Edwin Edogbo does not need to prove that he is Irish

“Are we Irish?”

Andy Farrell, born in Wigan, had drawn a line. Tired of the criticism directed at Sam Prendergast, he shot back at the young playmaker’s critics by questioning their patriotism. How could any loyal Irishman have the temerity to critique the 23-year-old fly-half?

On the same day the Irish Rugby Football Union had to turn off comments on a social media post that celebrated debutant Edwin Edogbo. Similar actions were taken by Munster, Edogbo’s club, and other media outlets inundated with racist and xenophobic comments below the line.

“Are we Irish?” I wonder what Farrell made of all this having handed the 23-year-old lock his first 10 minutes in Test rugby. “We need to celebrate Edwin’s first cap,” his coach said, “that is for sure as it is one amazing story.”

Like soccer player Roy Keane, boxer Jack Doyle, Olympic runner Sonia O’Sullivan and leading figure of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, Charles Guilfoyle Doran, Edogbo was born in Cobh, County Cork. He attended Colaiste Muire, a Catholic School, before enrolling at University College Cork. He has a brother named Seàn.

If the above was all we knew about the 1.96 metre, 122 kg second rower there wouldn’t be cause for further conversation. Is he Irish? Well, according to the facts he’s as Irish as they come. Ask a few jingoists in Cork and they might tell you that he’s more Irish than others, such is the regional pride that exists on the island.

But that is not all we know about Edogbo. We also know that his parents are from Nigeria and we know that his skin is black. And according to too many this means that he will never be Irish.

I am not Irish. I am South African. But I have always been fascinated by the small spit of land half a world away. Until recently, Ireland was the only country in the European Union that allowed South Africans to visit without a visa. Irish politicians were among the first to oppose apartheid in South Africa. While still in prison and on the UK’s terrorist watchlist in 1988, Nelson Mandela was awarded the Freedom of the City of Dublin.

I remember visiting Dublin for the first time during a brief gap between Covid lockdowns and was struck by the sense of pride in every public square. I couldn’t move without bumping into a statue honouring an Irishman who resisted colonial oppression. I remember reading plaques in museums and poring over old photographs that told a story of Ireland as a nation that spilled so much blood trying to answer Farrell’s question.

“Are we Irish?” is something that its people have been grappling with since before The Troubles, since before the Easter Rising, since before Wolfe Tone and the United Irishmen dared to imagine a republic that transcended tribe and creed.

“Are we Irish?” It is a question that has always been about more than geography. It has been about belonging. About solidarity. About who gets to stand inside the circle. And rugby, for all its muddy boots and muddy views on class, is one of the most visible stages on which that question now plays out.

In recent years the sport has become increasingly animated by the so-called ‘project player’ debate – an ugly, transactional phrase that reduces human beings to strategic assets. It suggests something cynical: that unions are gaming the system, importing bodies to plug holes, manufacturing identity for competitive gain. National treasures like Jamison Gibson-Park and James Lowe and Bundee Aki and many more have been unfairly branded as mercenaries. Ireland has celebrated their match-winning moments without qualification.

Ignoring the sacrifices that these players have made for their adopted nation, the framing of this conversation ignores the deeper truth about modern rugby. The game is global. Talent moves. Opportunity moves. Coaches move. Families move.

Josh Neill, the Ireland U20 back row and former South African age-grade prospect, is not a project. He is a young man pursuing the highest level of his profession in a country that has invested in his development. South Africa did not lose him in some zero-sum heist. Ireland did not conjure him in a laboratory. Rugby pathways are porous because the world is porous.

The irony, of course, is that Edogbo is not even what critics would lazily label a project player. He came through Munster’s academy, through Irish schools rugby, through the same conveyor belt that produced so many before him. Questioning his credentials is not a dog whistle or some attempt to defend local development. It is racism. Pure and simple. If rugby has any values left, there can be no ambiguity on this matter.

By all means, let’s have a conversation about project players. Let’s wonder what the game might look like as matches are won by groups of 23, where arm wrestles are turned by those packs with more depth and more meat. Have we created a sport where only five teams have a realistic chance of lifting the World Cup? Will every nation require at least one 120kg tight-five forward forged in Pretoria or Paarl? Will the likes of Japan, Chile, Canada and Scotland forever be reliant on a smattering of foreign-born athletes who had to leave their home to pursue their dream? Is this inherently a bad thing? Or is it simply a reflection of an interconnected world that is rendering rigid borders obsolete?

International rugby has never been a museum piece. It evolves. The professional era did not preserve some sepia-toned purity but rather commercialised, globalised and intensified everything. Squads are deeper. Conditioning is relentless. Margins are microscopic. In that reality, player movement is not a loophole but is the oxygen that keeps the ecosystem alive.

Yes, there is a legitimate conversation to be had about this, but this is about systems, not skin. It is about regulations, not race.

Because the moment we start to question if a black man born and raised in Cobh is Irish we shrink the definition of a nation itself. And Ireland, of all places, should know better than most what it means to have its identity policed.

Edogbo does not need to prove that he is Irish. The only people on trial here are those who would deny him.