Dateline: New York Harbor, The Statue of Liberty

The Statue of Liberty as seen from the ferry. Photo courtesy of Deb & Doug Haefner.

Dateline: Statue of Liberty, New York Harbor. We’re on a ferry that will stop at the Statue of Liberty and then drop us off at Ellis Island. We’re on the top deck. The whole ferry is crowded, but we’ve managed to get seats on a bench in the open air. I watch as we make a wide approach to the statue and wonder what it was like for my ancestors to see America for the first time.

Behind me a man cries out, “Thee Stay-too uf Lee-bur-tee!” Over and over he says the words, making quite a ruckus over the sound of many languages being spoken all around us. “Thee Stay-too uf Lee-bur-tee!” “Thee Stay-too uf Lee-bur-tee!”

I don’t turn around to look at him, yet. I’m not sure what I’d see. Security at the Statue of Liberty remains very high because of terror threats. Is the guy behind me happy with or angry at America?

Then he climbs up to stand on the bench. His bright blue shoes all but touch my backside. “Thee Stay-too uf Lee-bur-tee! What a be-a-u-tee-foll sight!” The emotion in his voice is as deep as the harbor.

I look around to find a young dark-haired man attached to the blue shoes. A young woman and a couple children crowd near him. His face shines, his arms are thrown wide. He clearly is in love with all the statue represents.

A minute later, the ferry docks at Liberty Island. I stand up and smile at the man. “Where are you from?” I ask.

“Albania.”

What I know about Albania can be written in a few words: Centuries of war, domination by dictators, under Communism for decades.

I think of the millions of people who have endured tyranny since the Statue of Liberty was unveiled in 1886. Imagine them huddled in their dark abodes dreaming of life in the land of the freedom, the statue being their symbol of hope.

“The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus is inscribed on the statue. Here are the words:

 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!”

Again, I wonder what my ancestors were thinking when the American coastline came into view as they journeyed to a new life. Did their hopes and dreams dare to spill out? Did they shout aloud? Did they stand on a bench and open their arms to their new country?

Compared to the man from Albania, my own patriotism is so…casually assumed. Perhaps you must live with tyranny to appreciate the freedom we so take for granted.

In coming weeks I hope to write more about the cost of our American freedom, but for this week, may the man from Albania stand as a reminder not to take our freedom for granted, but to guard it carefully.