As most people are aware, a large number of immigrants from Ireland took part in the U.S. Civil War. Some 150,000 Irishmen put on a uniform for the U.S. military in its bid to defeat the rebel states known as the Southern Confederacy. But did you know that a large number of Irish-Americans fought for the Southern Confederacy as well? Over 40,000 Irishmen did. Some even served under Confederate general Robert E. Lee in his most critical moment, at the Battle of Gettysburg of 1863. Few have ever heard this, and the reason goes back to the way history has been presented - and what people did or did not want to emphasize.
Immediately after the war, for example, there was the Lost Cause narrative - an interpretation of what had happened leading up to and during the war that capitalized on resentment over its outcome, from economic devastation and rising racial tensions to the horrendous realities of post-war industrial life. The Lost Cause narrative romanticized the Old South in a way that made films like Birth of a Nation and Gone With The Wind wildly successful. It suggested that the Confederacy had been the best chance for - and had stood for - the interests and posterity of the progeny of the Anglo-Saxon settlers who had set up a government to protect them, only to watch that government raise a half-imported army against them, torch their wealth, destroy their way of life and decree that they were only equal to the Black African slaves brought in by the 1% to do work, a demographic now seen to be causing trouble. The narrative became popular in the post-war North and South for very similar as well as very different reasons, but linking the Irish to the Confederate "men in gray" was problematic all around, because the Irish were predominantly Catholic and by no means from the "original settler" stock. Furthermore, the Irish had a reputation not unlike that which followed the Black Africans.
Support for the Lost Cause peaked in the 1950s and 1960s, as the U.S. federal government implemented forced busing to move the descendants of Black African slaves into better schools. U.S. military forces were called in - this time, to keep angry crowds from denying Black Africans access to restaurants, schools and buses. To the north, the descendants of Black African slaves had been condemned to the low-income areas they could afford to live in, and were subject to harassment if they left for the quieter, cleaner, wealthier and safer suburbs. But those suburbs soon became ground zero for the ultimate social experiment, as universities, Hollywood and other sources began demonizing those who supported segregation, and stressing tolerance and acceptance.
Behind it all, there were those who believed in equality; there were also those who just wanted everyone to get along and stop fighting. But even more importantly, there were national security concerns due to the rise and spread of communism; if America wanted to insure itself against the threat of a communist-inspired insurrection, and compete against the communists for global influence and access, it had to transform itself into something that would work for its whole population, which foreigners could replicate, and could not just be about "Anglo-Saxon whatever".
Under the circumstances, "freedom and liberty at last for all who are here" became the focus, and a narrative about the U.S. Civil War being a fight for that prevailed, including a clear message about what America had been, was and should be. In that narrative, the culture-shapers and multiculturalism-pushers were no less determined to overlook the fact that a large percentage of America's Irish-descended demographic had stood with the Confederacy. After all, a narrative stressing the importance of supporting xyz because it was what the U.S. military had fought for in the Civil War was more likely to strike a chord with the progeny of those who had fought and died for that side instead of fought against it. Just as importantly, the last thing they wanted was a demographic as large as the country's Irish-American population to have something to draw back on that would make them question which side they really were on. And, to anyone who is aware of the history, that definitely could have been a major issue.
As Irish Central reports, anti-Irish sentiment was a real and present thing, and "ugly anti-Irish riots swept through the ethnic slums and ghettos of New York City, Philadelphia and Boston." But the Irish who settled in the South experienced a much different social climate, where "the unity of whiteness in a slave society enhanced equality for whites, ensured a deep loyalty, including Democratic Party adherence." That is part of why so many of them fought for the Confederacy.
Furthermore, as indicated by History Ireland, "suspicion of the secular and liberal United States in the ultramontane Irish Catholic hierarchy, disillusion at the loss of Irish lives [thanks to the war to bring the South back], the perceived military incompetence of the Lincoln administration [and] sympathy for secession as a model of Irish rejection of the British-Irish ‘Union’" pulled the Irish, as a whole, towards siding with the Confederacy. This was the case "even after 1863", with decisive victories against the Confederacy at Gettysburg and Vicksburg."
Take note of what it would communicate if all the descendants of Irish settlers were shown that their ancestors had fought for the "bad guy" - the side which the U.S. federal government had taken down, which had shown more tolerance towards people of their kind. The prevailing narrative about the Irish and the cause for which they fought would lose its resonance, and there would be room left for the South to be romanticized by those who identify with their Irish heritage.
