I work here,
I know how I work.
Do the Germans also know?
My work is hard,
My work is *****
I say I don't like it.
"If you don't like it, go home"
They say.
My work is hard,
My work is *****
"I also pay taxes" I say.
I'll say it again and again,
If I always hear,
"Find yourself another job"
But the Germans aren't to blame.
Nor the Turks.
Turkey needs currency,
Germany workers.
My country sold us abroad,
Like stepchildren.
Worthless people.
In spite of everything
It was needed for
The currency, the calm...
My country sold me to
A foreign state
My name became foreigner...
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 2:16 PM UTC
I work here,
I know how I work.
Do the Germans also know?
My work is hard,
My work is *****
I say I don't like it.
"If you don't like it, go home"
They say.
My work is hard,
My work is *****
"I also pay taxes" I say.
I'll say it again and again,
If I always hear,
"Find yourself another job"
But the Germans aren't to blame.
Nor the Turks.
Turkey needs currency,
Germany workers.
My country sold us abroad,
Like stepchildren.
Worthless people.
In spite of everything
It was needed for
The currency, the calm...
My country sold me to
A foreign state
My name became foreigner...
Written by Semra Ertan in 1981.
On may 24, 1982, Semra publicly burned herself to death in Hamburg in a protest against racism in Germany. She was only 25 years old.
It feels like this poem could've been written today. 44 years later and society is going backwards on a global scale. Hatred towards immigrants has never been worse thanks to far right opportunism. And this breaks my heart.
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