize the places where I spent my youth because so many of my fellow White people are obese, covered in tattoos and wear pajamas to the shopping mall. And there are so many non-White people that sometimes I wonder where I am. While I was used to seeing Black and Hispanic Americans growing up, I now see people from Africa, the Middle East, South Asia and the Far East, many of whom don’t seem to have bothered to learn English or adapt themselves to the culture of the country they chose to live in. Unlike my experience in Ireland, traveling to America no longer feels like “going home” at all.
With the exception of Dublin, no matter where I went in Ireland, everyone I met looked like me. I felt comfortable and relaxed in all situations. I was usually greeted with an inviting, sincere smile and I was able to joke and chat amicably with everyone I encountered.
Ireland has a population of 6.7 million people, over 96% of whom are White. When I was born, Whites made up 88% of the U.S. population. This, coincidentally, is the percentage of the White population in Uruguay, which until my trip to Ireland, was the Whitest country I had ever been to. As of the 2010 census, non-Hispanic White people were 63% of the U.S. population. Has diversity made America a better place to live? A stronger, more united nation? It sure doesn’t feel like it when I go back. I found the Irish countryside to be far more comfortable and inviting.
While I was in Ireland, Morgoth posted a video version of his essay An Ode to Laura Trott, which perfectly encapsulated many of the thoughts and feelings I was having while traveling across Ireland:
“[My] weary eyes…finally rested upon the familiar, on kin and ‘Volk’…I know that smile, those mannerisms, those features. I had a group once, they are the characteristics of my group, we were a people… If only we had the ability to reach our people and explain just how precious they are, if we could just manage to turn off the incessant static noise of modernity and find ourselves again, and return to living as a people, on our land, where the only faces we gazed upon left the warm glow which can only come out of kinship and familiarity.”
Soon after I returned to Japan, I heard about Ireland 2040: Our Plan, which, as you can probably guess, by “our plan” they mean one created and approved without the consent of the Irish people. But then again, have any of us in Western countries been allowed to vote for multiculturalism? Or even simply asked if we wanted it? Apparently, it is such a good thing that our governments have to force it on us despite our opposition. And in the case of Project 2040, the Irish government went a step further and actually paid “journalists” to publish pro-immigration propaganda in the form of advertorials aimed at convincing the Irish people that they should sit back and watch as Ireland is enriched with vibrant diversity, just like in the model countries of Germany, England and Sweden. Look how well it is working out for them.
I was particularly shocked to learn that one of the small villages I had been to while in Ireland, called Lisdoonvarna in County Clare (population 300), was being forced to take in 115 sub-Saharan African “refugees.” Residents of the village voted an overwhelming 93% against the settling of these refugees in their village, but predictably, were labeled “racists” by the mainstream media and the government promptly ignored their concerns.
I spent a few days in nearby Doolin, exploring the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher during the day and enjoying trad music over a few (OK, several) pints of Guinness at night. The idea that such an area will be flooded with African refugees is shocking and absurd. Lisdoonvarna is famous for its annual Matchmaking Festival, which like Doolin, draws visitors from all over the world every year.
This begs the question: Who wants to visit Ireland and encounter African refugees? Because if this settlement plan goes forward, one out of every four people in Lisdoonvarna will be a sub-Saharan African. Is this the kind of matchmaking the Irish government is trying to promote?
I met a Finnish guy in a pub one night, and as we were chatting, he told me that he and his wife like to vacation in Scotland. He went on to lament that almost every time they are in Scotland, their trip is “ruined” because they only ever seem to meet “American tourists in Scotland searching for their ancestors.” Despite being a conversation killer for obvious reasons, his comment made perfect sense to me. When you go to Scotland, you want to experience and interact with Scottish people. When you are in Ireland, you want to meet Irish people. No one wants to experience nervous discomfort as they walk down the street in tiny Lisdoonvarna while being stared at by loitering African refugees who offer nothing of value to tourists, add nothing to the experience of Ireland and who will, as soon as they get bored and frustrated with life in rural Ireland, pose a real threat in terms of crime and violence motivated by envious resentment and arrogant ingratitude. Mark my words, it is only a matter of time.
Given the fact that Leo Varadkar, Ireland’s Taoiseach (Prime Minister), is an openly gay half-Indian man, I suppose we cannot be surprised by any of these sad developments. What else can we expect from someone who must have felt alienated from normal Irish people his entire life? Sadly, in a country that is still very traditional and historically Catholic, gay marriage, divorce and abortion are considered new “freedoms” enjoyed by a “progressive” and modern Irish populace rather than what they really are: weapons used to destroy traditional marriage, families and healthy procreation. The more that the Irish embrace gay marriage, divorce, abortion and multiculturalism, the less of a future there is for the Irish people themselves.
Ironically, Project 2040 is ostensibly aimed at increasing the population of Ireland over the next 20 years. Rather than promoting normal marriage and healthy families, rather than trying to curb the brain-drain that occurs when the best and brightest of Ireland leave for jobs and new lives in countries that offer better opportunities, the government is instead promoting a policy that will flood the country with uneducated, low-skilled, low-IQ and culturally/religiously incompatible immigrants from third world countries. Will Ireland still be Ireland 20 years from now?
Seeing how the Irish government wants to increase Ireland’s population, and given the fact that my brief time in Ireland was not nearly enough for me to fully investigate my family history, I decided to contact an immigration lawyer in Dublin to explore what my options are in terms of obtaining a residence permit to live for an extended period of time in Ireland.
I assumed my particular case would be quite an attractive proposal for Ireland and that the government should welcome someone like me with open arms. I explained that, in addition to being the descendant of an Irish immigrant, I am a location-independent freelance worker. I can bring my job with me and thus will have my own source of income. I would essentially be bringing a steady stream of cash into the country from the outside, which I would spend most or all of in Ireland on local products and services. I wouldn’t be taking jobs away from local Irish people and I would even be willing to pay taxes to the Irish government for the privilege of being able to live there for a few years. I have no intention of seeking government benefits and would even pay for my own health insurance.
Furthermore, I am keenly interested in learning a lot more about Ireland—even the language—and I would adapt and adopt myself to the local customs and culture. I bet I would eventually become more Irish than the Irish themselves.
Compared to the expense and difficulties involved in settling “refugees” in Ireland, my proposition sounds like a pretty good deal, doesn’t it?
It was no surprise to learn that, as I am a fifth generation born Irish-American, my family connection is too far removed to qualify for citizenship. I already knew this. The lawyer also informed me that I do not qualify for any type of residence permit, even one that allows people with independent means to retire in Ireland, because I am too young to be a retiree and I would not be allowed to conduct my freelance work on such a permit. Simply trying to “immigrate” is also not an option. Apparently, Ireland is not interested in welcoming home those of us in the diaspora, nor is it seeking people like me, who actually have a blood and soil connection, are financially self-sufficient and have a genuine interest in respecting, observing and perpetuating Irish culture.
I suspect that, if I was an African or Middle Eastern asylum seeker with no travel documents, who simply showed up at the Dublin Airport demanding to be taken care of, I could waltz right in and get all the free handouts I want at the Irish taxpayers’ expense. The government and mainstream media would probably fawningly refer to me as “New Irish” or simply “Irish” as soon as I stepped foot outside the airport.
I thought this was a “borderless” world we were living in. Isn’t one of the aims of globalism to enable the free movement of people around the globe? I thought becoming a global citizen was the lofty goal toward which we should all be striving?
While this is all very disappointing, there may still be one option left: Perhaps I can pass for an albino Nigerian refugee.