The Price of Freedom

That sad September in Two Thousand One
when from our eyes a veil of sleep was torn,
we in this land of truth and freedom born
were drawn to battle; now, it seems they’ve won.

For that day gave free reign the iron fist
that slumbered in the dark rooms of this land;
and in protection’s name, this evil planned
to blur the code by which this place exists.

We cannot be a true and equal shore
at which the huddled masses seek succor
if upon liberty we close the door;

If we discriminate because of faith,
or ask of others what we will not do,
we are them; America is no more.

19 DEC 2002

As a preface, I would like to say that my family has fought in every conflict this country has ever engaged in, from the French-and-Indian War to the Operation Desert Storm. We are among the Daughters of the American Revolution, an ancestor of mine was married to General McClellan (Civil War), a cousin was a Brigadier General in charge of Marine forces in Korea. The Revolutionary War, War of 1812, Civil War, Spanish-American War, World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam … I am the descendant of a long line of pro-Americans. Both sides of my family came to this country seeking opportunity, equality and freedom. Some to escape the feudal hierarchy (from Germany in 1741), some to find relief from starvation (from Ireland in 1886), some for religious freedom (from Switzerland in 1891). This is MY country, in other words. And some of the things that we are doing, as a nation, right now, piss me off.

Like THIS (thanks to for the link): Mass Arrests of Muslims in LA

Can you say “Japanese Internment Camps”? Can you say “Indian Reservations”? Can you say “McCarthyism”? I thought you could. FUCK our perceived “manifest destiny”. We are a STUPID people, sometimes not worthy of our concept.

“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!”
— from The New Colossus (Emma Lazarus [1849-1887])

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