All of us are immigrants
Every daughter, every son
Everyone is everyone
All of us are immigrants -- everyone
Livin' in a city of immigrants
River flows out and the sea rolls in
Washin' away nearly all of my sins
Livin' in a city of immigrants
~ Steve Earle
When I was little, I was well aware of my ancestry. I was a mutt, but I knew that my people came here from Italy, England, Ireland, and Germany. And I was innately proud of all of them. I think I took particular joy in my Irish heritage, which I cannot really explain, since I was closest to my maternal grandmother, who claimed Italian roots. And yes, she was known for her spaghetti sauce and her "Easter pie." In my adult life, I have traveled to Italy, Germany, and Ireland. England is on my bucket list. These countries are crucial to my understanding of who I am and how I came to be an American.
In grade school, we were fortunate to have a vibrant education in music. Our principal, Mrs. Little, was also our chorus teacher. The choices she made in songs for us to sing, mostly from the Fred Waring Songbook, have stayed with us all these years. For the sake of this post, two of those songs stand out. One was the song crafted from the Emma Lazarus poem, "The New Colossus" ("Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor.") This is the poem engraved on the Statue of Liberty. I can still recite/sing that poem/song to this day, and I still shake my head, wondering why that beautiful philosophy of taking in immigrants has been upended. The other song was the Woody Guthrie classic, "This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land." And again, I shake my head, certain that Woody Guthrie is turning over in his grave. All of this makes me so sad.
Having grown up in a predominantly white area, there was little diversity for me to experience. College didn't offer much more. It is only now, while in my winter home in Florida, that I am surrounded by different ethnicities. My condominium complex (small, and not one of those 55+ places) is so diverse, I feel like I am the odd one. But no, not really. I am quite comfortable here, as I'm sure everyone else is. For me, it's just different. And I am embracing that difference. My children, even at their relatively young ages, have experienced more diversity in the places that they have chosen to live than I ever had. And they don't bat an eye at any of it. It is their normal. As it should be.
So who are all these xenophobes who want to build walls and deport "aliens" and prevent refugees from seeking asylum here? As commentator Chris Hayes tweeted, "Of all the groups to scapegoat and vilify, scapegoating and vilifying refugees fleeing the horror of war is about as low as it gets." If that picture of the Syrian toddler washed up on a beach in Turkey in September of 2015 didn't get through to you, nothing will.
City of black, city of white
City of light, city of innocents
City of sweat, city of tears
City of prayers, city of immigrants
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