“. . . 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.”

– “The New Colossus,” Emma Lazarus, 1883

It is far too easy to fully believe in the mythological creation of the United States of America, and subscribe to the idea that the evolution and perpetuation of the country is preordained and protected by a deity.

It was not, and is not.

And though a debate still rages as to the fundamental interpretation of our founding document, the Constitution, and whether we, more than 225 years removed from the date the United States first came into being, should read the document strictly or liberally, Thomas Jefferson makes a strong case for the latter: “. . . [L]aws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths disclosed, and manners and opinions change with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also, and keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy, as civilized society to remain ever under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors.” (Jefferson to H. Tompkinson, July 12, 1816)

Thus, we are a nation of progress. And by no means is progress to be an easy path.  Progress by its very nature determines the current state of affairs, and then dares us to push further, to advance one step more in the direction of a common cause.  If progress were a simple thing, it would occur rapidly, without difficulty, without argument and without obfuscation.  If our history has shown us anything, however, it is that progress must fight, with teeth bared, in a Sisyphean task that is unending and unyielding.

Progress is never complete. It is a story without end, the pages of which await our pens.

When our nation was first founded, we prided ourselves on the idea that all men were created equal, and to be treated equally under the law. Conspicuously, this lofty equality and freedom did not extend to all.  Many of our founding fathers owned slaves, and continued to do so into the early years of our nation.  Slaves toiled, their humanity and freedom torn from their hands in the name of the god of profit.  Women, too, were hardly equal, for they had no voice in their government, and were not allowed to vote to determine their own future.

It is safe to say that the first decades of our youthful nation were certainly free and equal, but only to certain individuals.

Such is the fertile soil in which progress takes root, and begins to grow. Progress looks at the status quo, and does not state ‘it has always been thus, and thus it shall always be,’ but instead presses, and questions ‘it has always been thus; but must it always be so?’  And even further it questions, ‘why must it be thus?’

Must we always condone and accept slavery? Why must there be slaves?

Must we always prevent women and freed slaves from voting and determining not just the course of their country, but their own lives? Why must we do so?

On and on the questions come from Progress, the naïve and annoying child who tugs on the sleeve of society and asks the uncomfortable questions society would rather ignore that lead, inevitably, to an evaluation of self.

Is that fair? Is that just?  Is that equality, and freedom?

After long and bloody decades, we brought an end to slavery in the United States. But was Progress finished with us?  No; again it tugged at our sleeve, and pointed at the inequality and injustice that the freed slaves and their descendants faced every day.  They pointed at government systems and laws that continued to treat them differently, and unequally.  On and on the tugging went, until finally we made answer to Progress, and once more took steps to make the lives of the mistreated more just, and fair, and equal.  And still, Progress reminds us that our work is not yet done.

And though Progress may have been momentarily sated by American women receiving the right to vote, again it tugged our sleeve, pointing at the treatment of women generally, the occupations to which they were steered, the fields of education they were often forced into, the pay they received, the fundamental choices of life which were being made for them. And again, we made answer to Progress, but still Progress reminds us that there is more work to be done.

Progress is the niggling reminder that we cannot rest, not yet.

These are but two simplistic examples of progress in our country, and the continuing struggle. On we push the boulder up the hill of promise, yearning as one to achieve the unachievable dream.

And that is the underlying strength of our country, and the alliance which holds fast and true for the work that always lies before us. The unity of one people, and one nation.  If it were one man or woman howling into the wilderness about injustice, they would move only their throat.  But hand in hand, voice with voice, the united whole can move mountains.

That is why the traditional motto of the United States holds such power. Its origins were with the union of thirteen states and former colonies into one cohesive nation: E Pluribus Unum; “Out of Many, One.”  It is written on the Great Seal of the United States, clutched in the beak of the eagle which holds thirteen arrows in its talon, reminiscent of the adage that together, they will not break.

As time passed, our nation changed. There was social progress, but also geographical progress as we stretched across the continent.  Then there was cultural progress, as the promise of our young nation beckoned to others throughout the world like a fiery brand, held aloft as a beacon in a tumultuous world of uncertainty.

And rather than weakening our nation, this cultural progress ushered in new ideas with new people. Fresh ideas and corresponding values fed Progress further, and kept its cheeks flushed with vigor as it continued to tug on our sleeve with unyielding vitality.  Why should the Irish be treated differently, Progress asked?  Why should the Italians be treated differently?  Why should the Chinese be treated differently?

