Whenever the Central Statistics Office releases new figures on Irish emigration to Australia, I cringe a little.
The numbers of people leaving and entering the country always seem to find their way into contentious public conversation. In the 12 months to April this year, 13,500 people left Ireland for Australia. That’s a 27 per cent increase on last year.
When I write about Irish people choosing – or determining that they need – to leave Ireland, there is sometimes a response of defensiveness. There can be a palpable sensitivity at home about the conditions which can lead young Irish people to leave in search of what they see as better prospects elsewhere. This sensitivity might be considered strange in light of a history of Irish emigration which is far older than the Republic itself. Or perhaps not – it may be a logical outcome of that history and the conflicting stories we tell about modern Ireland and our legacy of emigration.
The Irish relationship with emigration isn’t straightforward.
We have a long tradition of leaving, but that has traditionally been counterbalanced by almost as long a tradition of coming home. My great-grandfather Jonathan, born in Australia to Irish parents, is marked on the 1911 census as living in Tipperary, married to a Kerry woman, and working as an undertaker. He came to Ireland from Australia with his brother. The reason he left his home country on a one-way journey to live in his parents’ birthplace is unclear.
When I think about the vastness of that trip and that decision – these two young men boarding a ship for a one-way voyage – it’s difficult to relate to. A decision which, once made, cannot be unmade. A long, uncertain journey into the unknown.
Something drew my great-grandfather “home” to a land he knew presumably only from stories. The 1911 census records him and his wife and brother living with four children who wouldn’t have existed had he not made this intimidating decision to relocate to Ireland.
[ Emigration: ‘From a distance, I have relearned how to be Irish’Opens in new window ]
More children would follow, my grandfather among them, who would leave Tipperary for London, only to return to Ireland in the early 1970s with his Irish wife and five British-born children in tow. The eldest were teenagers. Like his own father, he uprooted an established life abroad, beginning again in Ireland at a time when economic downturn suggests his choice was surely more rooted in a sense of belonging than any sort of financial incentive. He worked as a driving instructor until his death.
Two years ago, I emigrated to Australia, making the trip my great-grandfather made in reverse. Rather than weeks at sea, it took me about 30 hours and three flights. I made the trip in the knowledge that, while it might be a logistical nightmare, a financial hit and a significant challenge, I could in theory return home at some future point if this new version of life didn’t seem right in the long term.
At various points in history, necessity or an appetite for adventure and experience have pushed able Irish people out into the world
My decision would not mean never seeing most of my family again, and if I didn’t fit Australia or it didn’t fit me, I could figure out some means to get home.
At various points in history, necessity or an appetite for adventure and experience have pushed able Irish people out into the world. When conditions permit, many of them will return to settle down, have or raise children, start businesses, or care for ageing parents. The lure of home is deep-rooted, powerful and lasting. It spans generations. It drew my great-grandfather home to a country he had never even seen, and drew his son back from London, after him.
I’ve written in this column before about the lead weight of homesickness – not so heavy as to sink you, but enough to tug you out of the moment and keep you connected to a country on the other side of the world. Enough to remind you that you can live in one country and belong to another.
While we’ve traditionally gone in large numbers to the UK and the US, Australia and Canada often have greater allure for young people in particular, especially now. Australia offers a distant exoticism blended with a comforting anglophone familiarity. You can get Barry’s Tea and Taytos and even a spice bag if you know where to look.
While Sydney, which is currently loping into a mellow and blue-skied spring, sits more than 17,000km from an increasingly autumnal Dublin, Ireland has long-standing cultural links with this enormous, far-off country.
When you go to Ireland, you don’t feel that this could be anywhere. It is a distinctive place. Australia has this quality too
When you emerge from the plane into a light so bright it rattles the eyeballs at Sydney airport, you quickly realise that despite the different climate, Australian people share some key characteristics with the Irish. An abhorrence of notions and a pragmatic approach to almost everything. There’s a hardiness of spirit, a misplaced assumption that government is somehow both the cause of and solution to every problem, and a sense of nation that ensures both places have a cohesive identity.
When you go to Ireland, you don’t feel that this could be anywhere. It is a distinctive place. Australia has this quality too.
The Australian visa system is complex and forbidding – as any Irish immigrant here will know, it’s not an easy country to get into or to stay in long-term. The majority of Irish people who move to Australia come here initially on a working holiday visa. Most return home after their adventure (or visa) run out. Some, like me, stay on.
Ireland has never had much difficulty drawing its emigrants home. Many want to go home. It’s a difficult prospect when life is easier, more comfortable and cheaper elsewhere.
Some of us – like my grandfather and great-grandfather – will return even when this means taking a harder route. Yet, we do need to think in Ireland about what it is that people are coming home to.
We can be sensitive about their going, but this should promote serious conversation about how we might incentivise their return.
It’s one thing to love your country, but another entirely to be able to live in it.