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What has happened to our country?
We all have a vague understanding of the migration of our forbearers to this country. Those of us with roots in the Northern European countries sometimes can relate funny or terrifying stories about the entry into the country through Ellis Island or the desperation and the heart ache that led Great-Great-Grandpa to abandon his life and set out for America. In Ireland, half of my heritage, departing young men were sent off with what amounted to a funeral because they would never be seen again. "Danny Boy" is the result of these departures.
My father's Grandmother, was sent to the public school and was determined to learn English to become a real American. Her description. She was Swedish. She learned the language and was surprised to learn, also, that the new language taught in the German neighborhood of Minneapolis to which they had moved was German.
These are the kinds of stories that our immigrants, and they are our immigrants, should be able to tell. The only stories we hear now are of the immigrants who are lawless and fugitive and "living in the shadows". We can hope they also tell stories of warm and loving families, but forcing them to be in hiding is a damage to us all.
Why not, in our new era of glitzy and speed of light information processing, take a lesson from Ellis island. Why not create a border that funnels those that yearn to breath free to Ellis Island style processing centers and immunize them, document them and admit them? The immigrants who boarded boats to find freedom and opportunity were welcomed by the country even though, in turn, they were despised by those immigrants who were already here.
My immediate family was the product of second and third generation immigrants and the country didn't seem to suffer from their entry. Of course, the jury is still out on that one...
We've got plenty of room here. We know they are coming anyway. Why not do something that makes sense?
"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!"
We all have a vague understanding of the migration of our forbearers to this country. Those of us with roots in the Northern European countries sometimes can relate funny or terrifying stories about the entry into the country through Ellis Island or the desperation and the heart ache that led Great-Great-Grandpa to abandon his life and set out for America. In Ireland, half of my heritage, departing young men were sent off with what amounted to a funeral because they would never be seen again. "Danny Boy" is the result of these departures.
My father's Grandmother, was sent to the public school and was determined to learn English to become a real American. Her description. She was Swedish. She learned the language and was surprised to learn, also, that the new language taught in the German neighborhood of Minneapolis to which they had moved was German.
These are the kinds of stories that our immigrants, and they are our immigrants, should be able to tell. The only stories we hear now are of the immigrants who are lawless and fugitive and "living in the shadows". We can hope they also tell stories of warm and loving families, but forcing them to be in hiding is a damage to us all.
Why not, in our new era of glitzy and speed of light information processing, take a lesson from Ellis island. Why not create a border that funnels those that yearn to breath free to Ellis Island style processing centers and immunize them, document them and admit them? The immigrants who boarded boats to find freedom and opportunity were welcomed by the country even though, in turn, they were despised by those immigrants who were already here.
My immediate family was the product of second and third generation immigrants and the country didn't seem to suffer from their entry. Of course, the jury is still out on that one...
We've got plenty of room here. We know they are coming anyway. Why not do something that makes sense?
"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!"
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