At first glance I could not believe my eyes.  I had not expected to encounter a soul on my pre-dawn Sunday stroll through Battery Park.  I had enjoyed this park since my early childhood when I peered through the bars at the interior of Castle Clinton and allowed it to take over my imagination.  I fondly recall walking over to the edge and staring at her for long periods as I contemplated taking a nickel ride out on the Staten Island Ferry to catch a closer glimpse. This tended to be a delicate decision in as much as I would have already exceeded the territorial limits of my bike ride as established by my parents.

Here she was in person, “Lady Liberty,” sans her pedestal and looking very sad and downtrodden.  She was carrying her famous torch in her right hand although she could have easily stored it in the traveling trunk she had with her.  I was, to say the least, taken aback by her look of utter despair and recognizing that “The Lady” needed a little space I shifted my glance ever so slightly.  Just then I caught a closer look at her travel trunk.  It had but one solitary tourist sticker from the “Big Apple” and a large faded Yellow banner printed in both French and English indicating that she had been “Expedie De France” or “Shipped  From France.”  From this I gleaned the obvious; she was not well-traveled but was clearly in travel mode.

Hiding back a few tears I heard myself utter aloud “What is going on here!” and asking “Where are you going?”  My friend, she responded, as she beckoned me to take a seat on a nearby park bench.  I remember you from your childhood Ferry Rides, how have you been?  As she sat for a spell she said:  Allow me to venture to explain myself.  At the ripe old age of 132 years I simply can no longer allow myself to be subjected to all this insane vitriol that is being heaped at me and my immigrant charges. Strangely enough, having been sent here as an “Apostle for Freedom,” hence my true and complete name of “Liberty Enlightening The World,” I find myself being persecuted and treated as just another unwanted refugee of the world.

Is it any wonder, given my honored social status in this country, that I would take a deep and personal offense to my treatment of late and be extremely pained by all this tomfoolery? As I struggle to find a “Safe Passage” to a new land I pause to wonder about my future.  Will I find a home that will welcome me as a refugee, as I have done for others for so many years?  Will I be respected as an “Elder,” and more importantly, will I ever again be allowed to take my rightful place as a “Beacon for Freedom?”

Wait a second, I said, don’t talk like that. You are not a refugee. You are not even an immigrant.  You are an irreplaceable symbol of our nation. “Lady Liberty” you have both literally and figuratively stood up your entire life proclaiming the greatness that is America. In fact, under no scenario could America ever be great without you.  And don’t forget for one minute that as a “Native New Yorker” you have the privilege of pronouncing like “Joltin’ Joe” liked to do – “thank the good Lord for making me a Yankee.”

Now that you mention it, sad but true, but I am not an American citizen. As unlikely as it sounds, either no one ever saw a need to bestow the Honor on me, or like you they simply assumed I was born here. And as for me, I was already recognized world-wide as a “Beacon of Freedom” and it doesn’t get any better than. I suppose I always saw myself as a true American and never saw no need to Naturalize.  No, say it ain’t so, I retorted.  You simply have to be an American, especially after 132 years.  It is the only thing that guarantees that no one, not even the haters with all their vitriol, could kick you out.

Oh my friend, if only that were true! Truth be told, America has a sordid history of pushing out full-fledged American citizens.  In the early 1800’s, before my arrival, many “Free Blacks” were shipped back to “Mother Africa.” And during the “Great Depression” our “Uncle Sam” forcibly repatriated well in excess of 400,000 Mexicans, the vast majority of whom were American citizens. America would repeat this odd tendency during World War II when it turned on Japanese-Americas, Italian-Americas, and German-Americans by either chasing them out or interning them in relocation camps. Let’s not forget the many young American men, better known as “Draft Dodgers,” who were forced into exile in Canada during the Vietnam War era.  Believe me when I tell you, I’d rather leave of my own accord then to wait and see my detractors rip the skin right off of me.  Lee Iacocca would never forgive them and neither would I.

OK, “Lady Liberty” you have certainly made a strong point there and there is no denying history, if one is aware of it.  Nevertheless, who in their “right mind” would want to see you go?  My friend, there you go again, being so naïve.  For starters, there are the many dubious leaders and politicians itching to kick all us immigrants out.  And of course we will always have the plain variety of dumb bigots stirring things up.  We also have the crazy “White Supremacists” and their ilk swearing allegiance to fascism.  And, surprisingly for a nation of immigrants, there is a pitiful bunch of lawful immigrants and issue of former immigrants who have joined ranks with the haters and view our current undocumented population and our refugees as the new enemy. These folks do not now, nor ever have been, accused of being of sound mind and reason. Nevertheless, they go around practicing onanism while claiming to be making America ‘Great Again.” Give me a break!

I don’t get it.  If that is how you feel, why then would you leave? Oh, it’s rather simple really.  There is a tipping point and we have now reached it. It is rather telling when our immigration agency finds it necessary to amend its “Mission Statement” solely to delete the phrase that “We Are a Nation of Immigrants.”  There is also a movement afoot to discredit Emma Lazarus’ poem “The New Colossus” by disassociating its words – “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” -from my very raison d’etre. My friend, that is a real kick – in the – well, you know where. I am compelled to pack my traveling trunk with the plaque inscribed with Emma’s poem, my personal copy of the U.S. Constitution, a copy of Alexis de Tocqueville’s book “Democracy in America, and the official list of the fine American donors who rose over $500 million dollars for my 1986 restoration.  I just have to leave in order to preserve myself for future generations, she said, as tears ran down her cheeks. And just then, I began to sob with her.