I don’t know if you are following the news about the many people fleeing toward Europe from the war-torn lands of Syria, Eritrea, Afghanistan, and Iraq—it is the largest mass migration since World War II. It has been tragic, primarily in the often-fatal experiences of the refugees but also in the xenophobia and NIMBY reaction that it has brought out in many of the European citizens.

Instead of talking about this today using a narrative format, I want to read you a poem. One of our essential tasks as educators for equity is to constantly seek understanding of the cultures of our students and families. Windows into kids’ cultures can sometimes help us understand their successes and challenges at school—the windows can illuminate opportunities to connect with our students, even across the differences of racial and cultural backgrounds. This poem that I’m going to read to you is written by a Somali poet, Warsan Shire, herself an immigrant to the United Kingdom from Africa. Her experience is from the other side of the planet, but I wonder if it gives us insight into the culture of migration. So many of our students, and in fact, almost all of us or our ancestors, have migrated from one part of the world to here, by force, by desperation, or by volition.

Many of us watch the news about this crisis and think, “What can I do?” One thing we can do is to be truly curious and compassionate with our students and families who have endured journeys to arrive here—curious about what they left behind and about the journeys themselves.

I offer this poem to you as you think about who your students are, what they’ve experienced in their short lives, and how you will seek their trust and love by devoting the time to getting to know them, as the young, beautiful, complex humans that they are. Let this also remind us that they came here for hope and safety. We offer them both here at school—through predictable and organized school environment, and through careful, relentless, and loving instruction. May our presence in their lives, in some way, make their arduous journeys worthwhile—may they experience safety, community, belonging, and learning.

HOME by Warsan Shire

no one leaves home unless

home is the mouth of a shark

you only run for the border

when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbours running faster than you

breath bloody in their throats

the boy you went to school with

who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory

is holding a gun bigger than his body

you only leave home

when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you

fire under feet

hot blood in your belly

it’s not something you ever thought of doing

until the blade burnt threats into

your neck

and even then you carried the anthem under

your breath

only tearing up your passport in an airport toilet

sobbing as each mouthful of paper

made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to understand,

that no one puts their children in a boat

unless the water is safer than the land

no one burns their palms

under trains

beneath carriages

no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck

feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled

means something more than journey.

no one crawls under fences

no one wants to be beaten

pitied

no one chooses refugee camps

or strip searches where your

body is left aching

or prison,

because prison is safer

than a city of fire

and one prison guard

in the night

is better than a truckload

of men who look like your father

no one could take it

no one could stomach it

no one skin would be tough enough

the

go home blacks

refugees

dirty immigrants

asylum seekers

sucking our country dry

niggers with their hands out

they smell strange

savage

messed up their country and now they want

to mess ours up

how do the words

the dirty looks

roll off your backs

maybe because the blow is softer

than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender

than fourteen men between

your legs

or the insults are easier

to swallow

than rubble

than bone

than your child body

in pieces.

i want to go home,

but home is the mouth of a shark

home is the barrel of the gun

and no one would leave home

unless home chased you to the shore

unless home told you

to quicken your legs

leave your clothes behind

crawl through the desert

wade through the oceans

drown

save

be hungry

beg

forget pride

your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear

saying-

leave,

run away from me now

i dont know what i’ve become

but i know that anywhere

is safer than here.