The Irish Potato Famine + Housing Justice

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

If my countryfellows (okay, not a word) know one thing about the Irish, it’s this holiday. If we know two, depending on age, it’s either how awesome The Luck of the Irish was (I’ve been told this is an unpopular opinion, but it spoke to me in some ethnic minority heritage way) or maybe Angela’s Ashes? If you know THREE things, then it’s gotta be the Potato Famine.

Now, when you first hear about the Potato Famine, it’s like, ahh that is sad, but must’ve been a natural disaster, right? Famines happen all over! (But maybe not in democracies?). Everybody starves sometimes! But if you are lucky enough to learn the first thing about the Colombian Exchange, that tale begins to unravel, just a bit. You see, potatoes are from the Americas. So how did a crop failure of them cripple Ireland? Why didn’t they just eat whatever they ate before you know, all that conquistadoring and guns, germs, and ste(a)ling?

Well, as the archconservative Mises Institue is quick to point out, they weren’t exactly dealing with a free market, or a free anything. The English ruled Ireland as they did India, or Western Africa, or, uh, 25% of the globe at their imperial height: as a colony with the primary purpose of enriching the Motherland. The English had occupied Ireland as a vassal state for centuries, viscously putting down rebellions every few generations. In 1798, they brutally suppressed another attempted revolution, this time inspired by those of the French and Americas. In retaliation, the English declared Ireland part of the British Union, taking away any parliamentary representation and increasing the level of army occupation.

But this was just the latest in a long history of English terrorizing of Ireland. In 1695, they struck back against the isle’s support for Catholic James II’s ascendency to the throne. The English outlawed Gaelic culture and language, prohibited Irish Catholics from attending school, serving as government officials or officers in the military, holding apprenticeships, voting, practicing law, buying land, or holding weapons. They also outlawed the Catholic Church and did their best to crush the Irish economy. You might not be surprised to find out that two centuries of this treatment had left Ireland a pretty sorry place, which the English were quick to attribute to a faulty national character.

In the English imagination, the Irish were a dirty, promiscuous, lazy, overly spiritual, drunken, teeming mass of Catholics (if you ever start to think racism makes sense, it’s good to consider all the prejudices people around the world have held at one time or another to see how abject and absurd they all are). So they forced them to become England’s breadbasket. “Great! An agricultural society,” you might think. ‘So little chance of famine then!” Well, let’s take a step back.

You say Potato, I say South American crop that never should have been able to lead to mass starvation

In South and Central America, the potato was a wonder food. The Incas developed over three thousand strains, each with a different nutritional makeup and suited for different growing conditions. A blight wouldn’t cause a famine in the Andes unless it mutated to include 3,000 strains, plus then took down all their other food sources. But as much as the European conquistadors learned from the Native Americans (the learning went far beyond that thing we’re told every year about Squanto helping the Pilgrims plant), they were resistant as hell against getting to the end of the “lessons,” as could be expected when the student considers the teacher a heathen and then enslaves and murders their people. And let it never be said that the Europeans followed indigenous farming advice, or even basic logic at all. No, the Spanish outlawed the cultivation of amaranth because the Aztecs would bake it into cookies and eat it ritually (okay, sometimes they had human blood in it, but the Spanish probably were just salty because they hadn’t though of being so practical about the charred remains of their Auto de Fe victims). The Spanish considered this a mockery of the communion, which, dude, these people have been doing their own thing for thousands of years without you or your god-cookies– this is not about you! So you can see how the potato learning might not have gone smoothly.

The Europeans got the message, “Hey! Plant some potatoes!” but not the part that said, “more than one variety” (because how can you hear when you’re too busy massacring the people who might have let you in on that One Weird Tip to Cut Down on Crippling Famines?) So off they went to Europe with their, uh, not that many potato types. The Irish, in particular, planted only one strain, the Lumper. And as potatoes spread through propagation, the potatoes in Ireland were technically an army of clones. Monocultures have little defense against disease or environmental change. Planting only one species, and especially only a single strain of a species means every one will have the same vulnerabilities. So all it would take was one little disease or extreme weather event and the genetically identical potatoes across the country would go down like dominoes.

