Published in the Limerick and Clare Examiner, January 28, 1854. From a speech delivered on December 28th, 1853, at the Music Hall, Boston, Massachusetts.
CITIZENS OF BOSTON—Ladies and gentlemen—When I stood this morning, for the first time in my life, on the streets of this illustrious city of Boston, and remembered that I had come here to lecture and—not to learn, but in some sort to teach—I confess that my heart almost failed me at the very thought of my own boldness. When I found myself on that famous spot of ground which your fathers held so stoutly against the beleaguering battalions of England—when I stood in the shadow of that Faneuil Hall, than which no Athenia azora or Roman forum is so venerable to me; when I looked out upon that harbour in which you once infused the tyrant’s treacherous tea; when I gazed up to that immortal hill whose musical rifle volleys sung the birthday of a new world, and shall for ever ring a glorious diapason of liberty, till the earth shall be no more, I said within myself, it must indeed seem presumptuous in one who has been so short a time in America to undertake to treat a subject so extensive, and involving interests so important and complex as the Position and duties of the European refugees.
Once for all, then, I desire rather to excite interests in this great question (soon to be a pressing and vital question), and evoke other men’s opinions upon it, than to enforce or impose my own opinions. Opinions, indeed, I have, and very definite, very strong, to my own mind very clear. Let me lay them before you, not dogmatically, not dictatorially; and I feel that the citizens of this city, and my own countrymen who have found a home within her gates, will at least hear me calmly, and judge me as indulgently as I can ask. First, I may observe, that though not present in the body, I have been many years an American in spirit. To study your constitution and articles of confederation—to have your declaration of Independence by heart—one need not wait until he sets his foot upon the United States.
And especially it may well be assumed that one who has been five years and more in the penal dungeons of a monarch, and all that time, expecting, longing, yearning, pining, for the shelter, the personal freedom, the field of honourable activity which the wise and just laws of this land would be sure offer him—it may be assumed, I say, that he would have formed to himself some clear notion of the rights, the position, the duties, he was taking upon him when he went into an American court of justice, and solemnly declared the intention of becoming bona fide an American citizen.
Without more preface, then I proceed into the heart of the subject. Those vast numbers of foreigners who have, since 1848, found shelter on the soil of this continent, may be distributed (with relation to subject) into two classes—those who intend to become citizens of the United States and put that intention upon record, and those who do not. The latter class have no duties or obligations at all to this country or its government, except to pay their debts and obey the laws while they are here. As travellers, strangers, and sojourners, they would have permission to live and earn a livelihood, and spend their money in Switzerland, in Belgium, in England, or even (if not conspicuous revolutionists), in France or Germany, as well as in America. As to this class of the refugees, the only great advantages which America affords them are these. First—They can take lessons in true Democracy, and carry the knowledge and the love of it back to Europe. Second—They can meet many representatives of all the several European nationalities—all taking sanctuary like themselves—and can give them, and receive from them, information, enthusiasm, faith, hope, and strength, for their allied cause, and against their allied enemies. Third—They can write to their friends in Europe, and receive letters from them without fear of American espionage in the Post Office, and two or three of them can meet together without having a detective in the midst of them. Not to dwell longer, then, upon the case of these visitors, we proceed to consider the first named class of refugees—those who have announced their intention to make America their country and their home. Here a new relation commences. Citizenship, of what commonwealth soever it be, is a clear and precise idea. The citizen, as citizen, belongs absolutely and exclusively to the state—that is to say, the community which protects him, which gives him civic privileges, rights, and power, which guarantees to him the secure exercise of them by its laws, which guards the sacredness of his home and the quiet enjoyment of the fruits of his industry. The community has a clear title to his sole and undivided alliance. To the interests, the exigencies, the honour and dignity of the community, his best exertions, his very life and fortune, stand in pledge. And it makes no difference whatever, whether he be a native-born citizen, a citizen fully naturalised, or one who is claiming and waiting for the privileges of naturalisation. In any or all these cases, it would be simply treason toward the commonwealth if he should pay more regard to the national claims or necessities, to the rights or wrongs of any other land—even the land where his mother bore him and where his father’s bones are laid—than to those of the new country, whose nationality he has voluntarily chosen to take upon him.
This is a principle which ought to be clearly understood, explicitly avowed, and universally established. If any refugee, then, from any European country goes into an American court, declares his intention to become an American citizen, and so clothes himself with the character of American nationality, only that he may use that nationality, and the security and freedom of action which it gives him, to serve the interests of any other community on earth, otherwise than any native citizen might lawfully do, he simply commits a fraud upon the American people. I do not say, for I do not know, that any solitary individual has actually done so, but it seemed expedient, at any rate, to lay down clearly the real nature and obligations of citizenship.
