Beware, the lead this week is buried more than halfway into this column. Just bear with me.
About six weeks ago I attended graduation (“commencement” in academia) at the University of Pennsylvania. The speaker was the Lin-Manuel Miranda, the creator, composer and star of the much acclaimed Broadway musical, “Hamilton. An American Musical.” Typically, I am rather dubious, if not scornful, of pop culture celebrities who are the headline speakers at a college graduation.
Just as typically, I am pleasantly surprised to discover they have much to say and say it well. Not too many years ago, I listened, reluctantly at first to Bono, Irish singer-songwriter, and found, much to my surprise, he was articulate, knowledgeable and passionate about poverty in Africa.
I guess I should be more open-minded and expect the best.
Now back to Lin-Manuel, who I understand who is stepping down in early July from his lead role in a musical where tickets now cost in the four figures. Instead of the usual sermon—dream big, seek your passion, overcome disappointment and be persistent—Lin-Manuel took another tack and told two stories.
For sake of space, I will refer to only one of Lin-Manuel’s stories. He and a friend, also an aspiring Broadway director, sought advice from a “big deal theater producer.” What they heard they rejected: inject sex and drugs in the story line. That would give them a chance to achieve real success, so they were told. They declined with no hesitation. Instead they worked five more years in collaboration with others on what became a successful Broadway musical, “In the Heights.”
Moral of this story: stick with your instincts and values, make adjustments you are comfortable making—and keep working.
As a pointed aside during his remarks, Lin-Manuel said that Alexander Hamilton, an impoverished orphan from the West Indies, “built our financial system. A story that reminds us that since the beginning of the great unfinished symphony that is our American experiment, time and time again, immigrants get the job done.”
My column now takes a different tack.
The anti-immigrant sentiment fed and fueled by Donald Trump causes me great concern. And so does the nationalistic undercurrent that propelled British voters to vote 52 to 48 percent in favor of leaving the European Union. The bias ignited by the presumptive Republican nominee toward immigrants bodes poorly for sustainment of the values of decency and acceptance that have always characterized our diverse nation.
An American economy that has left many struggling to just get by, bitter because of stagnant wages or no wages at all, provides a potent source of anger and bigotry. Hope is a remote, maligned concept. This state of unfortunate and perhaps unfair current affairs in our country worsens when prodded and stirred by irresponsible bombast.
Harkening back to Lin-Manuel, I suggest that one story, a national and cultural one, should never stop being told:
“Immigrants get the job done.”
We all have stories. Some we choose to tell, some we don’t. We define ourselves by our stories. Alexander Hamilton is one of many, many success stories.
I have a story. I think every day about my grandfather, who immigrated in the early 1900s from Austria through Ellis Island in the New York harbor to Lower Manhattan and eventually Pittsburgh, PA. He sought and achieved the American dream. He worked hard, able to use his natural talents. His portrait and my memories about this remarkable East European are an intrinsic part of my being. Others have similar stories.
Lin-Manuel’s incredibly successful musical about a controversial Founding Father brings us back to the foundation of our often discordant, messy American Experiment. It reminds us of our shared values and beliefs.
As we face an acrimonious Presidential campaign, I suggest we try, despite the noisy, emotional political combat, to treasure what immigrants have contributed to our country.
And still do.
Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.
Richard Skinner says
Karl Marx said that history DID repeat itself: the first time as tragedy, the next as comedy. There is nothing to laugh about in this, our latest outbreak of virulent xenophobia. Unfortunately, the nativist streak in us Americans runs deep and continuously and especially in hard times. Even a cursory reading of American history makes it clear that if we are, in fact, a melting pot, then the stirring that takes place is not always nurtured by a welcoming hand.
And our political system – open as it is – allows for public voices to be raised in fear and anger to target whichever ethnic, religious, or racial group manages to create a visible critical mass in our midst. Those voices ring true to some of us who think of ourselves as “real Americans” because our fathers or grandfathers arrived here long enough ago to permit us to lay claim to citizenship and to fear or disdain those who are different, those who are “unAmerican.”
As almost any close observer notes, there is nothing particularly American about this attitude and behavior toward immigrants, save for the fact that who we are and what we are as a nation is a product of generation after generation of people who chose to come to America, endured the wrath of some, often many, and persisted long enough to become Americans. From the Know Nothings of the 19th Century to the Italians of the 1910s and 1920s, from the Cubans in the 1950s to the Vietnamese of the late 1970s, we have seen this drama played out over and over again with only the actors changing. That we do not understand this about ourselves or that we fail to realize we can choose for this time to be different than the past – well, that’s another aspect to history repeating itself and there is something very tragic about that aspect of our character.
Adler Charles says
Howard, with all do respect, moratoriums serve their weight.
I’d love to be trained on your service for sure, but Sir, we are facing a distinctly different situation. It’s no longer like ….
I know you know.
Sir, it’s even different from when you served us.
I wish you were still serving us and I’m afraid to tell you but you must return.
Out and about is great.
It doesn’t really serve a purpose but it soothes you. I get that.
Sir you need to speak. I’ll back you up with an army of my own.
Better yet, just tell us what to do.
Trust me, we can fix it.