Back in 2013 the Irish abroad were invited home for the Gathering, which was nice for those who could afford to go. But now the ante’s being upped and the Government is trying to encourage us to return home for good. With this open and, presumably, well-intentioned invitation you could be forgiven for imagining that it’s easy to head home and start all over again.
But the reality for so many of us migrants is a little more complicated. Some are faring better than others. Many of us have mortgages, careers and families. And many of us have shed our Irishness along the journey.
We start to change on day one of our new lives abroad, and the longer we’re away the greater is this change. I’d even argue that this change is necessary if we are to lead worthwhile and engaging lives in another place.
Going back to live in Ireland is a little like returning to live with your parents: a fraught scenario that’s ill-advised for many people. But if it works out for some, that’s fantastic.
Anyway, why would anyone choose to turn their backs on the adopted country that has given them a regular pay packet and a new lease of life, when Ireland had so little on the table in the first instance? Most of us would never have left if something had been on offer.
Unemployment has dropped to a single-digit figure in Ireland. That's welcome news, but it's hardly a statistic that will have my wife and I packing our suitcases, selling our house, chucking in our jobs and uprooting our young daughter from her daily life here in Australia.
It’s not very long ago that the news from Ireland was dominated by reports of ghastly ghost estates and a level of debt almost beyond belief. Has all that been forgotten?
Personally, my decision to remain in Australia has little or no bearing on the economic climate in Ireland. When my parents died, a few years back, I thought my tenuous connection to Ireland would drift even more. Although I haven’t been back since their funerals, Ireland is still never far from my thoughts.
But I don’t think I’m any closer to heading home. Too much water has passed under that bridge after 30 years away.
Apart from the occasional emaiI I rely chiefly on online newspapers to keep me in the loop about what's happening in Ireland. On this foggy winter's morning in southern Tasmania I boot up my trusty old laptop and am suddenly reading about the Clerys workers, the Irish weather and the fallout from the inquiry into patient care at Midland Regional Hospital, in Portlaoise.
But, after three decades away, my knowledge of Irish politics is at best superficial. I’d be hard pressed to name more than a handful of TDs. So hold off sending me any ballot papers: I have no call for them.
I wonder if the clamour to extend voting rights to Irish emigrants is merely an attempt to cling to some connection with Ireland that no longer really exists. Or perhaps it represents some sort of consolation prize for our migrant status. I find it odd that anyone would want to have their say after they’ve jumped ship.
For me, staying in touch with Ireland is now less emotional and more intangible. Late-night long-distance phone calls have become a thing of the distant past. During my early years away I didn’t want those calls to the other side of the world to end, even though I was fretting about the phone bill. They were invariably exhilarating and unsettling; I’d be buzzing for ages afterwards as I replayed our conversations in my mind.
Social media, although far more convenient, seems so impersonal in comparison.
This long-gone migrant has probably drifted too far from home. Or, my home is now here in Tasmania, where another winter is already upon us. Maybe that’s it.
