Bindi Shah
I wrote this poem when I was 17 years old - 34 years ago in 1990:
I Don’t Belong Here
They came to our countries,
And took them over.
Into our homes, into our lives,
And ran them.
Now we’re here, in this
Better country,
Living as them, learning as them,
But we’re not one of them.
I want to go home to where I belong,
Where there are no barriers because of race.
Where everyone is the same -
One.
I remember how that tender, young one felt. She had just moved to the suburbs from central London. Into a more diverse area, but also into a less affluent area and one where she could clearly see the differences of being a person of colour.
Belonging became a theme of life for me, some years there was huge belonging – university, working in Germany, living in London. And other years, it was harder to feel like I belonged – family gatherings, being single, not having children.
Not feeling as though I belonged happened long before my birth. My grandparents were born in British India, and went to British Kenya to work and help the Empire. My parents were born in Kenya as British subjects of the crown. So when they came over to the UK, the nomadic way of life - the sense of non-belonging, and being a citizen of the world already existed. There was a time when the Empire was so vast that the sun didn’t set on it; but now so much of Britain sleep-walks into the future, not appreciating their expansive history.
It was always difficult to blend into society. Being of colour always means that people will have a judgment of you. They will see your colour first, then your accent as you speak, then base some of their judgements on you according to those things. Not necessarily waiting to hear what you are actually like, or what your background is. There is a pre-judgement.
The similarities with the childless journey are stark. The feeling of not belonging in a society which is pro-natal. One where you are judged by your answer to ‘Do you have children?’ Not being able to blend in, as you feel so different.
I came to the childless community through a Gateway women of colour re-ignite weekend. Subconsciously already realising that there was some kind of similarity with my lived person of colour experience and the childless experience. I didn’t quite know what at that time, but knew it was something I wanted to explore.
My childless journey has opened up my identity. It has brought me to a depth of who I am. Who I truly am. It has enabled me to see past the ‘fitting in’ I maybe would have experienced with children. I can embrace my differences.
I can find belonging now, in my 50s, within the childless community. A community who also experience othering, and not feeling like they belong. A community where unfortunately judgment is also felt. The recent remarks by Republican V.P. nominee J.D. Vance and his comment of ‘childless cat lady’ highlights that all too well. So many of us will never be fully welcomed into wider society.
I look at the last sentence of my tender 17 year old self:
‘Where everyone is the same – one.’
Isn’t that what we all hope for in the childless community too? That we are seen as the same as parents. That people also look out for us when forming government policy, or looking at housing? We also want to be seen as the same, not a different part of society who do not belong.
Yes, it would be such a different world if all of our differences could be embraced and celebrated. Where we could truly live as one. It reminds me of John Lennon’s lyrics in Imagine:
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace
YooHooOooOooOooYou may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Dear one, I sincerely hope you also feel the belonging of our childless community. It is a wonderful thing.
