Listen, O people of the Way, and take note. Your ancestors were once illegal aliens in the land of Southern Appalachia. Boat people, all of you, undocumented immigrants. Scots-Irish trash; crackers and kaffirs, wetbacks and wops; gooks, goyim, gringos and gypsies.
Strangers we were, with no stake in the Promise; hopeless, helpless, beggarly-born.
Guest worker, day laborer, field hand, dark tan. Stay away from traffic stops—or disappear in a police van.
Strangers we were, with no stake in the Promise; stranded, branded, object of scorn. Read more ›