National Identity

In times of such great uncertainty, it helps to be able to look into the past and see how those who came before us grappled with the hand that fortune dealt them. In the rich, yet tragic history of this great Celtic land, lie great stories, which, when recounted, inspire anew. In this series, The Fair Observations, before drowning our sorrows deep in gin, looks back and tries to figure out how in the name of Jaysus we got here.

Irish History X, Vol. 5: Saint Patrick

Saint Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, who lived and missioned in Ireland in the 5th century. Originally from Britain, Patrick was abducted and brought to Ireland by Niall of the Nine Hostages (an Irish king largely remembered for having a cool name). After six years of captivity, he managed to escape and then trekked two hundred miles to a port where he could sail home. Shortly after returning home, voices and visions told him that he must return to Ireland, where the people were crying out to be converted.
He returned, clad in a green coat and golden hat, and over the course of his lifetime, singlehandedly converted Ireland to Christianity (this, surely, is the requisite miracle for canonising him), banished all the snakes, and tried to disclose the mystery of the Holy Trinity, employing a metaphorical comparison with a shamrock. He failed in his attempted explanation for several reasons. Firstly, the mystery lies beyond the comprehension of the human mind. Secondly, the shamrock is one leaf and not three distinct leaves. And thirdly, nobody has any real idea what the Holy Spirit is or is supposed to do. It seems it doesn't do anything that cannot be done by God the Father or wasn't done by God the Son. It's also kind of blasphemous to suggest that God needs to delegate his powers.
Saint Patrick once took so long evangelising, in one particularly stubborn place, that his ash stick, planted into the ground at his arrival, had grown into a tree. This gave rise to a fossilised piece of Irish 'wit', where one claims they could have done something extraordinarily long and difficult by the time the requestee did a simple request, such is the slowness of the requestee. It is usually rendered in this formula: "Ah sure, Jaysus, I'd have done X (X being an extrodinary, long, or difficult feat) by the time you do Y (Y being a relatively simple activity).' For example, "Ah sure, Jaysus, I could have read a whole other blog by the time you got around to explaining this thing that nobody really says anyway, Nigel."
Before his death and burial in Downpatrick, County Down, Patrick met legendary Irish figures such as the warrior poet Oisín and the Children of Lir, apparently blessing the latter while they were swans. One can easily imagine how some local pagan took advantage of this situation:

Patrick: So, you want me to bless swans?

Pagan: They're not swans; they're innocent children who have been turned into swans by an evil sorceress.

Patrick: Fine, fine. These three here then?

Pagan: Well, we're not sure. You'll just have to bless them all. 

"I've had it with these muddafukin snakes on this muddafukin plain!"

Patrick was from Britain, and every Saint Patrick's Day, Irish people bleach their internal organs with alcohol in an attempt to forget this fact. Some of the more nationalistic among us try to distort this affront to our identity, by suggesting he was from Wales. Wales, a more Celtic country than England, is a far more palatable birthplace for our patron saint. However, all this is undermined by the simple fact that Wales isn't a real country. Whenever I remind people of this, I'm asked if I've ever been to Wales. I inform them that I have been to London, Liverpool, and Manchester. As they are all in the UK, and Wales has no significance, once considered under the subsumption of the Union, I have, in a sense been to Wales. The incredulity I'm often met with seems ridiculous to me. I mean, look at their flag; it's a dragon — a creature of fantasy like the country it represents. Their language furthers the sense of fantasy, as it so closely resembles Elvish. Beat out a few random letters on your keyboard and you will probably have typed out a Welsh word. Their primary industry, like Middle-earth, is mining. Irish irredentists believe we should support Welsh independence, as it would encourage the dissolution of the UK, and thereby lead to Irish reunification. This is a huge mistake, as it would actually encourage the opposite. Supporting Welsh nationalism is like subscribing to conspiracy theories about malevolent Reptoids controlling all the major events of the world. Legitimate criticisms and proposals from the Left are greatly weakened by association with such unfounded, laughable ideas, and supporting Welsh independence can only serve to weaken the credibility of Irish nationalists, making them look fantastical. I mean, I have nothing against fantasy cosplay, but I draw the line at creating your own Hobbiton nation. It pains me to say it on this day, when we destroy our livers in the name of our legendary saint, but we have to turn our back on fantasy when it so dangerously loosens our grip on reality. I know we let them have a rugby and football team, but this nonsense has to stop somewhere.

Pfft. Wales...