Imagine how many are spinning in their graves for every American Trump supporter who proudly declares their "Irish" heritage on a day when Trump declares himself King.
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The ones who can tell you that their people came here from Cork or Kilkenny or Connacht because the crown starved so many to death during "The Famine" (An Gorta Mor is a name they never got comfortable with).
Whose ancestors were burned them out of their homesteads, drove them out of Belfast or Derry or any other town in the north where paratroopers or SAS shot peaceful protesters on the streets.
The ones who march in the Saint Patrick's Day Parade after driving their pickup trucks (with the MAGA stickers on the back) into New York City ("a hellhole," they'll tell you) from Long Island or New Jersey or Westchester, and bitching about the tolls.
I can't imagine the shame their ancestors feel as they watch their descendants race to kiss the ass of a man who isn't even really a king. Can you imagine who they would have sold out for the true and actual Royal Majesty, had they lived in a time when they could do it?
Can you imagine how they'd bow and scrape and crawl? They are all traitors to the history they claim so smugly on every golf trip to Wexford, every college football game in Dublin.
They should be know as traitors on every trip back to the "old country" to visit the grave of a great-great grandparent who'd spit on them, if they only could.
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