The mass of Europeans, who were the historic opposites of the Gluten Free craze, at first thought this potato thing was a dumb novelty. But grain had a way of dying in the fields, from blight, climate, or pests, that the safely burrowed potato could resist. Further, the little tuber could grow great in the areas of Europe too chilly for the weaksauce known as the wheat stalk. Before the potato, southern Europe– the area warm enough for grain to grow with greater ease and reliability– held the power in the region. But with the introduction of the hearty, cold-bearing potato, the scales began to tip in the north’s favor (Game of Thrones joke about the north rising). Populations rose by so much and so quickly thanks to this reliable new food that people started to suspect it held aphrodisiac powers (cause and effect game weak, Europe). Hardy, long-lasting, highly caloric, and not half bad mashed with a bit of butter, the potato was the perfect food if you were food insecure, that is, poor. And the English had done their very best to make sure the people of Ireland were exactly that.

Land rights (or lack thereof)

Protestant Englishmen held the titles to most of the land in Ireland, inheriting it from conquerers since the 1370s. The plight of the Irish mirrored that of the serfs in Russia or soon-to-be sharecroppers in North and South America. They were without land, control over the means of production, or much by way of rights. A French sociologist said of his visit in 1835: “I have seen… the Negro in his chains, and thought… that I saw the very extreme of human wretchedness; but I did not then know the condition of unfortunate Ireland… In all countries, more or less, paupers may be discovered; but an entire nation of paupers is what was never seen until it was shown in Ireland.” (He added that, while the Native Americans were materially poor, at least they were free, whereas the Irish were not just poor but unequal, in both possessions and law, to the British.)

The English had put a stop, through law or neglect, any potential source of wealth in Ireland. They had outlawed Catholics from attending school or owning land, and kept Ireland flooded with cheap English goods so as to prevent any local industrialization. Only agriculture remained, and so rent prices skyrocketed. Equivalent land would cost 80-100 times more in Ireland than in England.

A British survey in 1835, ten years before the Famine’s outbreak, found that half of all rural Irish families lived, with up to a dozen people and their animals, in a single room mud shack without windows or chimney (how much you wanna bet they had respiratory problems?). Families would build these homes near each other to create communities called clachans, or all share a single, tiny plot. Often people lived on the same land their ancestors had owned, but in shacks rather than manors thanks to the English dispossession. The law disincentivized any fixer upper tendencies one might have, because any improvements on your dwelling became property of the landlord.

These bound laborers were in some way lucky, as they had an agreement, tenuous as it was, with the farmer and landlord to stay on the grounds. Other, roving laborers called cottiers had no such agreement with any landowners, but traveled the countryside looking for work. Farmers granted these migrant agricultural workers the right to build a small cabin and plant a small plot of potatoes in exchange for help with the harvest.

Landlords, for whom Ireland was a distasteful backwater they would sooner die than commute to, collected rent through local middlemen, who the Irish called land sharks. These agents kept subdividing plots of lands while raising prices, in a practice known either as a sick version of that math question about how many times you can fold a piece of paper in half, or rack-renting (depending on who you ask, I guess). Tenants would grow indebted though the rising rents and interest. Without leases, land sharks could evict on a whim, at which point the unlucky family would be forced to wander and beg. Many Irish slept under trees, in dug out mud pits, or in other makeshift approximations of shelter.

Little cash exchanged hands between farmhand and landlord. Landlords paid workers by granting them use of a small plot of land for their own subsistence farming, and charged their rent by deducting it from their wages. Peasants’ survivals thus depended on their ability to feed themselves from their small conacre lot, or land sublet with the express purpose of growing one crop for a single season.

The Irish peasantry quickly found in potatoes a near-perfect food for this system. Potatoes took quickly to Ireland’s climate, required less effort than grains, and were so calorically and nutritionally dense that even just an acre could feed a family of six and their animals for a year. Landlords approved, as the spud neither took up too much space from their own profitable crops, nor depleted the soil.

By the 19th century, three million of the eight million Irish were living virtually exclusively on potatoes, with the occasional cameo by milk, cabbage, fish, or salt. Men might consume as many as fourteen per day. The power of the potato was such that Irish peasants were actually healthier in some ways than English peasants, whose wheat-dependent diet lacked the nutrients of the spud. The potato didn’t eliminate Irish hunger, however. In the summer space between fall potato harvests, the Irish went hungry, begged, bought predatorily-priced British grains, or traveled to England looking for work. If they could last until fall, however, they were assured another few months of calories, nutrients, and satiety.

