“Islands possess their own particular beauty and Grosse Île is no exception. But Grosse Île – Oileán na nGael – L’Île des Irlandais – is special. I believe that even those coming to this beautiful island, knowing nothing of the tragedy which occurred here, would sense its difference. I am certain that no one knowing the story could remain unaffected.
This is a hallowed place.
We are here not to honour an island, however beautiful, but to recall a human tragedy of appalling dimensions. The relics of this tragedy are all too visible. The mass graves marked with the small white crosses assume an added poignancy in their obvious anonymity. And yet we know that each one represents not just the untimely death but the collapsed dreams, not of one person, but of many.
It is proper to reflect on what inspired or drove those ordinary men and women, most of them of limited means, many of them on the brink of destruction, to leave their homeland and set out, many with young children, on a hazardous journey. For too many the alternative to death by starvation was a choice between the workhouse, where families would be split up, or a landlord–sponsored passage to the New World. In either case the cabin would be unroofed and the tenancy surrendered. It was a poor choice.
There is no single reason to explain the disaster of the Great Hunger and the diaspora to which it contributed greatly. The potato failure was a natural disaster which affected other countries in Europe at the time. But in Ireland it took place in a political, economic and social framework that was oppressive and unjust. The results were devastating in Ireland itself but, abroad, they resulted in the creation or strengthening of Irish communities in many countries, including Canada.”
Speaking in Irish, the President went on:
“There is a feeling of dignity about this place even if it be the dignity of grief. It is right and it is proper that we should commemorate our own people who lie beneath this clay. It is worth calling to mind the awful conditions which laid low their relatives and their friends in this place. They overcame all obstacles. They grappled with life. They grew and they prospered. Their descendants are flourishing in Canada. Those of Irish stock are of the warp and woof of Canadian society. They have left a not inconsiderable mark on every aspect of life. It is when we remember the adverse conditions of their time that we really appreciate their achievement. We have good reasons indeed for the national pride that we feel.”
Speaking in French the President continued:
“One realises the truth of the inscription in French on the Celtic cross: “Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.”
It is right to reflect on the past, however bitter it may be. It is right to weep for the human tragedy which happened here. But that is not enough. One must draw lessons from all of this. One has the painful events of that time, the evictions, the misery, the diseases, the denials of justice, the negligence and even the responsibility of those holding political power, to illustrate the dark side of life, but one also has grounds for hope.
Because in the face of the difficulties and the real danger of gambling with their lives the response of Canadian men and women was magnificent. Elsewhere on this continent ports were closed to Irish immigrants. In Canada, the people – and especially the people of Quebec – showed quite extraordinary compassion towards the Irish, the men and women, the destitute and the ill.
The clergy, both Protestant and Catholic, consoled the sick and cared for the survivors. Among those priests was Elzéar Alexandre Tascherou, who was to become the first Cardinal–Archbishop of Canada.
At Montreal it was the ‘Grey Sisters’ (les ‘Soeurs Grises’) who cared for the sick in the ‘hospital sheds’ (‘abris de secours’) which had been specially erected for the Irish immigrants. And when they fell ill in their turn they were replaced by the Sisters of Charity (les Soeurs de la Charité). One must also remember Mr. John Mill, the Mayor of Montreal, who met his death while caring for the sick.”
Returning to English the President went on:
“To all those brave and compassionate people, lay and religious, Anglophone and Francophone, Catholic and Protestant, in Quebec and elsewhere in Canada, who at great personal risk, aided and cared for the sick and destitute Irish and gave homes to Irish orphans, we owe a debt of gratitude. I pay tribute to their memory, on my own behalf and on behalf of the people of Ireland. In the words of Máirtín ó Direáin, a poet from another and beautiful island:
We are in the presence, even as I speak, of an enormous historical irony. The ease and proliferation of communication has had, I believe, the result of isolating us further from one another. The presence of death in our living rooms, the images of horror, invite us to feel helpless and fatalistic. Perhaps the real justice we can do these people here and those who died throughout our famine – perhaps the best way to commemorate them – is to think decisively and creatively about the supply and distribution of such ordinary commodities as food and water.
It may be less glamorous than standing in a posture of grief and regret. But a careful and analytical study of just how little, for instance, has been done to distribute clean water to areas of large slum dwellings or refugee camps is both vital and overdue. And if this seems too ordinary a detail, I think we should remember that the thousands who died here, whose dreams were extinguished, whose future was lost on this island, died because of the detail of the failure of one crop. There are such details all over the world now, but particularly in Africa, which need our urgent attention.
Grosse Île is not simply a place to commemorate the past and honour those who are buried here. In essence, it is a resource to connect us with the terrible realities of our current world. It challenges us to reject the concept of inevitable victims and, having done so, to face up to the consequences of that rejection.”
Published in The Green Dragon No 1, December, 1996.
Summer of sorrow: what happened at Grosse Île
The dead Irish of the Rideau Canal, Canada.
émile Nelligan (1879 – 1941).
The father of this famous French–Canadian writer from Montreal was born in Dublin.