Among the more persistent and insulting myths of the “Great Hunger” is the claim that the Irish “starved while surrounded by fish” because they were too ignorant or too stubborn to help themselves.  It’s a narrative repeated in history books, classrooms, and casual conversation—a defaming simplification that distorts the truth of what our ancestors endured.

Let’s be clear: the Irish didn’t starve because they ignored fish.  They starved because they were denied access to the means to survive—by poverty, by policy, and by prejudice.

Ireland is an island surrounded by some of the richest fishing grounds in Europe.  But presence does not translate to access.   English and Scottish fisheries benefited from targeted government investment in boats, harbors, and curing facilities.  Irish fisheries received none of these supports; in fact, British policy deliberately repressed it to prevent competition with the English fishing fleet.   Ireland lacked harbors, piers, storage facilities, salt or ice for preservation, and roads for transportation.  Historians have noted even less-perishable food like Indian meal was hard to distribute.  Fresh fish never stood a chance.  For the majority of Irish, the fish that surrounded their island was as accessible as bananas from South America.

The traditional Irish fishing boat, the currach—a lightweight, hide-covered or canvas boat—was designed for nearshore fishing and short distances.  While ideal for navigating rocky coasts and dangerous surf, it was unsuitable for offshore fishing or large hauls.  Its limited capacity and vulnerability to Atlantic weather, especially in winter,  meant it could not sustain the fishing operations needed to serve the inland starving population.

To make matters worse, the onset of the potato crop failure triggered a collapse of this already fragile coastal economy.  With no crops to sell and no cash reserves, many fishing families were forced to pawn or sell their nets, lines, and even boats to buy food or pay rent.  These tools were often the only tangible assets they owned.  Once sold, they were gone for good.  And without gear, even the meager ability to fish vanished.

Inland, where rivers and lakes were full of trout, salmon, and eels, the story was the same: denial of access.  Under British law, freshwater fishing rights belonged to the landlord.  These rights were jealously guarded.  Tenants were forbidden to fish without permission.

Getting caught poaching from a landlord’s river could result in eviction—a death sentence during the famine.  So, while Ireland’s rivers ran full of life, they were often locked behind absentee landlords’ walls.  Landlord privilege was protected even as people perished in sight of sustenance.

So why does the myth persist?

Because it fits a colonial narrative, it’s easier to suggest the Irish were the architects of their own suffering than to confront the hard truth that the British government chose inaction.  It reinforces old stereotypes of the Irish as helpless, lazy, or ignorant.  It shifts responsibility away from the policies and structures that caused the famine—and places it on the shoulders of its victims.  That narrative still echoes in classrooms today because too many educators fail to question colonial biases when it comes to the story of the Irish.

This myth isn’t just historically inaccurate.  It’s offensive.  It accuses our ancestors of deliberately choosing starvation when the record shows they were inhumanly stripped of all means of food.

The Great Hunger wasn’t a natural disaster; it was a human one.  The Irish did not ignore fish.  They were denied the boats, the roads, the salt, the equipment, the investment, and the legal rights to access the resources of their own land and the waters that surrounded them.

The Irish did not die from ignorance or famine.  They died from injustice and inhumanity, and we need to end their slander through ignorance.