Government-archives image of newcomers to Ellis Island
Sometimes life comes full circle. Saturday night I found myself sitting in a tuxedo, drinking a glass of red wine, and looking out at the New York skyline from the Great Room on Ellis Island. Yes, that Ellis Island. The evening’s event was a fund raiser for an organization established in 1986 known as the National Ethnic Coalition (NECO). Each year the group honors about 100 people, paying tribute to the many groups that compose the American population. The organization raises money and tries to do good, building as they put it, “strong leaders for the future,” they support the educational programs at the Ellis Island Immigration Museum, ethnic and cultural events around the country, health and education services for children and emergency relief efforts worldwide.
They celebrate the immigrant experience and they actually do it on Ellis Island, which as you know was the gateway through which more than 12 million people passed from the Old Country to our shores. There is something strange about holding a black tie event on the spot where so many people, many I suspect fearful and modestly arrayed, once stood anticipating processing by U.S. officials who had the power to allow them into the United States or, for a variety of reasons, send them back home. And 80 years ago — in June of 1928, my mother was one of those immigrants. She was a young woman, with a visa in hand, coming from Palestine with papers that said, “Good for one way voyage only. Not valid for return.” How frightening it must have been to land on Ellis Island knowing that if she was not admitted she had no place to go. And now, four score years later, her son was being honored for his public service to this country — and instead of a visa in hand, he was given a medal.
There we were, from every conceivable background, men and women, all races and colors, persons from every country I’ve ever heard of and some I was less informed about. Everyone seemed remarkably sentimental, touched, and humble. Many, like myself, were second generation, whose parents and grandparents had come to America, most fortunate in my case, given what happened to those of my people who remained in Europe during the Second World War. And there were others who were, themselves, first generation, acknowledging their emotions in English that still retained the accents of their native lands. I couldn’t help but think of my father’s father who arrived early in the 20th century, accompanied by my grandmother, my father and my three aunts. I wonder what it was like in that room. No choice of wines, no roast chicken dinner, no sweets, probably not even a cookie.
In the time I spent with my associates in this enterprise, people who work in a great cross section of professions: physicians, attorneys, unions officials, educators, civil servants, and law enforcement, men and women in uniform currently serving in the armed services, entrepreneurs and business leaders, most often the conversations focused on the power of education, about how America changed their lives by giving them the tools and opportunity to do good and often well.
One speaker, a choice that seemed curious at first, was former Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell, who is famous in part for being the second American Indian to serve in the U.S. Senate. It turns out that in addition to being an American Indian, Senator Campbell also had a parent who was Portuguese. He spoke movingly about the first Americans and advocated on their behalf, imploring the rest of us to reach out to them even as they welcomed the new Americans, back in the day. His references to conditions on the reservations today were powerfully phrased and were a plea for assistance.
The mosaic of faces and peoples assembled for this occasion came from all cultural and ancestral backgrounds; I found the spirit uplifting. It was nice to be engaged in this reaffirmation of the courage of our ancestors and to be reminded that the American dream has worked for many. I am recommitting myself to do what I can to make it work for others. Remembering Emma Lazarus’ poem, The New Colossus, on the base of the Statue of Liberty, I’m wondering why we seem as a nation so ambivalent about contemporary immigration policies.
