by Diana Kodner Gokce
Let me tell ya all a story 'bout a man named Chris,
While lookin' for a spice route his three boats went amiss,
They came here via Spain back in 1492,
Columbus and his men brought the natives something new,
Disease, that is, smallpox and the flu.
Well the next thing ya know the French have come along,
They trap and trade their furs and they're preachin' to the throng,
They're here to make some money, and they feel they fill a void,
But the Native Americans die of their typhoid,
Plague, that is, common colds, they're annoyed.
Then the Pilgrims come to pray, but in 1621
They're starving and they're dying, and it really isn't fun.
An Indian named Squanto shows 'em how and what to do,
To plant some corn and fish and to hunt for their food,
Survival, that is. They all gave thanks, enjoyed the mood.
Then those old colonial gals thought they'd like to party too,
They thought a quilting bee would be just the thing to do!
Some think of our diversity just like a big old quilt,
But not without a great big heapin' up o' white guilt.
Exploitation, racism, on which we're built.