English reformers thought a spot of charity could be just what the Irish needed, so they set up workhouses for the truly destitute. Only complete families could enter, as to clear land entirely for the landlords of tenants unable to make rent. Upon turning oneself into a workhouse, the officials, usually ex-police or army, would interrogate you to make sure you had no other options. If you passed that test, your family would be separated into barracks for men, women, girls, and boys, and not permitted reunion except maybe Sundays at church. After separation, you were washed down, given uniforms, and held to strict rules, including silence at meals and never leaving the building. Oh, and for ten hours each day you would do purposefully pointless work, such as breaking rocks if male, or knitting, turning a wheel, picking apart old ropes for reuse, or cleaning if female. The work was there more “to set you free” than help the economy, as it was decried that the workhouses not pose any competition to business. At least you could leave, if you had anywhere to go. People did not rush to apply for spots, the same way Japanese Americans did not flood internment camps with applications, nor Europeans Jews concentration camps. Or at least they didn’t until the Famine made the workhouse the only option for those too poor to emigrate. Eventually, things got so bad (read: expensive for landlords) that financing people’s emigration became cheaper than keeping them in a workhouse. In the middle of the famine, the British government began exporting Irish to their colonies. The British sent emigration officers around the workhouses to sign up volunteers to leave. They sent about 4,000 orphaned girls to Australia, then over 15,000 to Canada when they said they’d appreciate getting a few more domestic servants. Men answered American help wanted ads in Irish newspaper, sailing to America to work long, poorly-paid days building infrastructure projects like the Erie Canal, sometimes forgoing pay in exchange for passage. Even as people poured out of the country and the workhouse, the system would continue until the semi-autonomy of the Irish Free State in 1920.

Just before the Famine, revolutionary fervor once again reached a peak, but the English crushed the movement with all the cold bloodedness you’ve come to expect from this country that in a bizarre twist would go on to become associated with dry, self-depreciating humor. Thus, even on the eve of the Famine, the Irish had all-too-recent memories and scars from what it meant to try to stand up to the English.


In 1845, a warm and damp winter created the perfectly tragic conditions for a newly imported American fungus to blacken, ferment with a sickening smell, and turn to black goo potato plants across the country. The fungus spread even faster than human disease normally does, as the genetic homogeneity between the potato clones put up no defense. The not too cold, not too hot weather that year was exactly the type the fungus needed. By the end of the year, a third of Ireland’s potatoes were lost.

Some English thought the blight was a blessing in disguise– finally, here was their opportunity for a scorched earth approach to remaking Ireland in their own industrialized, Protestant image! Others thought it was God’s divine will, a pox on the obstinate Catholics.

Fortunately, Prime Minister Peel took a more humane view, and sought to repeal the Corn Laws (corn meaning all grains). These laws imposed heavy tariffs on imported grains, thus minimizing foreign competition. Peel sought to repeal (ha) them in order to allow the UK to import much-needed emergency grain for Ireland. Unfortunately, however, the greed of England’s grain merchants and the barons who loved them won, as landowners loathe to give up their privileged place in the market struck down his effort.

Most English assumed the blight would be alleviated come next year’s harvest, and so provided only temporary measures for relief, in keeping with what they knew and did about past famines. But this was to be a different breed of disaster, wrested upon an already derelict country, and so its effects rippled out to crushing proportions. A series of unusually cold and wet winters followed the initial blight, keeping conditions just so to prevent any potatoes from successfully growing. The Famine thus continued to spread.

People lived off what they could forage: wild blackberries, twigs, cabbage leaves, or air. Food riots broke out, and the English retaliated with gunfire. Group after group combed over potato fields in the vain hopes that anything remained.

As The History Place describes, the English tried several, half-hearted, contested approaches to fighting the vast starvation. Prime Minister Peel shipped in corn from America, but it was difficult to find a way to process it in a land with little infrastructure for grinding grains, alien to the Irish, didn’t provide as many calories as potatoes had, aggravated already weakened digestive systems, and, most damningly, soon ran out. The government set up a relief office run by Charles Edward Trevelyan, an Englishman who felt his distance from the problem (he visited Ireland only once during the Famine) kept him more acute. Local relief committees were supposed to raise funds to take care of their own regions, but when uneducated farmers ran the meetings, wealthy landowners were turned off from participating.

Simultaneously, the English felt a conviction to maintain laissez faire policies, though only when it suited them. Thus the irony of protectionist tariffs for England while a timidity in stepping in to provide free or even subsidized food for the starving Irish, as that might upset grain prices and private profit.

