Indivisible

Independence Day Ruminations of an Old Man 

In childhood I was stirred by the parade, seeing the proud faces of old soldiers, hearing the brass and drums of marching bands, and seeing so many flags wave.
There was awe in sitting in the grass with the rest of my hometown watching the impressive pyrotechnic “battle in the woods,” and I was genuinely stirred in seeing the entirety of the “union’ in all lighting a match ora candle together  long before it caught on with phones at concerts.  All this among hamburgers,  Jello salad and a hot summers day. Yes, patriotism became ingrained as pride integral to my being.

Yesterday , an old man, I sat before my television watching the spectacles from New York and Boston, while I heard outside bomb bursts  from the local display at Lions Park down my road.  I am still impressed by the orchestration of popular patriotic songs.  I can still marvel at the “Oooh-Ahhh: aerial displays, now orchestrated to music.  My heart can almost burst right along with the cannon at the end of Overture of1812.  I still feel so much a part of this Union.

But this year, as the long admired Rita Moreno read from the Lazarus poem, “The New Colossus,”  as inscribed upon a plaque on the Statue of Liberty, a gift to us from France, the cameras televised pans of the assembled crowds, and it was in this moment all came flooding upon me. Here, along the Charles River, were faces of families, of couples, of young adults, of children and of new babies.  There were diverse ethnicities .  Indians, Slavs, Blacks, Asians.  There were gay couples holding one another, families huddled with bundled babies, adolescent girls in silly costumes, teens mugging for the camera, lovers, seniors.  Such diversity.  Together, listening to these words-

“The New Colossus

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!"

Emma Lazarus
November 2, 1883

All while hearing and seeing this,  I was suddenly saddened by the intrusions
of the past year.  A Wall separating us from our long ally Mexico.  Travel embargos for Middle East citizens. Trade penalties with long time allies.  Denial of refuge for those seeking asylum.  Separation of children from parents.  These and SO MANY other things.

President Trump : you are shredding the fabric of our country,  gradually stealing away our “union.”   No one gave you or voted you this power.  It cannot be given away or taken, because “Union” resides in the whole of us , all these immigrants who forged this grand land intent on “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness”  It is not within your powers to drain us, to dismantle our “whole”  You must be throttled. Stopped.

You are shamed as a thief and rapist of our country, our union.  You are racist and fail to represent the common good, your charged duty. I will stand to do what I can to confront you, to resist you and to call you out for the egotistical scoundrel you are.

Our country must remain Indivisible.

Indivisible, Mr Trump, Indivisible. These are dire times

-Jerry Wendt 2018