We Are A Nation Of Immigrants

The most recent vulgar comments by that embarrassment in the Oval Office notwithstanding...

One of the most cherished symbols of our nation is the Statue of Liberty.  Full name: ”Liberty  Enlightening the World”.  She sits in New York Harbor, welcoming travelers to our shores.  She is gift from the people of France in recognition of our special bond with them.  The brilliant poem by Emma Lazarus is in our collective memory:  “Give me your tired, your hungry, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free ...”

When I was a child, whenever we drove over the Verrazano Bridge, I’d look out the window, trying to spot the statue below.

When I worked in lower Manhattan, I’d often walk down to Battery Park to view Lady Liberty.  Back in the 80’s, when the statue was undergoing refurbishment in anticipation of her centennial, we jokingly referred to her as “The Scaffold of Liberty”.

When Drew and I were first married we lived in Brooklyn, and if you stood in the middle of our street, you could see Lady Liberty in the distance.  

When I worked in Jersey City, I was fortunate to have a cubicle by the window, and I could look up from my work and see her in the harbor.

I’ve visited the statue several times, first with my parents, and later with friends.   My friends and I climbed all the way up to the crown once, the view of Manhattan is spectacular.

Awhile back, Drew and I took a dinner cruise around Manhattan.  The highlight of the evening was when the boat stopped near Liberty Island, and I was able to take this photo.

This is who we are, not what the vulgar comments of the POTUS suggest.  Perhaps he has forgotten his mother was an immigrant.  Perhaps he just doesn’t care.

So let us remind him, in Lazarus’ soaring words:

The New Colossus

BY Emma Lazarus 

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”