Emma Lazarus’s verses, filled with hope and mercy, are engraved at the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York. The poet wrote when the “land of the free” was the dream of many enslaved European peasants.
Not coincidentally, the monument represents a woman pleading for peace and welcome. She is desperately different from the image of grandeur of past empires and horse-riding, sword-drawing emperors. Even the words evoke the gender of the new nation: Not a bronze giant, but a powerful, openhearted mother.
The woman who saluted everyone with hope showed the enthusiasm of a youth:
“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!” (by Emma Lazarus)
Today, the Statue of Liberty, which once welcomed those who longed for freedom, has lowered her extinguished torch and weeps with the sadness of a disappointed aged woman:
Hold your weapons, your armies and propaganda, your warmongers scattered across the globe, the bombs, and the military.
Abandon the false farce of democracy, founded on money and warfare, plunder and strife.
Oh, youth, kindle a fresh flame, reclaim the liberty stolen by America. Shut tight the golden door to saber-rattling, and rekindle your timeless, noble beacons — my torch no longer flickers, extinguished by my tears that never cease.