At the present moment especially, it behoves all immigrants to America, whether they be fugitives from the dungeons of European sovereigns, or whether they have merely, in weariness and sickness of heart for the slavery and wrong which oppressed them at home, fled beyond the seas to find liberty and justice here, it behoves them all to remember the duties which America imposes on them in return for her powerful protection.
For we may call both these classes of persons refugees. Refugees from the insolent feudalism of Germany, with its harbours, forest laws and game laws, refugees from the centralised imperialism of France, which they had shed their blood and piled the glorious barricade to make a free Republic, one and indivisible, refugees from the outrageous tyranny of Austria in Hungary or Italy, refugees from the tenancies at will, the ejectments and distresses, tax-collectors, the petty-session tyrants, the able-bodied pauperism, the government famines, the grim poor-houses of Ireland, or refugees from the actual chains and prisons of Naples, or Berlin, or Van Dieman’s Land, or French Guiana. We are all equally refugees; to us all alike the great free Republic of America opens her hospitable door and offers the sanctuary of an inviolable home. So, indeed, it has ever been; but the events of last few years in Europe, by the vast numbers of foreigners whom those events have driven here for refuge give a new aspect to the affair.
The foreign residents are so numerous, so naturally exasperated against the tyrannies they have escaped have brought over with them and cherished so many of their old associations, organisations, or even petty distinctions, that there is some reason to apprehend the Americans may regard them as bring at heart more Irishmen or Germans than Americans. And now bear with me if I wound any prejudice or offend any national feeling: but I make no scruple to say if such apprehension were well grounded (which I believe it is not) America would be fully justified in narrowing the door, or lengthening the probationary passage which admits into the temple of her dearly won freedom.
To maintain then our honour and good faith; for the sake of harmony and mutual confidence; and to prevent jealous apprehensions of incivsm and disloyalty, it lies upon all naturalised citizens or intending citizens to consider what line of conduct it has been on their part which could have inspired such jealousies, and do whatever they legitimately may do to guard against them for the time to come. What then does America require at our hands? Surely not that we forget the land of our birth, and turn away our ears from the voice of her complaint. Our brothers and sisters and friends still live there, still strive there against the poverty and despair that make deep night around them, still sigh and pine for the day of freedom to dawn upon them. Is it in human nature that we should turn our faces steadily westward and take no interest in our own brothers and their fortunes, no further thought for the punishment of their enemies and ours? Assuredly not.
But what our adopted country certainly will require, is what she has a right to require, is just this—that we act in the affairs of our country, and interest ourselves in her movements precisely so far as a native citizen may properly do, as an American may show his sympathy with the wrongs and struggles of Hungary, by joining a society formed to extend that sympathy and to sustain those struggles; he may subscribe his money to such a society; by travelling, lecturing, corresponding, he may propagate its principles; and if Hungary were once more in arms, such American may lawfully, as a private adventurer, for the dear love of justice and freedom, fly to Europe, throw himself into the weaker party, and give at least one freeman’s arm to the cause of right. Such America may do all this, and be not a less loyal American. Lafayette was not the less a Frenchman that he coveted the honour of charging by the side of Washington.
And I say whatever a native of Boston or New York may do for Hungary, that a naturalised Hungarian may also do. I had better, however, come at once to the case of Ireland—first, because that is my own native country. Second, because it is the European country which gives America most concern, on account of the vast mass of her people who have escaped hither with their lives, and third, because it is the country, of all the earth, most oppressed. For the present I have no occasion to argue and prove this last point: I simply assert it.
After all you can say to me about the improvement in the condition of those who have survived that dispensation of England—the famine—after you have counted up to me the incumbered estates which have been lately broken up, and have given me the statistics of the small proprietors now established upon them—after you have pointed to me even the pitiable loyalty and gratitude of the poor creatures for her Majesty’s condescension in settling her royal foot upon their shores—her royal foot upon their necks—after all this, I shall merely affirm again, that in all the latitudes and longitudes of the globe, and throughout all ages since the dawn of history, there is not, and never was, any nation of men so cruelly, cunningly, systematically, and relentlessly oppressed as the Irish nation.
And further, that the social and political condition of Ireland is no whit improved, but is now precisely the same that it has been for fifty years—no better and no worse—insomuch that one might ‘envy the dead, who are already dead, more than the living who are yet alive.’
The case of Ireland, then, and her swarming myriads, is really the pressing question of America, beyond all other European nationalities; and it cannot be concealed that somehow American feeling has taken alarm at this great foreign element, which, they say, remains foreign sentiment and spirit. They are the various Irish societies, instituted, indeed, for purposes of benevolence or of mutual benefit, but with their Irish mottos; Irish banners; their multitudinous processions through our streets, as if to show their numbers and their strength. Why? They have no enemies here, unless they make them for themselves: they are not now in a Munster fair, and need not trail the cotamore, inviting mankind to tramp upon it if they dare. If they had shown their strength at home, and made their enemies feel the same, it had been better.
