Immigration Infection

The New Colossus and The Undesirables

 

Walk with me through the creaking metal door at the base of Liberty’s pedestal. The air is stale with just a hint of mildew ~ the rot already palatable. Soon we see it; that beloved poem heard ‘round the world, 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-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

~Emma Lazarus, 1883

 

If ever there was an eloquent and subtle rending of Classical Western civilization, dear reader, you have just read it. Lady Liberty is not like the Colossus of Greek fame; she is, however, quite brazen. This so-called Mother of Exiles, virtue signaling her pathological altruism, is directly calling for the trash of other lands to settle on our shores. While immigration built this country, it was largely the strictly regulated immigration of certain peoples that made America great.

Note the date of the poem, 1883. States rights were slipping away, the ethnicity of our immigrants had begun to shift, and the Federal Reserve was in the midst of one underhanded scheme after another to take over our nation’s finances. Fast-forward to 2017 and the results are obvious. The Federal government has become a sort of Greek Hydra and at its heart beats a bank pumping fiat currency through an economy built on the weak backs of the easily exploited. Is this why the Mother of Exiles beckons to the downtrodden? Does she wish to add to the weight of their chains? This is not Liberty.

This new Colossus is not a beacon of freedom but a shrewd manipulator calling the weak to be tied in puppets’ strings. She does not want the strong, the brilliant, the proud ~ these souls are harder to control. Give her instead the tired, poor, and huddled; those ripe for the picking. Are these the immigrants we want? Are these the quality of immigrants who built this country? No.

When the kingdom is already built, however, it is much easier for the rats in the woodpile to get inside the walls and destroy it from the inside out. They’ve chewed through the ropes on the drawbridge and all matter of vermin can now scurry inside. Our leadership was compromised long ago, and they do not care about the origins of their serfs. Should a segment of these peasants be taller, prouder, stronger than the rest they should be bred out, made to feel ashamed, brainwashed into submission, and, of course, demographically displaced.

This is not what made America great; this will ruin Her. Dear Emma, we do not want anyone’s wretched refuse. We do not want huddled masses. We do not want those exiled from every land.

We want the brave, the few, the tall and proud. We want the Old Colossus. We want brazen Greek fame. We want to free the lightning of our old gods, our ancestors, our very souls.

We will, in fact, keep the storied pomp of our ancient lands and that spirit can and will live again right here and now.

This New Colossus must be exiled to the depths of the New York harbor. In her place a mighty warrior, that Old Colossus risen again! Yes, he of brazen Western fame, his lightning freed, his storied pomp echoed across the land once more. It is not too late.

 

Rachel Summers