Far-right must be reminded they’re wrong

DUBLIN—a city once described by novelist Brendan Behan as holding ‘familiarity without friendship’—now finds its residents asking the haunting question: ‘Why me?’ This comes in the wake of a series of violent attacks targeting members of Ireland’s immigrant communities throughout the summer of 2025.

In the suburb of Tallaght, a group of teenagers brutally assaulted an Indian man, leaving him beaten, partially undressed and bleeding in the street. He had left his wife and 11-month-old baby behind, in pursuit of a better future for them on Irish soil. Instead, he was left asking: ‘What wrong have I done? Why me?’

The violence did not end there. Days later, in nearby Clondalkin, another Indian man was attacked by a gang. He suffered a fractured bone, deep bruises and multiple gashes. Further north, in Dublin City, two male passengers turned vicious on an Indian taxi driver, bashing him across the face, with the obscene instruction ‘go back to your country.’

But perhaps the most disturbing of these crimes occurred in County Waterford when a six-year-old girl, Nia (above), was attacked by a group of boys. She was punched, told to ‘go back to India,’ and struck in the genital area with a bicycle.

These incidents—just a glimpse into the reported cases, highlight a disturbing rise in casual racism, ethnic nationalism and the growing influence of far-right ideology within Irish cultural and political discourse. The oxymoron within this phenomenon of violence is stark: how did a country built on the legacy of emigration become so hostile to those arriving? As former Irish President Michael D Higgins has reminded us: “Those who left our shores carried our culture and values into faraway lands, often depending on the generosity of strangers.” Is it not then within the very heart of Irish identity to extend that same generosity to others who now seek to reside in Ireland?

Aftermath

Not only have these attacks gravely affected the victims, but they also hold the potential to tarnish Ireland’s image on the world stage. The Indian community is a vital and valued part of Irish society. Notably, within the healthcare sector. According to the Nursing and Midwifery Board of Ireland (2024), 54,000 Irish nurses and midwives work alongside 18,500 Indian colleagues—a crucial portion of Ireland’s healthcare workforce.

A spokesperson for the Department of Foreign Affairs, commenting on the media coverage of these vicious attacks, stated that there is ‘no doubt these attacks damage Ireland’s reputation.’ The response from India has been one of deep concern. Prashant Shukla, chairman of the Ireland-India Council, noted that Indian public discourse is increasingly focused on the safety and well-being of its nationals abroad. Such targeted violence raises important questions about the potential impact upon Ireland-India relations. In response, the Ireland-India Council wrote to Tánaiste Simon Harris, urging a ‘coordinated, multi-agency response’ to address the surge in attacks.

The fear among Indian communities in Ireland has been so profound that the Indian Embassy issued a public warning, urging people to remain vigilant and avoid deserted areas. Additionally, this year’s Ireland-India festival, due to have taken place on August 11, was cancelled due to safety concerns.

In the wake of these incidents, Nia’s mother, Ms Achuthan, noted that she received messages from ‘so many lovely Irish people,’ with many expressing nothing but shame for what had happened. Yet, reflecting on the outpouring of support Ms. Achuthan stated: “But that’s not right, nobody thinks this is a racist country.” Is it only a select few?

The rise of the far-right

As Ireland navigates the fallout from these violent incidents, public figures such as Conor McGregor have become central to mobilising the Irish debate surrounding national identity, immigration, and the rise of far-right rhetoric. Once celebrated as an Irish sporting treasure on the world stage, McGregor has increasingly become a polarising figure. Critics point to his provocative tweets, which fuelled the anger that spurred anti-immigration rioters to take to the streets in Dublin in 2023 in a violent parade.

Responding to a report granting non-Irish nationals the right to vote, McGregor posted on X (formerly Twitter): “Ireland, we are at war,’ to his 10.3 million followers—a statement which many saw as an inflammatory call to action.

Teresa Buczkowska, CEO of the Immigrant Council of Ireland, told Euronews: “Everything changed after the 2023 Dublin riots.” She identifies the riots as a cultural turning point, noting: “That was the starting point for the physical violence we are seeing today.”

Data published by An Garda Síochána demonstrates a ‘cultural shift’ surrounding immigration. Between 2022 and 2023, there was a 12 per cent increase in hate-related incidents reported in Ireland, with most incidents related to the victim’s ethnicity or nationality.

On July 30, 2025, McGregor again took to X in Trumpian style, commenting on the profile of a perpetrator who had stabbed a member of the Gardaí. He called for deportation, citing the need to ensure the ‘safety and livelihood (of Irish citizens) is paramount.’ It is, however, a striking paradox that the same man who was ordered by an Irish civil court to pay €206,000 to an Irish citizen, Nikita Hand, on the grounds of sexual assault, would position himself as a guardian of public safety.

The parallels between McGregor and US President Donald Trump extend beyond their shared populist rhetoric and anti-immigrant sentiment. Both have attempted to present themselves as defenders of national values while facing serious allegations of sexual misconduct. Earlier this year, Trump publicly endorsed McGregor for the Irish Presidency—a move that sparked widespread concern. Rachel Morrogh, chief executive of the Dublin Rape Crisis Centre, raised her concerns in a letter to the US Embassy, stating: “We do believe that the meeting between Trump and Conor McGregor was really very sinister, and we have called it out for what it is, which is an attempt to rebuild the very damaged reputation of Conor McGregor.’

Although Ireland has now elected Catherine Connolly as its new president, speculation around McGregor’s political ambitions intensified. But while McGregor harboured aspirations for Áras an Uachtaráin, he needed to be nominated by 20 members of the Oireachtas, or alternatively by four local councils. Luckily, neither option was evident for the MMA star, even with White House support.

As anti-immigrant sentiment continues to gain ground in parts of Irish society—online, on the streets and in political discourse—the path toward peace feels increasingly uncertain. Ireland now stands at a crossroads: between a narrow vision of identity built on exclusion or one shaped by its own long history of migration, hardship, and resilience. In the words of former President Higgins ‘to forget that is to lose a part of ourselves.’