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!"
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!"
"The New Colossus", by Emma Lazarus.
--
This was our first time in New York, and we really loved it. And, at the same time, it's part of our journey I've been going through for reclaiming and honor who I am, where I come from, and what I want to teach my kids as an immigrant.
As you know, things are not going great back home, and for the last few years I've tried to keep distance from it because of the pain and sadness it causes me to think that I don't have a place there anymore. Our identity as Venezuelans became somewhat entangled with a political project that has brought so much horror and misery. I've kept that at bay, because every time I get asked where I come from, the follow up questions are "Are things really bad there?", "Do you still have family there?" or "How long have you been abroad without seeing your family?".
These are questions that add a lot of visibility and awareness, but they get harder and harder to answer as I get old. Time is unforgiving.
We started to make headlines as undesirable, drug-trafficking, crime-ridden, disease-carrying people crossing the border to wreak havoc and erase the identity of this country. I wonder: how we can do that when a lot of us desperately needed to bottle up those feelings and identity so we can go unnoticed wherever we go? Just like millions of immigrants in this country, we're here because this was a better choice, or maybe the only one we had. A choice that helped us rebuild, provide, nurture and take care of ourselves. A choice that, slowly, is allowing us to reckon those feelings and embrace in a safe way. A choice where, despite what the news says, everyone may have a place that feels humane, a haven if you will.
Yes, it is far from perfect. But it's what we have for now, and we have to make the best of it while we can, and do what we cannot afford elsewhere (Especially back home): to live.
We are the people too. And we're not going anywhere. Literally, we can't. So we're invested in making it happen and help as much as we can to make this a better place. For us, for everyone, here and back home. It's the least we can do.