Peel lost his position as Prime Minister thanks to backlash against his position on the Corn Laws. Trevelyan took the opportunity to go full austerity on the Irish. He promised to make “Irish property pay for Irish poverty.” He got his wish, in a way, as in the end, the English spent about seven million pounds (0.01% of their gross national product) on all of Ireland during the famine, whereas the Irish, through taxes and landlord borrowing, paid about 8.5 million. He vowed as well to not too give the Irish too many handouts for fear they become “habitually dependent” on the generosity of the English government. In other words, the English saw the Irish as lazy, promiscuous substance abusers who relied on government handouts– sound familiar? He closed the soup kitchens and sent back a ship filled with corn without allowing it to unload its cargo. The free market would work everything out.

Unsurprisingly, it did no such thing. For those who could find work, wages were low and went straight to rent. Infrastructure was lacking, so what food there was could hardly travel. Even those with money couldn’t find any food to buy. Private enterprise relied on taxes to fund public works projects, but no one was earning any money, so tax coffers lay fallow. The blight continued to spread. People continued to die. The British continued… to ship food from Ireland to England. Up to 75% of Irish land continued to produce crops for export throughout the famine, but this the British took from them, leaving the Irish to starve as they watched ships sail off with their country’s rightful bounty. When Irish people tried to seize these shipments for themselves, the British simply sent in more troops.

The British implemented pointless public works projects that neither paid enough for survival nor created anything of use (so as not to compete with private industry), just destination-less stone roads for people were too weak to travel. In most cases, the calories one could afford with the wages paid by these jobs were fewer than those you’d have to expend doing the hard labor to earn them. A clause in one of the Irish Poor Laws passed stipulated that the only people eligible for any public work were those with less than a quarter of an acre. Thus even more Irish lost their land, as they made the impossible choice between immediate food and work or a once and future home.

In 1847, the government had a change of heart and policy, and decided to “keep the people alive.” New soup kitchens gave out watery gruel that only added to the dysentery sweeping the country. Other diseases, in turn, ravaged their shares of the population.

1847 also brought an exceptionally cold winter to Europe, freezing to death thousands of the now-homeless population. Unlike in 1846, when people still tried at least to plant potatoes, no one had planted anything that year. People were too weak, families too scattered, knew landlords would simply confiscate anything that grew as back payment for rent (which they could sell at hyper-inflated prices), and had eaten even the blighted potatoes they might have used as seed. The English heaped scorn on the Irish for stupidly eating their only hope at food for the next year.

In 1848, as revolution swept across the rest of Europe, typhus swept across Ireland. Typhus attacks the blood. In its first stage, it turns its victims black, just as fungus did the potato. This stage is called Black Fever, After the first wave hits the body, it progresses to Relapsing Fever, turning the skin yellow. Appropriately, this stage is referred to as Yellow Fever. People also called it Roadside Fever, as infected people often lay down in roadside ditches, waiting to die. Scurvy, lice, and dysentery rounded out the starvation.

England knew from history that fever always followed famine, and they took precautions. Yet the Fever Laws were set to sunlight five months after passage, revoking the support before the fever had even reached its height. They were not renewed. The 28 functioning fever hospitals in all of Ireland were shrinking, as doctors died off from the infections caught from their patients. The hospitals hardly offered any help, anyway: patients slept on filthy hallway floors surrounded by other disease-riddle bodies. No accurate numbers exist from this time, but it is estimated that perhaps ten times the number of people succumed to fever than famine.

Housing + Tragedy

Much of the tragedy in Ireland was the result of predatory landowning and housing practices. Landowners and their farmers and rent-collection agents prioritized the profits of export agriculture over the survival of the tenant sharecroppers both before and during the Famine. Without any potatoes to either eat or sell, peasants could hardly afford rent. English landlords responded mercilessly, evicting anyone who could no longer pay.

Then in 1847, the English decided that for once and for all, this was Ireland’s problem, not theirs, and it was all the damn landlords’ faults. So Parliament passed the Irish Poor Law Extension Act, which placed responsibility for tenants onto whoever owned the land on which they lived. The law demanded that landlords, who had long stopped receiving reliable streams of rent, furbish 10 million pounds to aid the country’s poor. This was to be paid through a tax on each tenant whose annual rent was 4 pounds or less, with the assumption that this was a reasonable measure of how many impoverished people lived on one’s land. But this law only incentivized landlords to reconfigure the ever-shrinking plots they had rented out to try to rent them in larger, more expensive expanses, or stop hosting tenants entirely. Either way required landlords to clear their land of people. And besides, without paying tenants, paying any tax was an impossibility. Additionally, since British property law in Ireland was byzantine and eccentric, it was very difficult for most landlords to sell their properties even if they wanted to. So landlords, rather than taking this call to provide a tax of “charity “graciously, simply did their best to rid themselves of any remaining tenants.

