On a freezing Tuesday night in Berlin, Dublin native Orla Baumgarten is turning people away from outside her cosy bookshop, Curious Fox Books.
Inside, an evening of poetry, spoken word and readings is under way with a capacity crowd of young Irish, British and Americans. Some nod in agreement when one poet dubs their adoptive home an “astringent compromise of sorts”.
At this time of year, when the Irish think of their emigrants, thoughts drift easily to the English-speaking world: Britain, North America and Australia. But dynamic new Irish communities are growing all over Europe, too. And the Berlin Irish are a fascinating, occasionally maddening bunch who delight in exploding emigrant community cliches.
“It’s nice when Irish people come into the shop and have a natter,” says Baumgarten, who opened her shop almost three years ago in the city’s Neukölln district. “But, like many in Berlin, I don’t always feel the need to seek Irish people out.”
The Berlin Irish, like much of Berlin, is a post-Wall construct. Unification in 1990 brought over a wave of Irish architects and builders, along with people who worked in the then thriving Irish pub sector. But even before these sticky-carpet establishments declined in the past decade, the Berlin Irish adopted a take-it-or-leave-it attitude to their countrymen that chimes well with the mentality of the locals.
Then, around the turn of the century, Irish emigrants-by-choice began fleeing Celtic Tiger Ireland for Berlin. And in the early 2000s, the first direct flights opened up Berlin as a weekend destination. Artists, DJs and hipsters arrived in their droves on a wave of self-generated Berlin hype that got very old very quickly. Recent years have seen another wave of emigrants-by-choice and the jobless euro crisis precariat.
Although official figures put the Berlin Irish at just 1,500, that is a 50 per cent jump in a decade, and even more lurk under the radar. When you encounter the Berlin Irish you will meet conductors and couriers, singers and start-uppers, television hosts and pie-makers. No matter how different they are, many are familiar with the “I never intended to stay” refrain. Some, though not all, keep a determined distance from other Irish people, although such hard-line attitudes can mellow.
Flying the Irish culture flag
That much was clear last month when word spread that the Jigs and Reels Irish-dancing school, run by Berlin woman Sandra Kuhnert, was to be evicted to make room for asylum seekers.
A fund-raising céilí – unheard of in Berlin – drew a huge crowd. Although the school has a new home, it still needs donations to finance the move and a new, essential dance floor.
Kuhnert has spent 15 years flying the Irish-culture flag in Berlin, at a time when many Irish here ran a mile. But now she notices a pragmatic attitude among the Berlin Irish – to each other and to Ireland.
“Anyone who announces ‘we need to bring the community together’ is doomed to failure in Berlin, but many Irish are slowly realising they are in the same boat and even like each other,” she says.
Her school’s new premises could be an interesting litmus test of Irish community spirit in Berlin. As well as dance classes, Kuhnert hopes the Berlin Irish will help her set up an Irish cultural programme, particularly for children of Irish emigrants.
Although there is only anecdotal evidence, it seems the arrival of children has softened attitudes towards Ireland of many 30-40-year-olds after years of living the cool Berlin life.
That has been a boon to Dubliner Colin Manning. The 54 year-old has been in Berlin since 1997. After years of struggle, the head of the Setanta Gaelic sports club finally sees a sea change among the Berlin Irish.
“Many people here left Ireland because they were pissed off with the church and the corruption,” he said. “But with their kids growing up here, they want Irish culture and community for them, but only if it’s as inclusive and diverse as the city around them.”
Ask the Berlin Irish why the city works for them and you hear a lot of talk of freedom: being able to redefine yourself, pick your own comfort zone for Irish and international friends and shake off Irish-style social control.
Thea Tilley, a 30-year-old researcher from Sandymount has worked since July 2014 at the renowned Max Planck Society. She hasn't actively sought out other Irish people. "There is a sense of trying to forge your own life here, while staying connected to the Irish and keeping doors open," she says.
Gathering strays
Although social media has pushed its way into life here, it hasn’t prevented Berlin tech entrepreneur Connor Murphy from becoming an “offline LinkedIn”. The 36 year-old Ballincollig man has been here for two years and delights in bringing together random Irish people he meets, including a man he saw on the street with two children, a pram and hurleys, and two computer graduates he met in a town hall queue and who now work with him on a project.
Murphy is one of about 50-60 Irish in Berlin’s booming tech scene. Although some are digital nomads in the English-speaking bubble, he says, others have embraced Berlin as their base because of its high quality of life.
Murphy is learning German and feels caught between two worlds: more aware of Irish than German current affairs, yet more plugged into Berlin happenings than Dublin. “I feel like I’m living in Berlin, Ireland,” he says. He is struck by how many interesting Irish people he has met.
“The Berlin Irish are not the type to join a gang of 20 lads walking around in GAA jerseys,” he says.
Talk to the Berlin Irish and it’s hard to say whether Berlin has an Irish community or just a random collection of Irish individuals.
One thing is certain: Berlin has the potential to be a perfect global Irish laboratory, testing what an Irish emigrant community can be in the 21st century.
As another day looms of St Patrick’s binge drinking and bowls of shamrock, the Berlin Irish have, quietly, joined a global effort to reframe the Irish identity.
A SCATTERED BUNCH: THE IRISH IN GERMANY
Germany’s Irish community – 12,431 Irish nationals are registered as resident here in 2015, up almost a quarter in a decade – is as decentralised as the country itself. The biggest Irish communities are down south – in Bavaria (2,711) and neighbouring Baden-Württemberg (1,646) – and in the western Rhine-Ruhr state of North Rhine-Westphalia (2,322). Another 1,583 live in Frankfurt and the surrounding state of Hesse. St Patrick’s Day festivities will be held in at least eight cities this year, from Munich and Dresden to Würzburg and Leverküsen.
