Where We Are

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!"

Emma Lazarus, 1883

The infamous poem laid at the feet of lady liberty in New York harbor need not beckon anymore. Exiles no more, We are here. These are our citys, our towns, our own children and parents now left searching for a life lost. We are a people losing our way; a people being crushed by swelling debt, war, mass unemployment, and a deteriorating ability to support our own. The newly wealthy have been replaced by the growing poor. A country that once traded opportunity and prosperity for an honest living is being slowly wittled away by greed, apathy, contempt, and polarization of the masses by the minority. How did we get here? What can we do? Where are we going?