That Cultural Nerve

Madcap Mum has an interesting post (with a fascinating intense exchange in the comments), which brought to mind a song of mine. This song was inspired by a tense moment at a workplace workshop aimed at fostering intercultural understanding. One of the leaders told us all, in words I don't remember exactly, that we didn't have any roots here; our roots were back in Europe. I don't think he succeeded at creating any understanding at all.

No Place

You tell me that you
have no home.
My people
took it, long ago.
A thousand of us
till these fields
and leave no place
for you to go.

But you tell me that your
roots run deep
and that you belong to this land
as I never can.
And you tell me that my
spirit sleeps.
And it dreams of where it should be
far across the sea . . .

If that is true, I
have no home.
My people
left it, long ago.
A thousand others
till those fields
and leave no place
for me to go.

As the fields around us begin to blow
and the salt crust whitens where the land is low,
"Yes," you say, you could have told us so,
but of course we couldn't know,
with our roots across the ocean . . .

But as we talk here, our
children play.
See them share that dusty schoolyard
where the ground is hard.
Oh, oh, what will their
grandchildren say
when they seek a dwelling place
on this planet's face?

Will they tell their gods, "We
have no home.
Our people
took it, long ago.
They left us poisoned, desert fields.
A thousand years until they heal . . .

They left no place

for us to go.