Ursula Stephens (NSW, Australian Labor Party, Parliamentary Secretary Assisting the Prime Minister for Social Inclusion) Share this | Link to this | Hansard source

It is St Patrick’s Day today, and I want to wish you, Mr Acting Deputy President, and everyone else here in the chamber a happy St Patrick’s Day. Isn’t it wonderful to have a day when the Irish can talk to themselves about themselves, no matter where they are?

It does not matter that St Patrick’s arrival in Ireland happened a long time ago, because, in fact, we are known for our long memories, so each year we revisit his story: how he was chased from port to port when he tried to land with his message of Christianity; how he banished the snakes and toads from Ireland; and how he explained the difficult concept of the Trinity to the simple country folk by drawing their attention to the shamrock beneath their feet. I can still remember Miss Kelly telling us all this when I was in first class. In fact, I remember her waxing eloquent as she described how such a talented person as Patrick, so highly educated and well bred, with so much going for him, was obliged to spend half his life on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere minding sheep. Poor old Miss Kelly was very Irish. She filled our heads with myths and legends interspersed with the catechism, and she never forgot an injury. Once she hit one of my older sisters so hard that she raised blisters, and my mother dared to visit the school and confront her about it. But back in Ireland in the sixties attitudes were not quite as democratic as they are now. Forever afterwards, all seven of us were known not simply as ‘the Clarke children’ but as ‘the Clarkes whose mother keeps trotting down to the school to complain’.

Yes, that famous Irish long memory has a lot to answer for, and today I want to talk about the business of remembering and forgetting and the importance of finding a balance between the two. I was very young when we moved to Australia, and some of the so-called memories I have are not exactly my own memories; they are part of a nostalgic picture of Ireland that is kept alive in legends and songs, often of loss and pain and the wrongs that had been done to us. They are also fed by hearing the grown-ups talk, often harking back generations to the experiences of relatives and neighbours, which was usually about what they had suffered.

I was entranced by all this while growing up. Of course, as a child—and even later—I did not question why I was so in love with this Irish heritage. I yearned for the time when I had Four Green Fields; I wished I was in Carrickfergus or the green glens of Antrim or the Wicklow Hills or at the Ring of Tara—anywhere over there among the mists of time. So I am very conscious of the power of the traditional image of Ireland and how deeply it is planted in so many hearts. This is the Ireland of St Patrick’s Day celebrations around the world—the ‘Erin’s green valley’ in Hail glorious St Patrick, the hymn of the day. And, if you have ever been to Ireland, can’t you see it in your mind’s eye—the land of tradition and poetry and straight-armed dancing; the country of fiddles and harps—and other brands of lager—that produced Yeats, Joyce, Patrick Kavanagh and Seamus Heaney, among countless others. And there is also the singing: The Dubliners, Christy Moore, John McCormack and Mary Black—songs that hang suspended in our minds.

Mr President, you and I both visited Ireland a year or so ago and found ourselves in a very different country, a new Ireland—much more worldly, outward-looking and economically successful. Although proud of its traditions, instead of being preoccupied with its past it is a nation looking to the future that has finally put an end to centuries-old rivalries with the north and with England and is confident enough to consider itself a partner of its European neighbours. We saw booming cities and young, well-educated professionals. The new affluence marks a country that has virtually reinvented itself as a more pluralistic and open society. It is a country that has self-consciously positioned itself and moulded its government’s policies to take advantage of globalisation and an internationalised political economy.

How did this change happen? Despite its fondness for the old ways, Ireland took a long, hard look at itself and its prospects and came up with a new model of growth, focusing on taxation, technology, talent and tolerance. Tax related incentives were part of the successful plan to actively recruit high-tech companies such as IBM, Dell, Intel and Microsoft. These incentives were enhanced by the pool of talent emerging from the country’s world-class universities and colleges. Since the sixties the Irish government has invested heavily in higher education, and in particular it has fostered the growth of technical skills in electronics and computer-related disciplines through a system of regional technical colleges. So today 60 per cent of Irish university graduates major in engineering, science or business, and with the growing job market they do not need to leave the country to find opportunities or future prospects any more.

These economic developments alone, of course, do not explain the changes in Ireland. Ireland also took a conscious decision to encourage and promote tolerance—to build on the legacy of culture, art and music to create an environment where the software geek and the sharp businesswoman were not excluded but could feel as much at home as the artist, the shop assistant, the office worker and, dare I say, even the politician! The best of the past, including the history and architecture, has been kept to enhance the best of the present. Now we find that 53 per cent of new immigrants to Ireland are Irish citizens returning there from Australia and other countries. And how Ireland values and cultivates its diaspora—something we could certainly learn from here.

This is an example of how change can happen if we are prepared to let things go—not the things of lasting value, but the habits and hurts that are kept alive by feeding on themselves. So here in Australia on St Patrick’s Day we should be remembering and celebrating all things Irish without being dragged back into unhealthy memories or sentimental versions of a life that was grim and hard for most people. Let us enjoy the prosperity at home and abroad—whichever country you call home—and enjoy the fact that we can move between one place and the other with an ease that our parents and grandparents could never have imagined.

What does it mean to be Irish? Certainly it includes the ability to hold on to a triumph or a grievance long past its use-by date. We are told that ‘to err is human and to forgive divine’ but that does not mean that we leave all the forgiveness to the divine—and that it is not necessary for us to do a bit of forgiving and forgetting ourselves. Surely the energy we expend on thinking, holding and remembering grievances is energy that we do not have to spend on other more important issues like making poverty history, strengthening community values or nurturing our young people. This is Ireland’s new agenda: a social inclusion agenda we can learn from, one that is based on foundation principles about caring and sharing, acting honourably, loving tenderly and saying sorry when we should.

Last week Minister Noel Dempsey, the Irish Minister for Transport, visited us here in Canberra. He talked about Ireland’s next stages: reinvesting in infrastructure and education, addressing skills shortages and having an active antipoverty agenda. He talked about tackling homelessness and binge drinking and the challenges that come from becoming such a wealthy country in such a short time. It made me proud to be Irish, and it all sounded so familiar—the Rudd government’s agenda for building the Australia we want to see.

I hope St Patrick showers his blessings down on you today, and that they help all of us here in the chamber let go of any grievances that we have been holding onto for too long. I want to take this opportunity to say to my colleagues and staff how grateful I was for the support and care shown to me by those on both sides of the Senate when Dad passed away in the last sitting week before the election. I was very touched by your concern for us all. He would have loved to be listening today—although, as the Irish would say, of course he is. So ‘Go n eiri an bothar leat’.