First and foremost let me say I do not write about politics. I have my views, you have yours and respecting that fact is what our country was built on, be it political or religious points of view or preferences.
But I feel compelled to write, to object, to scream and then cry when I hear of the wrangling these past few days over DACA, DREAMers and immigration rules in general. To use the lives of these immigrants as playing cards and poker chips, raising the stakes here, changing the game there…. throwing in a bargaining chip over here and ultimately, putting on hold the very lives that are held in the palm of their hands… for this I cannot abide.
I cannot continue to feel proud of this country that was built on the determined backs of immigrants for over 200 years, but has suddenly decided one must now be “worthy” to call this home. Do we forget so easily there is only One Nation that cannot be called of immigrant descent here? No matter when our ancestors arrived, nearly
every single American citizen
has descended from someone who made the decision that our great country, America, " land of the free and the home of the brave” was the place they chose to raise their family. The exception of course were those brought here in the chains of slavery.
But now, holding these lives as if a hand of cards in a cheap poker game, our politicians play with the lives of these people with every passing day. I hear little of kindness, of compassion, and certainly no empathy to these people who are every bit as worthy to be here as our ancestors, parents, or you and I.
I feel ill, it sickens me to think of what our country has come to stand for. To wall people out instead of opening our arms, to assume such elitism that there are some just not good enough to live here among us. To no longer stand behind the very words our Lady of Liberty, who brought hopes and dreams for a better life to hundreds of thousands of immigrants, is an injustice no American citizen should take a sense of pride in. At least, this one cannot.
Since when are lives negotiable?
“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!” - Emma Lazarus