The New Colossus

"The New Colossus" sonnet is making the rounds. If the title doesn't mean anything to you, the last few lines will, it is the poem engraved on The Statue of Liberty's pedestal. Since time before writing and possibly memory, human beings migrated to this continent. Anthropology and archeology indicate that the precursor humans originated in the Middle East and migrated out. We all trace back genetically to the same spot, but our time away from one another prompted evolutionary changes to occur.

Historically we all came from somewhere else and when life was too difficult there, several of our ancestors at various points in time came to this country or were brought by force. We are a nation of immigrants. We are one of the most innovative countries in the world, we are envied by some for our friendliness and our freedoms. I am proud that we stood up for the little guy, that we helped those in need. I am gravely disappointed that we have a President and politicians and every day citizens who are refusing to be what America stands for, who are actively trying to make us a place that is only welcome to people who look, act, and think like them.

This is not why we were founded, why men died for our freedom. We are not just a country of white Christians. Please read "The New Colossus" and realize that Lady Liberty was the first thing that someone in your family saw as they came across the Atlantic Ocean and know that your family member probably cheered and wept tears of relief to be free to pursue life, liberty, and happiness. Try to remember that that is all any of us wants. There are always going to be threats in the world, there are already fanatical threats here, but closing our country off from the world will not reduce our threats or our danger, fear will not save us, hope and love will. Lift your lamp.

"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!"

~Emma Lazarus, 1883