Epistle to the Legislature of Arizona
glenn_glazer
I have a message for the lawmakers of Arizona:

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!
 
When my grandparents came to this country in the great wave of immigration during the Industrial Revolution, they were the wetbacks of their time. They were spat upon for not being Christian, ghettoized for not speaking English. They took jobs that no one else wanted, like Father's father, who spent his entire adult life sewing vests together. Yet, they persevered and were thankful that at least there weren't any Cossacks around to burn their villages.

As Father grew up in Brookline, he was repeatedly bullied by the Irish kids and so when WWII was over, he finished his tour with the Navy, and drove west with a buddy to find a land where he could raise a family in peace.

In California, he met the woman of his dreams and they raised a son in a time and place where antisemitism was an occasional newspaper article, not a daily horror. So, if I have to get in a rocket and form a colony on the moon where the kind of racial profiling the Arizona legislature likes is forbidden, I'm perfectly will to go and take Lady Liberty with me.

You see, when I see the faces of the immigrants from the south, I don't see them as "wretched refuse" - illegal aliens that must be kept out at all costs.

I see my grandparents.

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