Furthermore, the Irish-American demographic, large as it was, was important to be working with rather than against, because it could play a potentially-decisive role shaping America's path, especially if pushed to collectively feel one way or another about the past. In this way, "winning the Irish" became almost just critical as it was when the battle lines were drawn across America nearly one hundred years earlier, during the U.S. Civil War.
Another point to consider when targeting the Irish is that the Irish were a people likely to be on board already because of certain popular motifs in their people's history; presenting the Irish as part of what the Civil War was now said to have been about merely pushed the tendency to identify with those motifs further. In other words, with the Irish, here were a people who could be portrayed as descendants of the eternally downtrodden, who had suffered not only under the British and experienced anti-immigrant sentiment after coming to America, but also fought for America all the same because they believed in it, and had gone on to achieve great success in spite of all the earlier insults and accusations against them. It was the perfect assurance that Irish-American sons and daughters would support what the culture-shapers wanted them to, in opposition to segregation, and would be passionate to make America about "freedom and liberty at last for all who are here" - especially since it was now supposedly what they had been fighting for in the war and what they were told that they themselves, as a people, had been forever fighting for, not to mention part of their identity. On top of that, if the Irish somehow had any doubts about where they should align, the U.S. President at the time, delivering the same talking points about the "free world" and what America was and should be, was not just the charismatic face of a country completely sold on its role, but the progeny of an Irish Catholic family, the country's first leader of his kind. The only irony: his ancestors had not fought in the U.S. military in the American Civil War.
But that was not the only irony. Prideful Irishness, mixed with the idea that the Irish were once victims of arrogant supremacy in both the New World and the Old, led to a strange paradox where a people raised to be fiercely proud of their culture, identity and fight for independence also became passionate advocates of liberal left-wing whatever to "destroy the racist, oppressive system." That meant supporting "progressive" concepts and social Marxist theory, which in effect turned the genders against one another, nuked the Irish birthrate and pushed open borders for equality - a recipe for population and cultural replacement that makes the cultural-political autonomy that was fought for just as irrelevant as all the prideful songs about Irish green eyes, fair features and red hair. U2, the Cranberries or the Dropkick Murphys - all perpetuate the noxious cocktail, and have shaped the understanding that Irish-Americans have about their history. More recently, Sinéad O'Connor, known for her rendition of the Irish song "Foggy Dew", spoke out against her Irish name, shaved her head and called white people "disgusting".
In any case, the work that began in the 1950s and 1960s by the culture-shapers is largely complete. Few have an impression of history that is different from what they tried to make it. And part of that includes the presentation of the Irish, which remains a staple even in more modern works. For example, fostering the impression of "what the Irish were", mainstream films like Gangs of New York have recycled every generalization:
We also continue to get material stressing the newer Civil War narrative - the idea that the Irish overcame the resentment against them, were fiercely patriotic and fought for that same country that had at least initially rejected them, in part to end black slavery. Presenting that impression are the films Gettysburg and its sequel, Gods and Generals:
It is clear who won the tug-of-war to claim the Irish; only slightly less certain is what the long-term consequences will be. In part, that is for the Irish to decide.
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| Flag for the Irish volunteers of the 14th Georgia Infantry Regiment in the Confederate Army. |
Support for the Lost Cause peaked in the 1950s and 1960s, as the U.S. federal government implemented forced busing to move the descendants of Black African slaves into better schools. U.S. military forces were called in - this time, to keep angry crowds from denying Black Africans access to restaurants, schools and buses. To the north, the descendants of Black African slaves had been condemned to the low-income areas they could afford to live in, and were subject to harassment if they left for the quieter, cleaner, wealthier and safer suburbs. But those suburbs soon became ground zero for the ultimate social experiment, as universities, Hollywood and other sources began demonizing those who supported segregation, and stressing tolerance and acceptance.
Behind it all, there were those who believed in equality; there were also those who just wanted everyone to get along and stop fighting. But even more importantly, there were national security concerns due to the rise and spread of communism; if America wanted to insure itself against the threat of a communist-inspired insurrection, and compete against the communists for global influence and access, it had to transform itself into something that would work for its whole population, which foreigners could replicate, and could not just be about "Anglo-Saxon whatever".
Under the circumstances, "freedom and liberty at last for all who are here" became the focus, and a narrative about the U.S. Civil War being a fight for that prevailed, including a clear message about what America had been, was and should be. In that narrative, the culture-shapers and multiculturalism-pushers were no less determined to overlook the fact that a large percentage of America's Irish-descended demographic had stood with the Confederacy. After all, a narrative stressing the importance of supporting xyz because it was what the U.S. military had fought for in the Civil War was more likely to strike a chord with the progeny of those who had fought and died for that side instead of fought against it. Just as importantly, the last thing they wanted was a demographic as large as the country's Irish-American population to have something to draw back on that would make them question which side they really were on. And, to anyone who is aware of the history, that definitely could have been a major issue.