Here is one complaint against us. Another is, that the Irish vote is counted upon as a distinct power at elections—has to be cultivated through certain Irish leaders and advisors and comes into the civic contest as it were on its own Irish account. And again, in the State militia regiments, there are Irish companies, with their Irish insignia, and uniforms, and names, and who parade on Irish anniversaries, and in some instances, as I have been told, hold themselves aloof from certain American celebrations at which the other military companies assist. In short, there is a general impression of isolation created; and to counteract that distinct foreign element, there have arisen, as we all know, secret societies of native Americans: here are materials and fuel for enmities, heart-burnings, riotings, where no real antagonism of interest or feelings should exist.
Amongst these causes of complaint against the Irish population, I have not thought it worth while to mention the canting outcry against them on the ground that most of them are of the Catholic religion. In this, I believe no educated or reasonable Americans participate: and at all events, it is a grievance not very likely speedily to be redressed.
In some of the other points the blame may rest with us. I do not presume to point out where the blame lies; but I do firmly believe that, if no un-American feeling were exhibited on our part, there would not be so much nativism raising itself up against us. As for the Irish military companies, it is clearly the right and duty of every man to carry arms, and to know how to be able to handle them. Only beasts go without arms;—and it is no wonder that Irishmen, when they come here, eagerly hasten to avail themselves of that high birth-right of freedom.
It is difficult for you Americans to comprehend how carefully, how inquisitorially, and how completely arms were kept out of the hands of the Irish peasantry at home. You do not well see how a nation, once of eight millions should have been so long and so quietly plundered and oppressed, while your fathers then but three millions strong, broke the yoke of the very same oppressors with a high hand, and with a provocation, not one-thousandth part as bitter. And with the ready sympathy which you gave to Ireland’s wrongs, I have not failed to observe that there is mingled kind of pity, near akin to contempt. Ah! you cannot know how it has fared with us. In 47 years there were passed in the British Parliament 20 arms acts for Ireland—each of them more dexterously and more cunningly adapted than the preceding one to take arms out of the hands of all whom the British Government could not trust—all of them intended and calculated to associate the very idea of arms with gaol, petty sessions and handcuff. Then drilling has long been a transportable felony; and since I came to America I have met with a young man who was sentenced to seven years’ penal exile for having said to thirteen other young men in a private room in Dublin, the felonious words, ‘Attention! Right shoulders forward!’ Before you despise us for failure too much, consider this—If arms acts like these had in force for fifty years in America before your revolution, if an omnipresent police had been continually empowered to search your houses by day or night for a felonious gun—if drilling had been a transportable offence, where would have been your rifles at Lexington? Where would have been your Pennsylvania line? The possession of arms—practising the use of arms is in itself political education. Let men feel that the peace of society and the defence of the country are in the keeping of all citizens and of each individual citizens—and the feeling of dignity, of responsibility, of self-respect and of respect for other men, is the best training and surest guarantee for republican institutions.
Then as to the green uniforms and banners, and the names of Irish saints or kings, or heroes, which your Irish militia regiments so love to cherish, believe me these national reminiscences will do more good than harm. Ireland, low in the dust as she lies now, has yet the memory of ancient glory, the golden treasures left her now. And, we cannot, if we would bury them in oblivion for ever. Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? And tell me, did the Irish brigades who took refuge in France serve France the less zealously that they remembered Ireland, and that abreast of the golden lilies of King Louis waved the beloved flag of green? Was the charge of those brigades the less fiery and sweeping because their charging shout was ‘Remember Limerick and Saxon Faith!’
No! Irishmen who have obtained refuge heretofore in foreign lands (for they have always needed refuge somewhere from the enemy that hunted them for life at home) have not been remarkable either for ingratitude towards the country that protected them, or for cowardice in the field against that country’s enemies. Oh! Americans, encourage every Irish citizen to be an armed citizen; multiply their regiments and their companies, evoke and kindle their military spirit, and see whether the Republic will ever have more zealous defenders, if a time of danger should come upon us.
I know America scorns the thought of danger from abroad, and dreams not upon waging war upon others—and I say, further, may she never wage war again, save in the needful defence of her honour and rights—but still, it is hard to read the book of fate; the Ruler of the world does not always adhere to the programmes of policy settled by the wisest statesmen. War may come, and if it do, I know the land will have no more devoted defenders than her Irish citizens.
