Since 1903, Emma Lazarus’ poem “The New Colossus” has been displayed inside the Statue of Liberty. My generation was raised to be proud that our country welcomed tired, poor, huddled masses to our shores. We were required to commit the poem to memory, as a kind of summary of what America meant. In case it has slipped your mind, the poem went
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!”
Before some enterprising country sues us for false advertising, we need to update Lazarus’ poem to reflect the America we have made great again. It requires only minor changes, so it won’t be too expensive. We can always get the imprisoned immigrants to pay for it. Here are the necessary changes:
Just 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 salesman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned children, and his name
SCOURGER OF EXILES. From his beacon-hand
Glows a blood-red stop sign; his cold eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your useless masses!” cries he
With flapping lips. “And keep your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
To these, the homeless, fearful, tempest-tost,
I lift my Glock beside the prison door!”
