Immigrant Eyes
The Road to Derryronane Along a lonely road during a "soft" (rainy) summer's day in County Mayo, Ireland, I found myself standing where my great grandmother, Winnifred Gavaghan, left her home as a teenaged girl to find hope and opportunity in America. I had promised my grandmother, Margaret, that she and I would go back together some day. She was too old to travel, so I did it for her. With a few friends I found myself at the county seat, Swinford. It was the only town name I had heard of growing up. There, the parish priest welcomed me and let me look through the church records where I found Winnifred's birth certificate. What would gram think of that?! I knocked on the pub's door to ask if there were any Gavaghans nearby. "Why you be lookin' for the Gavaghans?" I was asked. I told him of my great grandmother and he smiled, "Oh no, you won't find any of them here, but if you go up the road to Derryronane..."
And so, I drove down a winding road, past the hedge rows and a few cows, I finally came to a small house. I figured I ought to stop and ask directions. An older, distinguished gentleman, stood with curiosity. "Are there any Gavaghans around?" asked I. "Why you be lookin' for the Gavaghans now?" he asked with a wisp of suspicion. "My grandmother's mom was Winnifred..." "Aunti Winnie?!" he interrupted. By sheer luck, or good fortune, I had met her cousin, Tom. Not bad. In one day I had found a birth certificate and now one Tom had met another from across the pond. My friend had a camcorder and asked if she could film him. Embarrassingly, he agreed and stood still. "Oh no, it's a movie camera" I told him. "Can you say hello to Margaret?" "Hello Margaret" is all I could get from him. But it was enough.
Later, he told us to go up the rose path by his house - I swear I could hear the faint echo of a harp! - and find a house where I would meet more Gavaghans. As I walked, I glanced at the fields thinking I'd catch a glimpse of a young Maureen O'hara (OK, my grandmother's favorite movie was The Quiet Man). There was a run-down shack just to the right as I knocked on the door. Who should answer the door but Margaret Gavaghan! I was welcomed "home". "No one has come home in all these years!" Next thing I knew, the family photo albums came out and there were pictures of (I learned later) my gram's cousins and then a 1905 picture of my great, great grandmother and her husband Anthony. There were three kids in the photo that nobody remembered. And so, two worlds came back together. The path had circled around. Tom and Margaret had now met Tom and Margaret.
My Gram 's Mom There's so much more to tell but I'll bring you back to when I came home and visited my gram. She had asked me to maybe take a photo of a peat bog near Swinford where her mum might have dug turf. No luck, I told her. Couldn't find a thing! I was a little smug and couldn't resist kidding her a bit (we'd do that) because I knew I had some great stuff to show her! Oh, I did have a little film I wanted to show her. I hooked up the VCR. I showed her some video of the countryside and then we came upon Tommy raising his hand to the camera offering his "hello Margaret". Out of the corner of my eye I saw my gram raise her hand to say hi. She had met her cousin. Time and space evaporated. I'll never forget that moment.
We then came upon a yard with the run-down shack. That's your mum's front yard and her house, I revealed. She was riveted, I even thought she was somehow transported back in time. I could see her imagining her mom.
I played the tape a few more times and then she said she didn't need to see any more. It's all right here, she said as she pointed to her head and then her heart. Oh yes, she was able to name the three kids in the photo and I wrote back to Margaret to tell her the news.
Immigrants I traveled to Ireland with sentimental and romanticized memories from childhood. It's not Ireland. I know that. But the memory, the link to the shadowed (and poverty-stricken) past has meaning. To quote Otto Frank, "To know where we're going we have to know where we came from". My Irish immigrant ancestors were allowed to find a new life. Like others, they helped build our country. One of them served in the Irish Brigade in Cuba during the Spanish-America War. His medals were a family treasure. He had barely arrived in America, but was duty-bound with gratitude, but still Irish.
My other side of the family was from Poland and my grandfather almost made it to the big leagues - or so we were told. It explains why there was a certain kind of reverence given to another Polish American ballplayer during my New England childhood, Carl Yastrzemski.
You're Not Irish! A colleague once scorned me that I had no right to claim Irish heritage. He was from Northern Ireland and had nothing but contempt for such "claims". In his world, identities rigidly separated and defined people there. But here, he was wrong. He missed the point - the fundamental truth about America. I don't claim to be Irish but I remember that my family found safe haven here. We are American because we remember where we came from and why. We add our peculiarities to the fabric of our society. Transitions take time, but we learn how diversity adds to our democratic strength, promise, and resilience. Our diversities are "held" and nurtured by the Republic in the best of times. We do not lose who we are but redefine ourselves with a greater identity, that of American. You belong because you are here.
Hate and Fear It's never easy for immigrants and refugees who have left so much behind. Many can't tell the sentimental tale I can. Those that are here, sometimes newly arrived immigrants themselves, accept the fears and prejudices against others who may come after them. Prejudices and stereotypes run deep and apply across identities. I remember sitting at a business in Keene and looking up at the large 19th century poster proudly displayed in their waiting room. It was an Irish cop, as a monkey, leering at white women. I felt sad because although this racism has faded away for the Irish it has been easily forged onto others.
Immigrants as monkeys, apes, or less than human, or racism rooted in our slave past still have power to undermine our promise. We recently saw our president, courting white supremacists, post images of a former president and first lady as monkeys. Steven Miller and many in the media embrace the fake "white replacement" conspiracy theories that echo in the dark chambers of the internet, reflect dark times here, and embrace the ideas of Nazi Germany.
The Quota In 1924, the "race"-based immigration quota act was passed that severely limited who could come to America. The law, written by members of the KKK and supported by Boston's upper crust Immigration Restriction League mostly closed the door to non "white" and non Christians. It was done by assigning quotas, the highest numbers given to nationalities deemed acceptable or "racially" desirable. Hitler, and more recently Steven Miller, have praised the law (overturned in 1964) as models of racial purity. Therefore it is a myth that America was an open door sanctuary for immigrants from 1921-1964. Give me your tied, your poor, indeed. But myths reflect aspiration. I aspire to something more.
My Turn On this St. Patrick's Day I think of my ancestors and all those who have found sanctuary here. The song, "Emigrant Eyes" remind us, "Don't take it for granted says grandfather's emigrant eyes..." I don't.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X84NM_RIjI8
And yet, we face the human problem of targeting and hate. We see leaders exploit the worst in us as we struggle to find the better angels of our nature. For me, I think of the promise of America and its revolutionary ideas that can help us overcome identity-based hate. We stand for something unique that current greed, racism, and exploitation has blurred. It's still there waiting to be found, like the look in an emigrant's eye. Like those who came before us we can renew our hope, confidence, create opportunity, and push fear and hate away. We can relight the lamp beside the golden door and offer the world hope not reinforce its fears..