Besides that, it is the right and duty of every man to possess arms and know how to use them; there is still another motive which makes it incumbent on all European refugees to do so. It is that if an occasion should ever happily arise to aid their brethren in the oppressed land of Europe—and if the naturalised citizens of America, or any of them should think it right to repair to Europe as private adventurers, to strike a blow for the righteous cause (a thing which every American may do if he pleases), they may have the skill and capacity to make their aid effectual.
Now, as to the ‘Irish vote,’ and the part which Irishmen take as Irishmen in American public affairs, I confess I have not yet discovered that any serious question of Irish politics exist here; and perhaps it would a better augury, both for Ireland and for America, if Irish citizens voted independently of one another and that even if they should vote contrary ways, each man for himself to the best of his own judgment, consulting the interests and credit of his adopted country.
It is true every Irish immigrant brings with him some very natural prejudices and feelings which, though natural and necessary in Ireland, are altogether out of place here. One is that true public virtue and patriotism somehow consists in opposition to the government. In Ireland, this is true. Every honest man is bound in Ireland, to be against the government, because the government there is against every honest man, because the thing called a government there is a foreign and hostile dominion; but here the government is the whole people; the government and officers of state are the people’s own chosen servants; the law is the expression of the people’s own will.
Clearly, then, it is the bounden duty, and the first of every European refugee in America, to assist the government and maintain the law, to maintain it with his life and fortune, because it secures him in the enjoyment of those very rights for asserting which he is a refugee. In fact, the whole doctrine of the position and duties of the refugees may be epitomised in this. Obey and sustain the laws, the government, the established policy of this, the one great free country of the earth, vie with her sons in appreciating that freedom, and in making manifest to all mankind how well and wisely men can govern themselves. So shall you in the meanwhile be propagandists of Republicanism in Europe, more effectively than by any immediate action by way of arms and invasion. So shall you ripen the fruit of freedom, that on some early day it will need hardly more than the flash of the sword leaping from the scabbard, hardly more than the shout and tramp of the people leaping from their slumber, to bring the fruit down.
Firm and orderly obedience to the laws is what I have endeavoured to impress this night more than anything else, for one special reason. Since I arrived in New York one month ago, two serious riots have occurred in great cities of the Union; and they have been charged and justly chargeable upon European refugees. Only yesterday arrived the intelligence that, in Cincinnati, a vast organised mob of Germans filled the streets and poured along the house occupied by the Pope’s Nuncio, perhaps to do him no harm, but only to give him a serenade the wrong way, on account of alleged anti-republican crimes and misdemeanours of his in Italy; but at any rate their demeanour was so threatening that the police set upon them; many were wounded and one killed. What is truly disgraceful too, these Germans quoted as an example to be followed, the brutal assault of an English mob upon one poor old, grey hated, defenceless man.[1]
So there were a number of men wounded, and one killed, and prudent people said these Germans are not for republicanism. Again: it is not more than a fortnight since a mob of Irishmen in New York disturbed the audience of a street preacher who was vociferating against the Catholic religion. The city was some hours in alarm, and many a quiet American citizen was disposed to say, these Irish are not fit for republicanism. The conclusion I take the liberty of calling stark nonsense, whether it refer to the Germans or the Irish, whether it be uttered in Cincinnati or in New York.
Republicanism is not so sensitive a thing. An occasional riotous mob, bad as it is, is not so dreadful an evil that people should begin to cry out, ‘Give us a court and standing army and dragoons, rather than those vulgar and unruly people.’ Yet these riots are a grievous mischief, if for no other reason than for this one, that they both have something of a religious character; they both bear those hideous features of religious strife that have made our miserable island a scandal to the earth:
‘For while our tyrant’s joined in hate,
We never joined in love.’
Is it to be so for ever? Even here in America, where all religions are, as they ought to be, equal before the law, where there is no church-tithe, (or call it rent charge) to plunder and insult at once, where no Rathcormac massacres or Carrickshock devastations can madden men’s blood, even here must the black shadow of religious hatred affront the sun, and thicken and darken between us and our brothers for ever.
In a merely American point of view, these trifling riots are nothing. There is in America good sense and determination enough to frown down such outrageous folly. So strong and so secure is this great Republic that it can afford to allow spare even for manifestations and proceedings which in other lands are to be attended with dangers. Though we were mad as Saint Simonians, as wild as Mormonists, America is great enough to embrace and to absorb us all. It is easy for America, and of course it will be her care, to compel obedience to her laws; if her police force is not sufficient, she can afford to increase it. Therefore, it is not for American interests good men are bound to deprecate their religious quarrels, so much as for the interests of ourselves and our children, and the cause of freedom throughout the world. Let us aid one another at last to uproot that tree of bitter poison, lest it blight every plant of freedom.
‘And of its fruit our babes may eat and die.’
[1] Mitchel: In allusion to the assault in General Haynau.