It’s
true that you can enter the United States almost anywhere now in the advent of
air travel, but the borders and the coasts are still the primary gateways into
the land of liberty. I already wrote about the iconic western gate in San Francisco,
the Golden Gate Bridge, but it would be entirely remiss of me to not be filled
with gratitude for that gracious gift from the French in 1896, the Statue of
Liberty herself. Lady Liberty has welcomed immigrants to the country for over
130 years now and she has been a constant beacon of hope for those of us
already here. Emma Lazarus wrote a poem of which the last few lines are often
quoted and I quote here:
Give me your tired,
your poor
Your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of
your teeming shores.
Send these, the
homeless tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside
the golden door.
I only went to visit her once, but I’ve seen her
standing proudly there every time I’ve been to New York since that crazy summer
day in 1986 when I was herded onto a tour ferry along with thousands of others
to celebrate her 100th year of welcoming. She’s beautiful not just
in her presence but in all her symbolism, this angel of mercy waiting for the
world. Often we try to shut her down, equating the ideals with a physical space
but you can never squelch ideas. And that ideal lives on, breathing well before
a beautiful statue graced the entrance to New York Harbor and the land of the
free. And it is for that ideal which I strive to uphold as much as that
colossus of copper which immigrated from France that I am grateful for.
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