Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "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-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
"What?!?!"
"Oh, screw that. Put up a wall, and send us only your very best, the ones who can really help turn a buck for us. You keep the wretched refuse on your teeming shore, we'll skim the cream off the top."
America... I don't know you anymore....
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Bye-Bye Miss American Pie
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2 comments:
I must admit I'm not sure I know it either.
Kind of saps confidence in our assimilation prospects, don't it?
"Oh, screw that. Put up a wall, and send us only your very best, the ones who can really help turn a buck for us. You keep the wretched refuse on your teeming shore, we'll skim the cream off the top."
Somehow the idea that immigration should benefit the people who are already here has been disappeared.
FTR, these [legal] immigrants were indeed the very best, the cream. The argument doesn't really hold together here.
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