I am the granddaughter of Jewish immigrants on my father’s side, and the great-granddaughter of Jewish immigrants on my mother’s. I am sickened by President Trump’s new immigration and refugee ban.
My grandparents and great-grandparents were not refugees, strictly speaking, but nevertheless came to the U.S. from countries where Jews had long been marginalized and oppressed—Lithuania and Russia, respectively. They sought a better life and found it—unlike the many Jews who were turned away as they tried to seek refuge here shortly before and during World War II, including Anne Frank’s family. President Trump’s ban, which applies to Muslim-majority countries and treads close to banning Muslims themselves, has harsh echoes in the U.S. government’s actions in the 1940s. For him to announce it on International Holocaust Remembrance Day is the height of insult and insensitivity. (The Smithsonian article, “The U.S. Government Turned Away Thousands of Jewish Refugees, Fearing That They Were Nazi Spies” should be on everyone’s reading list this week.) My family members were among the lucky ones who came before the war—but as part of a people for whom immigration and refugee protections saved lives, I must stand firmly with anyone else coming here for safety or simply to find a better life.
I also once held a green card in the U.K., where I studied for two years, going back and forth to the U.S. to visit my parents during vacation times. I can only imagine the dismay and fear of the many students from abroad who were studying in the U.S., went home over winter break, and are now stuck there, unable to continue their educations as planned.
Aside from Native Americans, of course, a vast number of U.S. citizens are immigrants or descended from them. (I’ve heard some African American people say they don’t consider their ancestors immigrants if they were brought here against their will, so I’ll refrain from saying “all” here.) My heritage and experience color my reaction to the immigration ban—but no matter our backgrounds, we should all be outraged at this affront to our core democratic values.
Last year, my family and I visited Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. One facet of the Statue that is often hidden in photographs, but obvious up close, is that she is striding forward, right foot raised behind her. To me, this implies that the freedom she represents is not static or passive, but requires us to take action, stepping up to help those seeking the protection of these shores.
The National Park Service, which runs the site, reminds us of some important further symbolism, however:
A broken shackle and chain lie at the Statue’s right foot. The chain disappears beneath the draperies, only to reappear in front of her left foot, its end link broken. However, although the broken shackle is a powerful image, the meaning behind it was not yet a reality for African Americans in 1886.
Our liberty today is still not yet perfect, especially for people of color, and we must remember that even as we evoke the positive symbolism of the Statue. Like the Statue, we must keep making the effort to move forward so that all may benefit from the light of liberty. Trump’s actions, in contrast, are a step backward, a willful ignorance of the founding promise of our country.
Let us not forget, too, that in the poem by Emma Lazarus inscribed at the Statue’s base, she names the Statue “Mother of Exiles.”
A mother weeps for her children tonight.
