In the Belly of the [Irish-American] Beast

On Saturday I talked to a group of Irish-American retirees about Northern Ireland. At least, I'm pretty sure they were retirees - AARP membership wasn't required to attend the talk, but I've done enough off-season traveling at national parks and historic sites to spot a retiree couple when I see one. The talk was under the auspices of an Irish-American cultural organization based out of southern Connecticut that was putting on a one-day seminar on Irish culture and politics, and I was invited as a last-minute replacement after their original Northern Ireland speaker cancelled. My job was to give a 40-minute lecture on developments in Northern Ireland since the signing of the Belfast (or Good Friday) Agreement of 1998.

Now, if you know me, you know I don't exactly look like a professor. I'm youngish and young-looking, and it's not until you get to know me that you realize that I'm actually like 70 years old at heart. People with whom I have occasion to exchange small talk - barbers, for instance - usually assume that I'm a college student, until I tell them otherwise (if I tell them otherwise), and I blend in well in the sorts of student-dominated environments in which I often find myself. I'm normally not too self-conscious about this, and am, in fact, quite happy that I look younger than I am, but there are times when I feel like my youthful appearance can prevent people from taking me seriously. Not that I usually feel like I need to be taken seriously, but sometimes I do. This was the subject of a bit of apprehension on my part heading into this lecture on Saturday, based primarily on the following (somewhat paraphrased) exchange I had with the organizer, whom I'll call Phyllis, via email:

Phyllis: I'm so glad you'll be able to join us on Nov. 1. Would you mind sending us a photograph of yourself so that we can include it with the promotional material?

Me: [having searched my hard drive for a single photo in which I am a) not making a silly face, b) not making a mock-angry face, c) wearing something other than a t-shirt with cartoon characters on it, and d) not sticking my toungue out] Sure thing. Here you go! Let me know if the resolution is too poor, etc. [I then upload a picture of a smiling me wearing my only white button-up collared shirt]

Phyllis: Thanks for the photo, but do you have anything slightly more professorial looking?

Me: [feeling like a complete fool, I put on the same white shirt, a tie, and a black sport coat, stand in front of an antique map of Ireland hanging on my wall, and take about a dozen photos of myself with a variety of facial expressions until I find one that looks like what I think Phyllis must mean by "professorial"] Okay, sure. How's this one?

Phyllis: This is great! The map of Ireland in your face! [these are her exact words]

So this was what had happened before I showed up in Connecticut on Saturday. Preceding my talk was a talk by a guy from the Irish consul-general's office (maybe the consul-general himself? Anyway, a very nice guy), and following me was the editor of one of the country's largest Irish-American newspapers. And in between, following lunch, was little old me, who - it's true - has written a book about 19th-century Belfast and lived in Belfast for a few months, but who otherwise doesn't know much more about contemporary Northern Ireland than anyone who looks periodically at the Belfast Telegraph website might have. So, naturally, I vastly overprepared, compiled about 10 pages of notes and a detailed (and, if I do say so, quite amusing) Power Point presentation drawing on the latest social-science research into the economic and social situation in Northern Ireland over the last 10 years.

When I arrived, the guy from the consul's office was just wrapping up his talk and was fielding questions from the audience. Most of the questions had to do with Irish citizenship laws and why they weren't more liberal. While he somewhat defensively explained that Ireland actually has some of the most liberal citizenship laws in the EU, it dawned on me that the chief attraction for many of the attendees was the workshop being offered later in the day on how to get your Irish citizenship (which is available to anyone with an Irish grandparent). Then we broke for lunch and I sat down and ate my turkey sandwich at a table full of middle-aged folks, several of them wearing green sweaters or other Irishy clothes, and listened while they discussed the merits of Ellis Island and the counties from which the different parts of their families derived. It was quite cute, and I surprised myself by not feeling as dismissive and condescending as I often do when sharing the same air with laymen whose ideas about Ireland are derived primarily from what they've gleaned from Riverdance and PBS specials devoted to The Irish Tenors. Maybe I'm becoming more tolerant in my old age, or maybe I'm just becoming more secure in my professional identity.

In any case, after lunch I did my thing, and it went quite well. They laughed in (almost) all the right spots, and afterwards I had several nice compliments from folks in the audience. One older Irish gentleman - a man actually from Ireland - told me that I'd done the best job he'd ever heard an American do when discussing the North. I didn't "romanticize" it at all and seemed to have the "inside track." One dramatically-coiffed lady, one of a group of three ladies seated at the back who appeared to have fallen out of a Talbot's catalogue, told me that I'd helped her understand much better what was going on in Northern Ireland and, by the way, when I got back to Massachusetts would I mind looking up her daughter who's in school there and telling her hi? I said of course I would. And then the newspaper editor told me that I should send him a copy of the book when it comes out and he'd "give it some ink." I believe that means they'll write about it.

So in all it was a most successful trip, on a personal/professional level. So what if I was introduced as a "postdoctoral student" and Phyllis did once call me "kiddo"? Who would notice such trivial things? Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that the kelly-green heart of Irish-America is still alive and beating. There are still rooms in which well-dressed, affluent men and women share information with one another about the best way to look up their ancestors at Ellis Island. There are still pockets of America where a well-told anecdote about Ronald Reagan's visit to Ireland will be greeted with hearty, appreciative laughter. And there are still people who will make a point of distinguishing between the "Celtic" influence in North America and that of the "Scotch Irish." These are the people who fund the Irish Studies programs that have been my bread-and-butter for much of the last 9 or so years, and, once the book comes out, these will be the only people apart from my family and a few very large research libraries who might buy it. They are lovely and friendly and generous and good. And they all have great big Irish heads and massive helmets of Kennedy-esque hair. Even the women.