A season for living out what we say we believe

There are hundreds of thousands of refugees from around the world who, given the opportunity, would gladly come to the United States, given the circumstances they endure on a daily basis.

Europe and the Mideast and parts of Africa are awash with displaced persons who want what most of us in the U.S. already have: a place to work and succeed, a place where there is plenty to eat, a place where our children can receive an education, a place where we can worship God in our own way, a place where medical care is available, a place where we are relatively safe from government oppression, a place where "freedom" is more than a word.

In this country, we call this the American dream.

The richest nation in the world -- richest in more ways than can be measured economically -- is offering what amounts to a token response to the refugee crisis: We'll take 10,000; someone else can take the rest.

Now governors of several states are telling Washington they don't want any of these refugees in their states. One governor claims it is a matter of public safety.

That's rot, of course. A nation populated by the descendants of immigrants -- refugees, displaced persons -- now says it might not be safe to take any of this latest tide of humanity.

Thank goodness that wasn't the case in the 1700s when my ancestor found his way to America from Ireland, where there was, as the story goes, this unresolved matter of a stolen hog.

Or what about my even-bigger-bunch-of-greats, a grandfather who, in the 1600s, found his way from Switzerland by way of Holland to a place called Pennsylvania, where this fellow had the notion that individuals from a variety of ethnic and religious backgrounds could live together in harmony.

This was the same ancestor of mine who had fled religious persecution from Swiss civil and religious authorities only to discover that the tolerance level among the Dutch was only marginally better.

Thank goodness William Penn wasn't waiting on the dock in Philadelphia holding a sign saying "No religious scoundrels wanted."

Instead, my forefather helped organize a coalition of immigrant minorities to develop a safe haven free of persecution and intolerance -- something that might not have been possible if the governor had espoused the American notion of freedom -- lip service, if you will -- while posting a sign saying "Not In My Backyard."

Here we are, just a week away from Thanksgiving Day. We have so much to be thankful for, even in the face of our own challenges and difficulties. You and I will not spend the long holiday standing at the border of a foreign nation in hopes the gates will open long enough to take another step toward opportunity.

We will not spend Thanksgiving amid sectarian violence or listening to the clamor of warfare.

We will not wonder where our next meal -- or our next drink of water -- will come from in a camp for refugees who have nowhere to go.

Yes, there are threats of terrorism everywhere in today's world, including in these states united by democracy and freedom. But we in America do not live with the constant fears of those whose days and nights are marked by the sounds of bombs and gunfire.

"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-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Closing the doors to America's promise is the action of cowards. In this time of world unrest, we can still be a beacon that lifts the hopes of the hopeless.

For whatever we have to give thanks this year, let us share it abundantly with those who have nothing.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.