Though I live in Asheville now and boast of its culture and resilience, I hail originally from New York. A small piece of me will always remain in Manhattan. Recently, I visited my 94-year-old mother who still lives in Long Island.
As our plane made the final approach to LaGuardia airport, the captain announced, “We will be landing shortly. On your left is a postcard view of New York harbor.”
All heads turned. Lower Manhattan glistens with corporate headquarters and gigantic hotels, but the site of the Twin Towers still feels to me like an open wound. Twenty-four years ago my brother worked in a building adjacent to the World Trade Center. On 9/11, he was late to work, taking his daughter to school. That hour made all the difference for our family. The new Freedom Tower at One World Trade Center conveys strength and permanence but also feels like a cautionary tale. Across the harbor, huge container ships scatter like board-game pieces.
My heart quickened as I spied the Statue of Liberty, alone on her island near the Jersey shore. In her robe and radiant crown, with torch raised high, she looked just as I remembered. But for the first time I detected her vulnerability and the precariousness of all she represents.
Clad in a green topcoat, her oxidized copper patina is both life-like and fragile. She is the crucible that once defined us. Her left hand holds a tablet of law and her right a torch of enlightenment and freedom. It is easy to forget her small scale, dwarfed by the giant buildings and boats around her. But her expression is one of tolerance and hope, breathing life into an expressive face. Hers was the first face to greet many who came to this country.
My grandparents met her a century ago as refugees from oppression, escaping pogroms, and their relatives a generation later, fleeing from the madness of Nazis. In the countries of their birth, they were cursed and spat on, their homes and businesses destroyed, their lives at risk every day. My mother tells the story of her own mother at age 13. In 1916, she hid in a tree while soldiers ransacked and burned their farmhouse in Romania. Amazingly, others in her family escaped and slipped into the forest to join her. They eventually fled to America, arriving on a ship that brought them to Ellis Island.
Twelve million souls like my grandmother, perhaps like yours, were welcomed by Lady Liberty when their ships reached New York Harbor.
In the museum on Ellis Island, I have traced my ancestors’ names, imagined their landing without money, without language, without prospects. They were seasick, hungry and exhausted from the harsh, crowded conditions of steerage. But they were not alone. They were brimming with hope, confident of success with such a statue by their side. They believed in a future illuminated by the statue’s torch.
There are many symbols of freedom, hope, and tolerance throughout our country. Some are prominent in our national consciousness, the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, the Lincoln Memorial and Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. In North Carolina, there is the Beacon of Freedom illuminating Freedom Park in Charlotte and the giant American flag raised at Chimney Rock after Tropical Storm Helene. In Asheville, we have the Buncombe County Charter of Freedom near Pack Square.
Such symbols have always been the pride of our country. Freedom provides the scaffolding that supports our entrepreneurial spirit, scientific innovation, and the fertile environment that fosters our full potential as individuals. Our culture has been the envy of the world, and it has enriched my own life. I hope that my granddaughters, age seven and 10, can enjoy that welcoming environment.
Nothing is static. Freedom is fragile. It can be lost all at once in a coup or slowly eroded by inattention. Freedom has its downsides, inefficiency and contention, but we have found no better approach to making our individual voices heard, making our personal choices matter. Generations before us fought desperately for freedom. In Asheville, Pack Square has become a focal point for freedom of expression. This accessible forum, a place for airing divergent views, is essential if we want the voices of our citizens to be heard. We must renew our values constantly or leave them behind.
The Statue of Liberty will always lift her lamp beside the golden door for all to see. Now more than ever we must pay attention.
David Stern is a resident of Asheville.
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