Does the poem “The New Colossus” ring a bell? It’s more commonly known as the poem on the Statue of Liberty. Here is a snippet:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.”
It’s a lovely poem. But I’m not really crazy about it. Especially the part about “huddled masses” and “wretched refuse”. I realize that there were boatloads of poor, illiterate immigrants arriving daily in New York Harbor. But “wretched refuse”? That sounds rather harsh. Emma Lazarus makes it sound like America was some sort of human garbage dump. Why didn’t she just write, “Send us your felons and misfits, the dregs of society”?
Emma had it completely wrong. Imagine this: you live in a country where things are not going well. You are poor, probably almost destitute. But you look at your children or look in the mirror and want something more. You know that there must be a better place, a better way. You love your home country, but the promise of a greater life beckons. No matter how foreign and strange it sounds, you decide to go to America. So you save up whatever money you can, doing any sort of labor. You try not to think about the family that you most likely will never see again. Say goodbye to friends, relatives and the place you and your ancestors have probably always lived. You say goodbye to your entire history. Leaving is not for the faint of heart.
When your ship finally arrives in New York after a long, difficult journey, do you huddle on the deck, terrified and overwhelmed? No, you leap to the side of the boat, your heart brimming with thanks and anticipation. What will your new life be like? What will your future bring?
America is a land of immigrants. At some point every single family came from some place else. Do you know which ones came here? The brave ones who were not afraid to go someplace unknown. The courageous ones who were willing to work hard to pay the terrifying price of immigration. The selfless ones who did whatever it took to gain a more abundant life for their children. These were not masses huddling, waiting for something good to happen to them; these were the optimists who faced their worries and took action.
I think of the immigrants in my family. The earliest came across on the Mayflower. I can’t fathom for one second what faith and fortitude these people must have posessed to travel to a land that was not much more than a rumor. Only the Spirit of God and great hopes for their children’s lives could have strengthened them during the brutal years of the early English colonies.
Then there is my most recent family immigrant: my grandmother Hildegard who arrived in America shortly before WWII. She found Hitler and the Nazis appaling, and worked after high school dismissal each day to earn enough money to emigrate. She knew only one person in our whole entire country: the man who baptized her into the LDS church. Despite having never left Austria previously, she resolutely followed her heart and made a new life here in the U.S. I think of all the bigotry and predjudice she must have faced as an Austrian during the war. But she was strong and unwavering, and I am forever grateful for her example and sacrifice.
On this Independence Day, I think of the Statue of Liberty, brazenly welcoming people, still, to this country. Immigrants, past and future, may certainly be tired and poor. But our country has the blessing of being infused with the blood of the courageous, the hopeful, and the undaunted.
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Wonderful post, Jennie.
I had ancestors on the Mayflower too–so I guess we go way back! As a child of an immigrant, I really identified with your sentiments.
I am a child of immigrants, and I have enormously strong feelings about my parents and the tremendous sacrifices they made to get here and to live the American dream.
This was lovely, thanks!
Totally agreed, Jennie. I can’t even imagine the leap of faith it must have been then, and still is now, to come into the unknown and start a new life. Happy 4th!
as usualy, stupendous!! i’ve always said that i was never made of pioneer and/or pilgrim stock….i was meant to come later for a reason. god bless those women who went before!
This was a beautiful post. I wish you had written the poem on the Statue of Liberty as you would have captured the true American spirit. I am blessed by the courageous ancestors who brought me to this special country. The question is now whether or not I will find the courage I need to fight for the liberties that are at risk now and to stand up for the truths that enticed my great great grandfather to leave Sweden and his family behind to follow the Spirit and the many other ancestors who did the same. Thanks for this great Independence Day post.
What a beautiful post! I literally have tears in my eyes. Because I think of those wonderful people who came before and what they must have thought their future would be, most of them not speaking English, many of them with little education, all of them strangers in a new land. I know I get my Wanderlust from them. And I’m grateful for it. I feel that I am where I was meant to be, in this wonderful country with the Gospel and so many freedoms. What a great tribute to them.
Yes, the poem is so inaccurate–especially as sick immigrants were turned away and had to return to their homes.
I just moved to New York. My family and I went to see the Statue of Liberty on the Staten Island Ferry. I was surprised by how many people were totally oblivious to perhaps one of the most powerful symbols of our country. I don’t know if any of my ancestors actually ever were greeted by the Statue of Liberty, but I love what it symoblizes. I love the spirit of the immigrants.
Something that also moved me is that while living in Sweden I had so many people tell me about family members that immigrated to the U.S. They still remember those people–even when they left over a hundred years ago. So the impact works both ways.