Though we may have tried to ignore Progress, it would not be ignored. When the question as to why one group or another should be treated differently than the rest continued to be raised, we could only find peace and quiet in giving answer to Progress, and trying our best to once more hold ourselves to that overwhelming vision that we were a nation of equality and freedom.  How could we do differently, in contravention of the ideals to which we held so closely, the words almost like scripture and sacrosanct?  It would taste like a sin upon the tongues of those who knew that Progress would not be denied.

But the struggle of Progress was always met with resistance. The sleeve was often torn from Progress’ grip, words screamed into its face as tears welled in its eyes.  Our nation has had many, many dark moments throughout its history where we slackened our work on that boulder on that dreary hill and it began to roll back again, to crush the advancements we had made decade after decade.

Many such failures feel unforgiveable with the passage of time.

As an example, in 1939 the MS St. Louis, a German ocean liner, was captained by Gustav Schroder.  Schroder took more than 900 Jewish refugees on a quest to find them sanctuary from the Nazis in Germany, and first made an attempt to deposit them in Cuba.  Refused there, he then tried to bring them to the United States.  But there too, he was refused, and the Coast Guard was ordered to prevent Schroder from attempting to ram his ship onto the shore so that the Jewish refugees could escape to salvation.  Anti-Jewish sentiment may well have played a role, and the boulder we held from rolling back began to tip toward the hard workers and servants of Progress.

Around 250 of those refugees were eventually murdered by the Nazis.

Do we look on this moment with pride? Does the United States view these avoidable deaths as justified?  No; more likely we view this moment in our history with shame today.  What are 900 lives, in a country of millions?  What price would we now pay to ensure the survival of the 250 who were murdered simply because they were different?

What would we now give, to hear the tittering laughter of a child living in our country because they know our country is safe for them, and for their family? Would there be too high a cost to watch them laugh and play with children of other backgrounds, other beliefs, other cultures, secure in the arms of a country that prides itself on freedom, and equality?  What would we give now to stop just one brutal murder of a child who could have been saved from the grip of the Nazis?

Then take note of how our nation rounded up and effectively imprisoned more than 120,000 American citizens of Japanese descent during World War II, including children, simply because of their cultural and ethnic background. Families of United States citizens were taken from their homes and placed in camps, in acts that the great majority today would find unfathomable and unjustifiable.  It calls to mind an excerpt from a speech of Cicero, a Roman lawyer who lived at the same time as Julius Caesar:

“In the middle of the forum of Messana a Roman citizen, O judges, was beaten with rods; while in the meantime no groan was heard, no other expression was heard from that wretched man, amid all his pain, and between the sound of the blows, except these words, “I am a Roman citizen.” He judged that by this very reminder of his citizenship he could avert all blows, and remove all torture from his body. He not only did not succeed in averting by his entreaties the violence of the rods, but as he kept on repeating his entreaties and the assertion of his citizenship, a cross—a cross I say–was set up for that suffering man, who had never witnessed such ruin.”

“I am a Roman citizen.”

“I am an American citizen.”

Did those Japanese families cry out the same words as that ancient Roman citizen? Did they seek to avert all blows to their guaranteed freedoms by reminding those who corralled them of their citizenship?

On these two occasions, and for many, many others, our nation tore itself away from Progress, the child of Columbia, who was herself the youthful woman representing the ideals of our very nation before her imagery was replaced by the Statue of Liberty, of whom Emma Lazarus wrote so eloquently in 1883. Ideals must be reached and attained by their very nature, and Progress is the road we travel to get there, and at every turn of our journey stands Columbia, beckoning us and urging us on, urging us forward.

So it is with some regret that we come to today, and see again that Progress and the quest for the ideal is once more threatened, and the personification of our nation in the body of Columbia is gagged and bundled away, lest she lead us ever forward.

Fear can be said to be the enemy of progress. Fear of change, fear of losing power in the balance of equality, fear of that which is different than you.  We as humans are geared to be responsive to fear; do we flee, or fight?  It is an evolved trait that can, at times, be difficult to repress.

Today, we once more grapple with this fear that simmers beneath the surface of our society, awaiting its moment to blaze once more. The fear now applies itself to those of a different faith, to refugees fleeing from death, and to immigrants, to name but a few.  If it sounds familiar, it is because the fear of these three things has driven events in our country for decades upon decades.  It is an old friend upon the field of battle that we always defeat, but not without cost and effort, and never finally, always allowing the fear to retreat, only to come again.

This fear leads us to once more tell refugees from war-torn countries, who have undergone extensive vetting lasting years, who are largely children, women, or the elderly and infirm that they cannot find peace and salvation here. Once more we say to a child that they cannot find home and comfort by our fires, and instead must remain where they are, where death comes on swift wings, eager to pick the flesh off the bones of the unprotected.  Once more we burden ourselves with the memory that we could have acted, and did not act; we could have saved, and instead damned.

