Land. A piece of land, even one so small as to be regarded with contempt by rulers and their lackeys, remains something desperately hoped for by millions of people. Beaten down for trying to acquire and hold it, tricked out of their possession of it, they will ever persist in their struggles, no matter where they live or who they are called. This has gone on for thousands of years.
In the late 1800s, the Irish formed the Land League, and fought for their right to control and own the ground upon which they were born and lived and died. The poem excerpted below, appeared around the world, and inspired many others in like efforts.
. . .
Oh by the God who made us all, the seigneur and the serf,
Rise up and swear this day to hold your own green Irish turf.
Rise up and plant your feet as men where now you crawl as slaves,
And make your harvest fields your camp, or make of them your graves.
. . .
From Hold the Harvest!
Fanny Parnell
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