Between 1846 and 1854, landlords evicted some 500,000 people. The famous song Skibberdeen, named after the first part of Ireland hit by the blight, highlights the role intentional, human cruelty played in the tragedy, focusing on rent and eviction rather than the wrath of God or Nature on some crops:

Oh, son, I loved my native land, with energy and pride

‘Til a blight came over on my prats, my sheep and cattle died,

The rent and taxes were so high, I could not them redeem,

And that’s the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen.

Oh, it’s well I do remember, that bleak December day,

The landlord and the sheriff came, to drive us all away

They set my roof on fire, with their cursed English spleen

And that’s another reason why I left old Skibbereen.

Landlords would burn peasants’ shacks, as described in these lyrics, both to clear the land for new construction and to send a message about what happened to tenants who couldn’t pay. Homeless Irish roamed the countryside, burrowing into the ground; making shelter with what sticks, holes, grass, or other materials they could; dying from the elements, starvation, and disease; or trying, with desperation, to gain admittance to the now-overflowing workhouses. Some committed crimes just to get sent to the penal colonies in Australia. Whatever Australian prison was like, at least it came with a meal.

Landlords had a variety of methods to kick out families. The first was through the law. They could sue destitute tenants for back-rent, which would land the man in jail and his family on the streets. As news spread of the results of getting sued, Irish families would flee upon first sight of a summons to court. They could also simply use force to remove them from their lot. Sir William Butler, an Irishman who would go onto become a British officer in South Africa, described one eviction he witnessed as a boy in Tipperary:

“The sheriff, a strong force of police, and above all the crowbar brigade, a body composed of the lowest and most debauched ruffians, were present. At a signal from the sheriff the work began. The miserable inmates of the cabins were dragged out upon the road; the thatched roofs were torn down and the earthen walls battered in by crowbars (practice had made these scoundrels adepts in their trade); the screaming women, the half-naked children, the paralysed grandmother and the tottering grandfather were hauled out. It was a sight I have never forgotten. I was twelve years old at the time, but I think if a loaded gun had been put into my hands I would have fired into that crowd of villains as they plied their horrible trade. The winter of 1848-9 dwells in my memory as one long night of sorrow.”

A third method landlords used to clear their land was to pay to ship their tenants abroad. Knowing there would be no way for emigrants to come back and claim anything they were owed, landlords promised their tenants that they had contacts to meet them at the docks in America, Canada, or wherever, and give them a bit of money. There were no contacts or money, but thousands of Irish left just the same. What was left for them in Ireland? So they huddled, gaunt, dressed in rags, and diseased, into the tight quarters of the “coffin ships” that took them away (or not–  one ship drowned upon leaving the dock, while another suffocated all its passengers) from Ireland in droves.

Fleeing Ireland for new homes?

But wherever they went, the Irish were met with prejudice, segregation, and more predatory housing conditions. They were the first mass of poor immigrants Americans had seen. The Irish’s poverty frightened and angered the Protestant majority almost as much as their Catholicism did. They took affront to being treated as “Europe’s poorhouse.” Poor white Americans resented the Irish as competition for unskilled jobs, and freed African Americans and Irish often found themselves in fierce opposition as both groups jockeyed for the scraps left to the bottom rung of society.

Each city offered its own hardships. In New York, “runners” gouged newly arrived Irish for all their money and possessions by putting them up in unsanitary “hotels” that they changed the rate for after the fact. Landlords slapped up wooden tenements in alleys to stuff with Irish renters.

Boston landlords took old housing stock and divided it a hundredfold, turning single family homes into tiny rooms without windows, water, or ventilation to fit as many rent-payers as possible. Of course they charged the Irish a fortune for this. The Irish began building outward from these “apartments,” with shacks popping up in any spare space. The average Irish emigrant lived for only six years upon arrival in America.

The Irish tended to stick close together, staying in cities both because they lacked funds to travel much farther than where they landed, and to try to regain the tight knit communities they were used to. Yet the values and traditions of Irish culture withered in the harsh new world, and many fell victim to alcoholism, crime, and despair. With time and generations, the Irish would come to occupy an accepted and ethnically neutral place in American society. St. Patrick’s Day is now the one day a year any average American really considers who might be Irish American, and rather than try to swindle them into paying high rents or making sure they don’t apply for a job, they simply dye some beer green and take a swig.

