A few days ago, my family and I watched a football game being played in New Jersey. Several times, the camera would swing to a view of the New York City skyline, including a view of the Statue of Liberty.
I'm an American citizen (my ancestors came here from Austria and Germany in the 18th century), but I'm ashamed to call myself an American at this point in time. I'm appalled, ashamed, actually heartbroken by the Trump administration's policies on immigration.
These words from the last paragraph of the poem on the Statue of Liberty ring a bit hollow these days:
"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-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
EDITH W. TAYLOR
More Articles to Read