Last July 4, I sat on my back porch and read, perhaps for the first time as an adult, the Declaration of Independence. I was struck not only by the sheer chutzpah of the 56 men who signed the document that established the United States of America as an independent nation.
What bowled me over wasn’t just their great vision for the inchoate nation. And it wasn’t even that they had the wisdom and humility to declare themselves beneath the “Laws of Nature and Nature’s God.”
I was also moved by the simple story of immigrants seeking freedom on new shores, of searching for a better life and the chance to create something good and right.
As we approach Thanksgiving, I am again struck by the many stories that make up the fabric of our immigrant nation, of the people who have struggled to remake themselves on this land.
On Monday morning, Nov. 15, a group of 41 Cuban entertainers, cast members of the show “Havana Night Club,” walked into a federal courthouse in Las Vegas and requested asylum.
Most of them left their families in Cuba. Many left spouses and children there. Their most optimistic estimate of when they’ll see their family again is five or six years, when they gain American citizenship and the right to travel to Cuba, according to Jose David, a troupe member.
But Cuba’s restrictions on the artists and the strong pull of America were powerful forces, according to Nicole “N.D.” Durr, show creator, producer and director. She was quoted in the Nov. 15 issue of the Las Vegas Sun, saying:
“In Cuba, there is no freedom. They can’t express their art. They are not allowed to go somewhere and dance and perform and express their art and their culture.
“But in this country, there is freedom. They can express themselves. They can talk. That’s what I think they like most. There are no limitations.”
Indeed what makes America rich and strong is not the omnipresence of wind-whipped red, white and blue flags, but the chance to work hard, take responsibility and forge a new life.
That’s the story of the 3,600 Hmong refugees who are coming to Wisconsin in this recent wave of resettlement, according to a Nov. 14 story in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
15,000 Hmong refugees, more than half of whom are under 18, have been living in a Thai refugee camp. Last year, the United States agreed to accept them on its shores.
It’s a difficult and painful road, certainly, but, according to Pang Yang, they see a future. Looking at their children, they see people who may be educated and have professions.
Last month, I had the great privilege to witness an oath of allegiance ceremony for 72 new American citizens, my Israeli husband among them.
The long line of immigrants represented nations from around the globe. As we waited in line, we met a woman from India, whose entire family was getting naturalized together.
And we met a Brazilian woman, who, by becoming American, forfeited her Brazilian citizenship and the right to travel home to see her family. So motivated was she by this country and the presidential election that she had already worked to help elect “her” presidential candidate.
In the hallway of the federal courthouse, where we waited in line for about an hour, the League of Women Voters set up a booth to register voters. This group of immigrants, I thought, many of whom have probably been paying taxes here for years, received their voice that day.
And two weeks later they could exercise that voice significantly for the first time.
We planned Nov. 2 carefully in our house. We wanted to vote together and we wanted our children to be part of the process, so we arrived at our polling station early.
I hoped that my children would feel the remarkable power of the day and I was not disappointed. As we sat eating bagels afterward, my seven-year-old turned to me and said, “Today feels really different than other days.”
She was right. Voting day is our best try at true democracy and equality. As I drove to work that morning, I heard on Milwaukee Public Radio the brilliant poem, “The Poor Voter on Election Day,” by 19th century poet John Greenleaf Whittier.
“To-day, of all the weary year … The rich is level with the poor,/ The weak is strong to-day; … I set a plain man’s common sense/ Against the pedant’s pride./ The wide world has not wealth to buy/ The power in my right hand!”
Everyone’s journey is different. Some of us are the children or grandchildren of Jews who rode steerage on the drudging boat trips from Europe. Some escaped tyranny or poverty or prejudice. Some came seeking riches. And some arrived in darkness as slaves and have since been freed.
But all of us, new immigrants and old, are still traveling on our personal journeys to true liberation —from injustice, from intolerance and hate, from fear, from insecurity. As a people and as persons.
As we celebrate Thanksgiving with families and friends this year, may we take a moment to truly give thanks for diversity among us and the many stories of rebirth and possibility that have come to light on the shores of America.
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