Roots. Connections. History. Growing up on the west coast of Canada, there is no deep or abiding sense of connection to the land in my culture.  The history just doesn’t go back very for, for those of us of European descent. Not like about 10% of the people who live in Cheddar, England–– they have roots to the land going back 10 000 years. I shared my own story of some of my genetic history, which I could trace back to my 4 times Great Grandmother, and I would, someday, like to walk where she may have walked, imagining the land through her eyes, imagining connection through centuries, not just decades.

But while it’s easy to think wistfully of familial ties to the land (Castles, Pyramids, Stone Circles) and imagine one’s ancestors as inhabitants of an ancient site, connection can be much less tangible and still be meaningful.  Last night, I was thinking about this, and I call the feeling attached to this “searching for my tribe”.  I recently bought a membership to a Film Club at a nearby Community Centre, and last night attended the second film.  You know that cheesy line from the credit card commercial: “Membership has its privileges”? Well, the marketing team on that campaign really hit on something, because it’s true.  My privilege last night was to serve as a volunteer and work the door. The film club organizer had done an exemplary job of compiling all that I needed to greet people, sell memberships and accept donations.  The gift, for me, was in seeing connections.  I put names to faces, figured out family connections, recognized the features of a Tribe: gathering in a common space to celebrate.

The film chosen was a perfect compliment to what I was experiencing. A documentary-style epic look at Romani Gypsies called Latcho Drom.  I had never seen, nor heard of, this 1993 masterpiece, and I regret not having experienced it before last night.  Rich cinematography, stunning visuals and compelling music define why I would use the word “experienced”, rather than “watched”. The movie follows the Gypsies over a calendar year as they move from place to place, greeting and celebrating with their compatriots and family members.  The film travels along with a family (of sorts) from India, Egypt, Turkey, Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, France, and ends in Spain.  Through song, dance and exchanges with non-gypsies, the story is told of persecution and being driven from their homeland.  Despite the mostly depressing history, all of the encounters with the gypsies are full of joy and celebration. Every time the camera records a greeting, the connection is underscored– the connection to their Tribe.

All of this formed an interesting juxtaposition– I was sitting in a physical structure that had deep meaning to my family (it had been a school that my children’s grandparents and father had attended), amongst people who I had known in some cases for decades, neighbours and new friends as well.  People, in this tribe of mine, attended the film with children, grandchildren and friends. Anchors are not just tangible–in fact, I wondered if there is an inverse relationship between permanence and resiliency or persistence. The oral traditions are all the gypsies had, and yet their culture remains strongly intact.