The Quebecois originally hoped to conduct thorough health inspections of each would-be Irish immigrant. But the ships were coming in such thick droves that the doctors at the quarantine station of Grosse Île could hardly reach a fraction of them. By 1850, the harbor was filled with a line of forty Irish ships carrying 40,000 sickly Irish, all waiting to be let in for inspection. This protracted wait, however, gave the diseases more time to spread between sick and formerly healthy passengers through the tight corridors of the ships. Crews dumped corpses off deck as passenger after passenger succumbed to death so close before reaching relative safety in a new land. Some ships were emptied on a nearby island, where 5,000 died either trying to make the crawl to the hospital or in makeshift hospice shacks the Canadians set up to try and accommodate the dying hordes. A medical officer described the survivors of one coffin ship: “the few who were able to come on deck were ghastly, yellow-looking spectres, unshaven and hollow-cheeked…not more than 6 or 8 were really healthy and able to exert themselves.” Today, Grosse Île is a monument to the 5,000 Irish who lost their lives at sea and the 5,000 more who died on the isle, all in an attempt to enter Canada.

Perhaps one million Irish fled Ireland during the Famine, yet many died along the way. Those who made it and could afford to, sent money home for both domestic support and to finance others’ passage.

The End of the Famine, housing activism, and revolution

Back home, in Ireland, the Famine seemed to recess, but came back in full force with the blighted potato harvest of 1848. The English were agog that the Irish would try once more with that damn potato, but what choice did they have? The English had refused to supply any other seeds or money to purchase them. Conditions only worsened through 1849. People assassinated six landlords and ten land managers, and others greeted the news with celebratory bonfires. The British sent in even more troops.

Toward the British, the Irish attempted both (underfed, underarmed, undermanned) rebellion and supplication for help. This enraged the British, with The Times opining that “In no other country, have men talked treason until they are hoarse, and then gone about begging sympathy from their oppressors…and in none have they repeated more humble and piteous [requests for help] to those whom they have previously repaid with monstrous ingratitude.” The British seemed not to recognize that, if someone insists on standing on your head, one might alternate between biting your assailant’s ankle and begging them to switch out their cleats for slippers.

The Famine eventually came to an end in the early 1850s thanks to improved weather, but English cruelty did not. The English flooded the housing market with cheap, indebted Irish estates. The new landholders unceremoniously raised rents and evicted any Irish who somehow had managed to hold onto their homes, clearing the way for vast swathes of grazing land for cattle.

In retaliation, the Irish formed, effectively, a militant affordable housing organization: the Land League. With the League, people burned their leases (a century before Americans would burn Vietnam draft cards), physically obstructed evictions, and boycotted unfair landlords. This “Land War” grew powerful enough that England revised its policies. In 1881, the government first reduced rents, and one year later, the League negotiated the nullification of back-owed rent in exchange for a cease in Land War activities. In 1903, the Wyndham Act permitted the Catholic Irish to once again own land, and provided assistance to tenants to purchase their homes outright, albeit at prices that were overly fair to the landlords. Still, the English system of land ownership and denial, which for so many generations had deprived the Irish of the right to their homeland, had come to an end.

In 1841, before the Famine, the people of Ireland had numbered over 8 million. At the time of its close, in 1851, only 6.5 million remained. A million had emigrated, and the rest had died. Even today, the country is home to under 5 million. In comparison, the populations of England and Wales doubled from 1841 through 1901, from 16 million to 32.5 million. While countries across Europe felt the sting of the potato blight, none would be so devastated as Ireland was forced to suffer, as an occupied territory ruled by absentee, free market-obsessed imperialists. As John Mitchel, an Irish nationalist and advocate of independence wrote,”The Almighty, indeed, sent the potato blight, but the English created the Famine.”

The horror that Ireland endured from 1845 to 1851– the Great Hunger, or, in Gaelic, an Gorta Mór– weakened the nation; drained it of its citizenry; wiped much of its towns, people, and culture from its face; and traumatized the survivors. But the people would keep fighting, until a hundred years later, they would win their centuries-long battle against occupation and oppression. In 1949, the Irish were finally able to declare their own state, the Republic of Ireland.

I found The History Place’s essay on the Great Hunger an amazing resource. If this got you interested in the topic, I would recommend you read their longer, more detailed piece here!


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