CONOR MCGREGOR: IRELAND SAVIOUR?

Conor McGregor, the brash MMA icon turned political provocateur, is being floated as an alternative prime minister for Ireland, riding a wave of anti-immigration sentiment that’s swept him from the octagon to the fringes of Dublin’s power corridors. His platform? A fiery crusade against what he calls an “illegal immigration racket” ravaging Ireland’s rural towns, a stance that’s earned him both scorn from the establishment and a cult-like following among the disaffected. Just last week, on March 17, 2025, McGregor stood in the White House briefing room, green suit blazing, decrying Ireland’s government for abandoning its people to an influx he claims threatens the nation’s very “Irishness.” Irish PM Micheál Martin fired back, calling it unpatriotic drivel unfit for St. Patrick’s Day. But beneath the headlines, a murkier narrative brews—one tying McGregor’s immigration obsession to Ireland’s vocal support for the Palestinian resistance in Gaza and its peacekeeping efforts between Lebanon and Israel under the UN.

Ireland’s been a loud cheerleader for Palestine, especially since the Gaza war kicked into high gear in 2023. From condemning Israel’s bombardment to pushing for ceasefires at the UN, Dublin’s stance has been unwavering—some say to a fault. The government’s even mulled turning the shuttered Israeli embassy into a Palestinian museum, a move that’s got pro-Israel voices like McGregor’s spitting venom. He’s blasted Irish leaders before, notably in 2023 when he raged at then-PM Leo Varadkar for downplaying the Hamas abduction of Irish-Israeli girl Emily Hand as her being “lost.” McGregor’s pro-Israel leanings—coupled with his disgust at pro-Palestinian protests on Irish soil—paint him as an outlier in a nation trending hard toward Palestinian solidarity.

But here’s the twist: what if Ireland’s pro-Palestinian tilt isn’t just historical empathy for the oppressed, rooted in its own colonial past? What if it’s the immigrants McGregor despises who are steering the ship? Ireland’s seen a migrant surge—141,600 arrivals in the year to April 2023, the highest in 16 years. Many come from conflict zones, including the Middle East, bringing cultural sharing that’s undeniably shifted the public mood. Walk Dublin’s streets, and you’ll see Palestinian flags waving alongside the tricolor, a sight McGregor’s called “not my Ireland.” Could it be that this critical mass of newcomers—through votes, protests, or sheer presence—has nudged Ireland’s government toward its Gaza stance and its UN peacekeeping push between Lebanon and Israel?

The numbers don’t lie: a small nation of 5 million absorbing such an influx can’t help but feel the ripple. Immigrants, legal or not, aren’t just passive players—they’re active shapers of policy through grassroots pressure and cultural influence. Maybe that’s what’s got McGregor so riled up. His Ireland, the one he wants to lead, isn’t just losing its “Irishness” to unchecked borders—it’s losing its geopolitical soul to a cause he rejects. The Palestinian resistance, backed by Dublin, might owe its Irish megaphone to the very people McGregor’s itching to deport.

So, is McGregor being socialized as a prime ministerial contender to counter this shift? His White House photo-op with Trump, a fellow immigration hardliner, suggests a transatlantic nod to his potential. The far-right loves him, and his anti-migrant rants resonate with a growing slice of Ireland fed up with housing crises and stretched services—issues they pin on newcomers. Yet, the irony’s thick: if immigration’s fueled Ireland’s pro-Palestinian fervor, McGregor’s rise might be the backlash to a cultural pivot he can’t stomach. Whether he’s a serious candidate or a loudmouth distraction, one thing’s clear—his war on immigration and Ireland’s Middle East meddling are two sides of a coin stamped with the same question: who gets to define Ireland’s future?