As Irish Central reports, anti-Irish sentiment was a real and present thing, and "ugly anti-Irish riots swept through the ethnic slums and ghettos of New York City, Philadelphia and Boston." But the Irish who settled in the South experienced a much different social climate, where "the unity of whiteness in a slave society enhanced equality for whites, ensured a deep loyalty, including Democratic Party adherence." That is part of why so many of them fought for the Confederacy.
Furthermore, as indicated by History Ireland, "suspicion of the secular and liberal United States in the ultramontane Irish Catholic hierarchy, disillusion at the loss of Irish lives [thanks to the war to bring the South back], the perceived military incompetence of the Lincoln administration [and] sympathy for secession as a model of Irish rejection of the British-Irish ‘Union’" pulled the Irish, as a whole, towards siding with the Confederacy. This was the case "even after 1863", with decisive victories against the Confederacy at Gettysburg and Vicksburg."
Take note of what it would communicate if all the descendants of Irish settlers were shown that their ancestors had fought for the "bad guy" - the side which the U.S. federal government had taken down, which had shown more tolerance towards people of their kind. The prevailing narrative about the Irish and the cause for which they fought would lose its resonance, and there would be room left for the South to be romanticized by those who identify with their Irish heritage.
Furthermore, the Irish-American demographic, large as it was, was important to be working with rather than against, because it could play a potentially-decisive role shaping America's path, especially if pushed to collectively feel one way or another about the past. In this way, "winning the Irish" became almost just critical as it was when the battle lines were drawn across America nearly one hundred years earlier, during the U.S. Civil War.
Another point to consider when targeting the Irish is that the Irish were a people likely to be on board already because of certain popular motifs in their people's history; presenting the Irish as part of what the Civil War was now said to have been about merely pushed the tendency to identify with those motifs further. In other words, with the Irish, here were a people who could be portrayed as descendants of the eternally downtrodden, who had suffered not only under the British and experienced anti-immigrant sentiment after coming to America, but also fought for America all the same because they believed in it, and had gone on to achieve great success in spite of all the earlier insults and accusations against them. It was the perfect assurance that Irish-American sons and daughters would support what the culture-shapers wanted them to, in opposition to segregation, and would be passionate to make America about "freedom and liberty at last for all who are here" - especially since it was now supposedly what they had been fighting for in the war and what they were told that they themselves, as a people, had been forever fighting for, not to mention part of their identity. On top of that, if the Irish somehow had any doubts about where they should align, the U.S. President at the time, delivering the same talking points about the "free world" and what America was and should be, was not just the charismatic face of a country completely sold on its role, but the progeny of an Irish Catholic family, the country's first leader of his kind. The only irony: his ancestors had not fought in the U.S. military in the American Civil War.But that was not the only irony. Prideful Irishness, mixed with the idea that the Irish were once victims of arrogant supremacy in both the New World and the Old, led to a strange paradox where a people raised to be fiercely proud of their culture, identity and fight for independence also became passionate advocates of liberal left-wing whatever to "destroy the racist, oppressive system." That meant supporting "progressive" concepts and social Marxist theory, which in effect turned the genders against one another, nuked the Irish birthrate and pushed open borders for equality - a recipe for population and cultural replacement that makes the cultural-political autonomy that was fought for just as irrelevant as all the prideful songs about Irish green eyes, fair features and red hair. U2, the Cranberries or the Dropkick Murphys - all perpetuate the noxious cocktail, and have shaped the understanding that Irish-Americans have about their history. More recently, Sinéad O'Connor, known for her rendition of the Irish song "Foggy Dew", spoke out against her Irish name, shaved her head and called white people "disgusting".
In any case, the work that began in the 1950s and 1960s by the culture-shapers is largely complete. Few have an impression of history that is different from what they tried to make it. And part of that includes the presentation of the Irish, which remains a staple even in more modern works. For example, fostering the impression of "what the Irish were", mainstream films like Gangs of New York have recycled every generalization:
We also continue to get material stressing the newer Civil War narrative - the idea that the Irish overcame the resentment against them, were fiercely patriotic and fought for that same country that had at least initially rejected them, in part to end black slavery. Presenting that impression are the films Gettysburg and its sequel, Gods and Generals:
It is clear who won the tug-of-war to claim the Irish; only slightly less certain is what the long-term consequences will be. In part, that is for the Irish to decide.
