The San Patricios flag flies again
Ring the Bells on Paddy’s weekend
See yez in the streets
We are all John Riley
We are all Seán Ó Raghailligh
We are all love
We are everywhere
We are the Saint Patricks Batallion, el batallón de San Patricios
And again we raise our banner
As we stand another time with our Mexican brothers and sisters
And roar “Erin Go Bragh”, Todos somos migrantes, Viva la Pachamama
We are all John Riley
We are those who were driven “To Hell or to Connaught”
Those who buried their family under an old rock
Behind Ennistymon workhouse during the horrors of Black ‘47
Those families who were evicted those same days out beyond Doonbeg in West Clare
Those who stacked the famine ship’s dead as she passed NYC’s statue of liberty
Those who came to call the Five Points home
Despite the poor welcome
We are all John Riley
Those men and women who went hungry in Dublin 1913
Those same women and men who marched from liberty hall in ‘16
Those now resting in Arbour Hill
Those who said No to one empire
And said yes to ourselves alone
Both orange and green, united in peace
We are those who were not allowed to simply be ourselves
Share our songs
Tell our stories
We are those cold children huddled behind the old hedge in Killenagh
To listen, learn and pass on those very same songs
Albeit, without authority
We are those bound for Australia from Athenry
For taking Trevelyan’s corn
Hungrily
And still we remember
And still we sing
And still we cry
We are all John Riley
We are the sons and daughters of Etaoin, Maoibh and Cuchulain
And Diarmuid agus Gráinne
And Oisín agus Niamh, as Tír na nÓg
And Fionn and his Fianna, of brave and bold Gaelic warrior men
We are those standing in rivers
And supping from Saint Bridget’s well
We are Patrick, Eireann’s immigrant from Cymru
We are all migrants
Wandering and wandering
We are Mary Leneghan’s family driven from Belfast in ‘72
We are the Murphys driven from the same streets back in ‘22
We are the 14 left cold in the cold streets of Derry
That cold and crisp January day
Bloody Sunday 1972
We are all John Riley
We are those taken from Angola to Alabama, Cuba, Haiti and Salvador
We are those who heard a man say “I have a dream”
Who then marched and bled and won
We are those who heard those same words and marched from Dublin to Derry
Who also bled, but who also won
We are with the spirit of Ahimsa
Of Satish Kumar, Vinoba Bhave and the great Mahatma of India, Mohandas K Gandhi
We are Amritsar
We are Bhopal
We are that deformed and dead child left in Delhi’s dirty streets
We are all John Riley
We are the women carrying papas
In the high Bolivian fields outside Cochabamba
The woman who offers her first drop to the gods and proclaims
Viva la Pachamama
And who lights a fire to thank Inti
The same time as her brothers dance around the fire, an ocean away
At the crossroads in Spancilhill
All giving thanks to that which has given them life
We are all John Riley
We are those who stood with the poor farmer in todays “New” Mexico
We are those crossing those same worn tracks today
Not along nature’s lines
But those straight lines of the victors map
Those same straight lines that gave us Palestine, Syria and Iraq
And the subsequent whirlwind of today
We are the new arrivals to Ennistymon today
From Aleppo to West Clare
Without language or understanding of this “Brave new World”
We have been hurled unwillingly into
Refugees is what they call us today
Nowhere to go
And nowhere to go back to
Now our ships, all seven of them, are being refused entry by that statue of liberty
Because of the colour of our skin
Because of those old stories we were handed down since the time of Mohammad
And because of what coloured flags flly over the places we called home yesterday
We are all John Riley
Those whose time has finally come
That half of the tribe who are at last leaving the chains of bondage behind
To be themselves
Who have a different way of doing things
A softer, gentler way
Working with nature
Listening, and then communicating
Seeing solutions together
Remembering the rest of the family
Our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, our abuelas, our tias, our nietas
Las mujeres, las mujeres libres,
The free women of the world
Yesterday a million men marched over there
Today millions of women march here, there and everywhere
But the time has come to take a stand again
Because love always overcomes hate
Resistance is love
Solidarity is love
Pachamama is love
They say in Barcelona
A feminist revolution is underway
With Ada Calou and her merry crew steering the ship
First time in over 2,000 years
Since the times of the Romans
Has a woman ruled the roost
And Smack bang in the middle of the world
With seven more rebel Spanish cities alongside
Then onto Rome itself
Even old Torino too
A different way
An inclusive way
A way that that wont cost the Earth
We are all John Riley
And again we remember Mexico
So to the Zapatistas, the Aztecs, the Mayans and Incas
Those in Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua and El Salvador
Those speakers of Tupi, Guarani and Kaingang
We remember them all
And much more alongside
As they try to follow their own path
Their “Camino del Buen Vivir”
To simply be themselves, live well, live happy and live decent
To live with their tribes, their families and our mother earth
Sure isn’t that what it’s all about?
We are all John Riley
But once again we see that there are dark clouds forming out beyond
That wish to gather us all up into their “Brave New World”
And for that we must again raise that old green flag
With the golden harp and the letters as Gaeilge of “Erin go Bragh”
We are all immigrants
And women, and mothers, and daughters
And men, and fathers, and brothers
And black, and brown, and yellow, and white
And gay and lesbian and trans and straight
And happy and sad
And some believing in many gods
And others believing in none
For we are all different
But we are all the same
All beautiful
And all unique
Anseo anois
We are all here now
We are all John Riley
At that wall in Tijuana
And at the few old bits of another old wall in Berlin
And squashed behind that prison wall in Gaza’s dry heat
And beyond that one at the old workhouse in Callan
And by the old peace wall up the Falls in Belfast
And beyond Derry’s old wall, a community packed down into the rebellious Bogside
And behind Mountjoy’s high walls, where wild Brendan used sing
Or further down the Canal, down Sheriff Street way
Where the old wall by the water was finally pulled down
Or up in Grangegorman, where walls of pure terror and fear used stand
Or by those cold and lonely stone walls in the wild lands, west of the Shannon
Or those walls alongside sad Kurdish mountain paths, where famished families flee today
Or those shivering from both coldness and fear
In one of those packed little boats in high Mediterranean waves
Or stuck in a camp with nothing to do and nowhere to go
Or, perhaps, with those happy and free out in the mixed streets of Toronto
Or with those united and strong in a sea of pink pussyhats down Texas way
Or with those indignant comrades near Wall Street in that great city of welcomes
Or with those risking all and building peace in the high Colombian hills
Or with those sharing stories and books in the cobbled streets of old Havana
Or with those banging pots and saying no more
From Europe’s cold volcanic island
To the packed public squares of her Mediterranean shores
Or with those smiling and singing Tashy Delek in Dharmasala, with a pleasantness so deep
Or with those working hard and saying nee how mah in the land of the Tao
Or with those in Angola and Ethiopia
Who Jamaican Bob sang for and with
Telling us that it’s a war!
For all of them and more
We are all John Riley
And I am John Riley
And John Riley is you
And its time for all of us together
To take up Vinoba’s old call
To build up that peace army
To get organized
And to get to work
Because we know we can win
And we will win
We are winning
Gamon new lamb
Viva la Pachamama
Ahimsa
An Irish eco dude in Brazil 