Today makes me feel old. Really old.
When I was growing up we had this low level terrorist war going on. Awful stuff. Every day, more bombs, more killings, more coffins. Every day, more excuses, more whatabouts, evasions, mistruths. And hatred. We Irish were hated. Just for being Irish, having that funny accent, suspected of supporting the people who committed these atrocities, even if nothing could be further from the truth. Despite this, and barring a few exceptions, it did not descend into indiscriminate bombings of civilian areas, of mass deportations of civilians, of detention or execution without trial.
We need to remember this today. How it felt to be despised and feared. Just for being born in the wrong place, having a strange accent or the wrong surname. How targeting us for these things would have made a bad situation immeasurably worse.
You don’t crack such problems with a sledgehammer when what’s needed is a scalpel and a longer strategy. Blaming and targeting a whole group of people might make you feel better, but it doesn’t solve anything at all. We Irish, of all people, aught to remember this today.