This fear leads some in our nation to hate and attack those of a different faith, simply because they are different. Islam, one of three religions sprouting from the same origin in the Middle East, is not to be feared, and yet it is because evil in the hearts of mankind take advantage of a faith to further their own ends, a familiar refrain throughout history.  Even Christianity, for all the sanctimony professed by some of its followers, continues on a now somewhat peaceful path that still has bloodshed caking the dirt in their past.

This fear leads some in our nation to believe that immigrants and their culture, their language, their beliefs, and all the many other facets that combine to make them who they are, are a threat to the fundamental premise of our country. These American citizens fear that they steal jobs, which they do not; that they seek to impose their ideas on us, which they do not; that they seek to bend the will of the country to suit their own ends, which they do not.

And fear, to its credit, is like a hungry brushfire, and spreads quickly, damaging whatever it touches.

Our President has taken hold of this fear and uses it as a weapon, a flame-wreathed sword which he points at those he deems his enemies or the ‘other,’ encouraging those of like mindsets to follow him on a crusade that, far from achieving his goals, will only gut the soul of our nation with one scorching stroke. He gives aid to our enemies by showing the world that we are not the country of freedom that we profess to be, but instead one that shall treat you antagonistically because you are different.  He would no longer have us be a banner around which the tired and poor, the exiles and subjugated, can rally, but instead he would have us wave a flag of intolerance, emblazoned with the cringe-inducing hateful phrase “America First.”

He is taking, measure by measure, the pieces of what constitute our great nation and flipping them on their head. By his words and deeds, he seeks to ensure that we no longer lead the world in tolerance and appreciation of every life and every creed, but instead lead the world by the opposite.

And so, here we are. Our shoulders, aching and bruised, are pressed against the boulder of progress which we shove toward our unreachable goal.  Our chests heave, and sweat stings our eyes.  Around us gather gremlins and despicable creatures in the dark, whispering into our ears that we need only step away.  We need only step away from a long-lived vision that we are a nation of immigrants, a melting pot of all peoples, a tolerant and caring nation upon which the dreamers and good-hearted citizens of the world can rely.  Is the burden not too great?, they suggest as their numbers grow around us, mocking those who stand, knees shaking with the effort.  Would it not be easier to let go?, they question, perched near our ears.

There can be no doubt that now, barely more than a week into this new presidency, so many values upon which we have built our nation’s progress are at risk. Tolerance is assaulted, pressed up against a wall by those who believe they can mercilessly attack and insult anything or anyone they find beneath them.  Equality is hounded down alleyways, chased by a mob who would see a woman’s body controlled by the state, or someone treated differently and as lesser simply because they believe in a different faith, or treated like less than human because of who they love.  Freedom is accosted while seated in a diner, as dissenters are told to silence themselves in favor of the new president, and free-thinkers and dreamers see themselves reduced to being insulted for being ‘special.’  Comfort and Aid are beaten in the streets, as those who would open their doors to those fleeing persecution and certain death are attacked for their values, and those who would feed and shelter homeless and heartbroken citizens are mocked and ridiculed for their weakness.

We see it all around us as our Sisyphean task remains incomplete. The creatures in the dark laugh now, for they sense doubt.  They sense a shift in resolve, as the boulder once more threatens to roll back down the path we have struggled so valiantly to ascend.

Will this be a moment to which our future generations shall point and declare that we failed, and our failure was unforgiveable, the very same way we point back at our own history and the dark moments we have left trampled in our wake? Or will this be a moment where we press onward, paying no heed to the forces that would see us fall, and instead trample their words into the muck where they belong, left behind as a lesson to those who will look backward?

The future of our country is not preordained. It shall not live forever if we do not care for it.  The pen sits in our hand, waiting for us to write further in the story of our nation.  Progress tugs on our sleeve, again and again, pointing with its little finger at the injustice, the inequality, the intolerable acts being committed by those who would embrace Fear and let go of Progress.

I am an American citizen.

We are American citizens.

And we are citizens of this world.

We have a legendary task before us, passed on to us by generations before, and which we must preserve and protect for the generations that shall come after.  Do we dare cede this responsibility, and allow this President and those cackling voices bring us to ruin?

Do we dare let go?

And so, in closing, allow me to share this excerpt from a song written by Thomas Paine, entitled ‘Columbia’:

“Ye sons of Columbia, then join hand in hand,
Divided we fall, but united we stand;
‘Tis ours to determine, ’tis ours to decree,
That in peace we will live independent and free . . .”