November, 2024

My Country, ‘Tis of Thee

Sweet Land of Liberty

Of Thee I sing

Land where our fathers died

Land of the Pilgrims pride

From every countryside

Let freedom ring

~ 1831

We’ve sung that first stanza so many times, it seems we sing it without really thinking about its meaning. I have a feeling you are singing it in your head right now. Samuel Francis Smith wrote this song in the 1800’s as a homage to the country he loved.   For a time, it was even the National Anthem of that newly formed country called America. It was a growing country as immigrants from all parts of the world began stepping ashore, looking for a better life than the one they left behind.  They came striving for that shining beacon of light that they had heard about for so long.   They were searching for a life that was better than the one they left behind where poverty, disease and starvation were often facts of the day.

This great wave of immigrants included some of my very own.  They were the French Canadians and the Irish that left the surety of their homeland for the challenges of the unknown.  They came seeking work in the manufacturing factories of Fall River and Westport and so many other towns and cities.  They lived in the crowded tenements that lined the many streets of the city. They worked hard at learning a new craft so foreign to their fingers and their mind. They labored through the long hours at any number of tasks they were called to do, and they saved their money.  They strived for the possibility of a better life for their children and grandchildren, though it often took a generation or more for the benefits of this hard work to be felt.

As newcomers to America, they faced the wave of prejudice that all newcomers seem to encounter.  Their ways were considered different until the differences became the norm.  My mother told stories of feeling shunned as the child of an Irish mother.   She remembers the pointed looks and the whispers behind her back about “that Irish girl.”  And the words weren’t pretty.  Today, we would call that discrimination.  What she called it was shame.  But time passed, and the old ways went by the wayside.  New prejudices formed, and the Irish were left alone.  But my mother never forgot that feeling of not quite fitting in.  I believe it affected her into her adult life as it had her mother.  Compassion is what I learned from her story.

I don’t know what got me to thinking about this song “America.”   It could be because the idea of freedom is one that crosses my mind and tugs at my heart more often these days.  Our lives in our beloved country are perhaps more tenuous that we thought. It could also be because I’ve been thinking a lot about the hatred that has been placed upon immigrants lately.  They are searching for that same life our forebearers sought.  They are looking for that beacon of light spoken about for so long. They toil in the fields and work long hours at tough jobs for a menial pay. And like everyone, they hope for a better life for their children.

For those who have lived in the states for a long time, I think it is easy to forget that most of us trace our roots back to the immigrants who dared. It seems our Freedom has been with us for so long that it is easy to take it for granted.  We forget the sacrifices our ancestors made to come upon these shores we call home.  Hatred and negative words won’t solve the problems our country faces today.  Working towards solutions with compassion and understanding will, if we open our hearts to the possibility.