It’s almost July in the Midwest which means the corn is knee high, I have my eye on some apple pie, there is a parade in my very near future, and fireworks are soon to be on the horizon.
The Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite holidays, and I love it for more than just the pie and BBQs that seem to come hand in hand with the day. I think what makes it No. 1 in my book is the feeling of community that I feel on that day. Everyone seems to come together on the Fourth. Regardless of political party or affiliation, everyone seems to celebrate being an American.
The holiday has always been important in my family. Traditionally, my parents host a mega Fourth of July party. This will be my sixth year missing out. However, if I close my eyes and try real hard, I can still smell my dad’s grill and my mother’s homemade pies. On this holiday, my parents invite an ecclectic group of people to their home: family, co-workers, church members and neighbors – no one was left out.
While sitting down to write this column, I couldn’t help but think about this fact. Which then made me say, “Sarah, how great is it, that by sheer luck, you were born a natural U.S. citizen?” Which immediately reminded me of a story my father’s boss, Dr. Bark, had shared one Fourth – a story that immediately checked my privilege.
Dr. Bark had been listening to an argument about patriotism. An argument that was getting heated. He immediately silenced everyone with his story. He began by expressing his admiration of our Armed Forces and then told us how he “got to this table.” Even though more than 60 years had passed, his experience felt so raw and recent, as he described what it was like watching his mother pin money to the underside of her skirt in preparation of fleeing the Nazis as they invaded France, and his impressions upon arrival to Ellis Island in 1940. I still remember holding my breath, and excusing myself to the bathroom to sob. It still hurts my heart to think of how such a vibrant, accomplished man could have endured so much in his life. Especially at the tender age of 5.
Months later, I found myself selecting classmates for a group project on the first night of a college class I was enrolled in. Everyone else seemed to already have rapport with one another. As I stood alone in search of a partner, I spotted a man across the room who didn’t appear to know anyone either, so, I picked him – Nelson.
Nelson was really difficult to work with. He was Sudanese, and his English carried a heavy accent. After my first project with him, I recall complaining to my professor, because I felt unfairly graded based on content he provided for a group project. She told me to “have compassion” and to try a different approach. So I did. I interviewed him.
What brought you here?
Silence.
His lips pursed, and I could tell his story was a difficult one to share.
When he did finally speak, he described what it was like (as a Lost Boy) on his almost two year trek across Africa from his home in Sudan to a destination that was, at the time, unknown. When civil war broke out in his country, Nelson’s options were to flee, become a child soldier for rebel forces, or inevitable death. He chose to flee, on foot and with nothing but the clothes on his back, with the more than 40,000 other refugees. Along the way, he said he lost family to violence, dehydration, and a lion attack. Not everyone survived. When asked how they were able to navigate their way to the refugee camps, he said, “We just followed the bodies.”
When I think about Nelson’s extraordinary journey from Sudan, to Ethiopia, back to Sudan, to Kenya, and eventually landing in the United States, I am haunted and deeply saddened. At the time he shared his story, my daughter was around the same age Nelson had been when he made his trek. The thought of leaving Sophia home for an hour brought unbearable stress. I can’t imagine her trying to navigate her way on foot to another country, and battling every odd thing along the way without me or her father to care for and protect her.
As I reflect on what 4th of July means to me, I think about the incredible journeys that took place for us to be here celebrating together. I think of Nelson. I think of Dr. Bark. When our founding fathers adopted the Declaration of Independence 242 years ago, they weren’t only claiming freedom for themselves, but for their fellow countrymen, who had yet to arrive on our shores.
So, as you celebrate with your loved ones this week, just give some thought to the contributions of immigrants to our country. Celebrate those who established our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and thank those who fought and continue to defend it. After all, we are a nation of immigrants – a community of people who dreamed of coming to these shores to build better lives – to live within a nation that championed differences and equality. Let us celebrate that great opportunity, be thankful for it and encourage others to do the same.