The Death of Ireland


The Death of Ireland

This will be a more personal post than I usually make. 

The Great Famine has affected me from the first time I remember hearing about it in primary school. Understanding that it happened and there is nothing that can be done about it filled me with a helplessness which was expressed as anger. As a young child and later as a teenager it was something I was furious with.

The famine brought hell to the island of Ireland. The story of those who died has become sterilised, without photos and names to put to the people, the babies and toddlers who were starved of life.

Around the world there were gestures made to relieve the hunger but if we can be honest about it, the world failed these people. Worst of all the Irish landowners failed their own people. Each one of us is more likely to carry the tainted blood of those who did nothing than those who died in absolute agony, clutching their sunken chests.

This picture is of my sons at a commemoration in East Clare. It is marks a mass grave which was used to dispose of babies and toddlers.

Tonight RTÉ released the first part of an excellent documentary about the famine. No matter how many times I hear about it, my chest grows tight and I feel sick to think of what it would have been to be born into that horror.

I don't feel angry anymore. Instead there is a welling sadness which overtakes me.

It puts context on how we can treat the rest of the world, little by little.

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