Michael Rosen read my thoughts when he wrote this poem a few months after the referendum on Brexit and a month before Trump triumphed to power.
Friday, 7 October 2016
I’m not on the list, I’m not on the list
I’m not on the list
I’m not on the list
All I have to do is tell them
if I know someone who should be on the list.
If I don’t tell them
that I know someone who should be on the list,
then I’ll be on a list of people
who don’t help them make the list.
And people in my family
will be on a list of people
in families of people
who don’t help them make the list
of people who should be on the list.
And people (who people in my family know)
will be on a list of people
who know people in the family of someone
who didn’t help them make the list of people
who should be on the list.
So, if you’re not on the list
or the list of the people
who don’t help them make the list
or the list of people who know people who
don’t help them make the list
you’re OK.
It’s all OK
It’s going to be all right.
I know what that means. I have lived what that means. My parents and my brother have lived it too. Michael Rosen seems to know very well what that means as well, simple, cold, unforgiving Fear.
Why is this fear of our shadow, of the whispers in the brambles, this constant need to watch our step – why is it coming back? Who wants us afraid?
As the months and years go by, I count my blessings. I saw communism fall and an Iron curtain drop, to offer brotherhood to all people, especially in Europe. I left a family to build a family and then to build a bridge between Bulgaria and England. And then England built a realpolitik bridge to Bulgaria, much later than I did. All this time I was not afraid, I was full of hope.
I then lost a cornerstone to my family. My children were my everything from then on. And fear settled for the first time on my pillow, not when I went to sleep, but when I woke up every morning. I used to say that every morning I woke up in a nightmare. I was afraid of what the people may say to my tiny boys, I was afraid of how they may feel, what they may have to confront sooner or later in life. I was afraid but had forgotten to be afraid for myself.
That is why I fought, because I was not afraid about myself, but for the others, the ones I loved. I conquered where people did not expect me to conquer. And my boys chased the fear away. They found music and they swam in it as if they were born in it. Music knows how to push fear out of the way and to bring in confidence.
For the next phase I needed stamina and belief in myself. But then my boys started fearing, mainly feared that they may have lost me because I found a partner. Making the transfer from our Three-Musketeer family to a big blended family was indeed marred with jealousy, unkindness, selfishness, despair, one-sided sacrifice, repentance and forgiveness. And a lot of fear.
On the other hand, we all learned so much. We’re not afraid of each other any more, because we live together and we fight together for each other’s happiness.
Realistically, we have grown together. We built a home and we are sheltered in it. We find solace and support in our big and beautiful family.
Practically however the world outside is now full of fear and is frightening me so much. For the first time I am afraid for myself. My home is not enough, my passport is not enough. I am afraid for my future and for that of my children. In the past 3 – no, 5-6 years, I am afraid to be Bulgarian, because I am Bulgarian and British, but I fear that being British soon will not count for much if I want to remain Bulgarian.
Every part of my body is Bulgarian, so there is no choice in the matter, I am who I am, but the world does not want me. Bulgarians are “untermensch”, subhumans, Animals, according to the tabloid press . Here is a list, from Wikipedia: Jews, Roma, Slavs, hence this World War I propaganda poster depicting Serbs as “untermensch”.
Again. I feel it in my bones and in my blood and in my brain. That stare when I mention Bulgaria. But I am no Orangutang, not even a Chimpanzee. I am Eastern European who loves books, music, art, who CAN teach French very well even if I am not (quite) French… And I know how to love.
Capturing the sunrise in the morning makes me just as happy as it did Keats or Victor Hugo. Walking the Surrey hills or up to the seven lakes of Rila or Pirin gives me the same humanist faith as the sea gave power to Turner.
Earning the right to dignity has nothing to do with the national paradigm of Bulgaria or UK or France or China or US. Being human and dignified has everything to do with the grand spirit of Confucius, Bertrand Russell, Voltaire, Tzvetan Todorov and Michael Rosen of course. And so many more who couldn’t care less about where you were born. This is how to tame fear: bring humanity to the source of wisdom.
I keep going and ignoring lists.
I WAIT FOR PEACE.
Dora Court 