The Immigrant's Lament

 

"Waiting On Shore," Sligo, Ireland

“Lost at Sea, Lost at Sea

  Or in the Evening Tide

  We Loved You, We Miss You

  May God With You Abide.”

These words are engraved on a plaque adorning a bronze statue on the headlands of Rosses Point, Sligo, Republic of Ireland. The “Waiting On Shore” sculpture depicts a young woman, arms outstretched, perhaps in prayer, skirts blown back by a stiff sea breeze. The statue commemorates those who watch and wait for the return of loved ones from an often furious sea, and mourn those who do not.

Perhaps, unwittingly, a perfect counterpoint to another statue, 2,858 miles to the west. The “Man at the Wheel” statue in Gloucester, Massachusetts, memorializes the hundreds of fishermen who have lost their lives in the stormy Atlantic while plying Gloucester’s thriving fishing trade. A rough, oilskin-clad fisherman is poised grasping a ship’s wheel with tensed muscles, fighting swells and breakers, struggling  to avoid dangerous rocks.

It is uncanny that these two statues, one on the northwest coast of Ireland, the other on the northeast coast of America, seem to be facing one another across a steely grey ocean. One fighting for survival, the other hoping against hope.

But America and Ireland have many connections. According to the website UShistory.org, “In the middle half of the nineteenth century, more than one-half of the population of Ireland emigrated to the United States.” To put that in perspective, “From 1820 to 1870, over seven and a half million immigrants came to the United States — more than the entire population of the country in 1810. Nearly all of them came from northern and western Europe — about a third from Ireland and almost a third from Germany.”

Immigrants in the nineteenth century from northern and western Europe built the American infrastructure. Canals, bridges, railroads – the hard labor was largely supplied by these immigrants. It is almost a given that the cops in Boston and New York were mostly Irish.

But this was not accomplished without struggle. The mythos of “Irish Need Not Apply” is not myth at all, but true. Posters advertising professional jobs in the nineteenth and early twentieth century did indeed disclaim that Irish were not welcome to apply.

This prejudice, fear-based, was slowly overcome, and Irish immigrants began to contribute to all aspects of American commerce, academia, and politics. Culminating, perhaps, with the 35^th president of the United States, John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

It is not a stretch to venture that any sizable group of immigrants will initially be viewed with fear, but will eventually acclimate, assimilate, and contribute mightily. Italians, Germans, and Asians are just a few examples, with many other immigrant populations in the milieu.

The opposite may well be true, that is, that failure to assimilate will result in failure to flourish. America has a tangible culture based on individual liberty, personal responsibility, and  a strong work ethic. These cultural values are a recipe for nearly guaranteed success. Those who do not embrace these values as their own are not likely to share in the American dream.

But the Irish did, and they succeeded. Handsomely.

According to the Washington Post, over 34.5 million Americans claim Irish heritage. “That number is, incidentally, seven times larger than the population of Ireland itself (4.68 million).”

Which explains why Ireland is a wildly popular destination for Americans investigating their ancestry.

Which reveals why we, in the interest of my half-Irish wife, are in Sligo, contemplating the mournful beauty of “Waiting On Shore.”  And contemplating the connections to America, as the bronze beauty gazes across the sea to her counterpart in Gloucester.

It is a small world indeed.

You didn't build that

In a recent NPR broadcast on the wonders of the human brain, we learned how researchers have been able to identify particular regions used for specific tasks and emotions. Such as the finding that people who are happy tend to have a larger precuneus, a structure also thought responsible for consciousness.

These are indeed miraculous times, that we can inspect our own brain and determine what makes us self-aware, what makes us feel happy, which regions might cause insomnia, and how we learn language. One scholar exclaimed of the mystery and power of a brain that is able to unlock its own secrets and understand itself.

After all, our brain is but a computer, composed of about 86 billion neurons. The African elephant has three times as many, but we rarely see scholarly articles published by elephants.

The secret, of course, is that we have evolved the ability to communicate, to both exchange and record complex thoughts. And that over time we have developed tools and technologies allowing us to delve into our physical world, to manipulate and understand its workings, including that of our own brain.

When a single researcher is bent on the task of fathoming the human brain, it is not only her brain focused on the task. She is benefiting from billions of fellow human brains that have, over many years, built a corpus of thought and research and tools and recorded knowledge. This is our unique human power.

Robinson Crusoe, stranded alone on his desert island, would have little chance of understanding the operation of his own brain.

In any human endeavor, it is the multiplication effect that makes our race so successful. Libraries full of research, universities training new generations, clever tools and machines and sensors probing our world, computers and networks facilitating communication, we amplify the power of our own measly 86 billion neurons.

In spite of the critical importance of this social infrastructure, individual brilliance is still crucial, cultivated, and revered. Albert Einstein, whose theory of ripples in the fabric of space-time was recently validated, stood on the shoulders of Copernicus and Planck and Maxwell. It’s as if this fabric of human knowledge and abilities forms a trampoline on which a brilliant, young, aspiring thinker might ascend to a new insight, a breakthrough, a flash of genius.

In this we observe the interaction and mutual interdependence of society and the individual.

“You didn’t build that” is a meme that has pervaded our recent politics. It is meant to diminish the significance, and hence the deserved remuneration, of individual contribution. Liberals use it as a justification for increasing the tax on success. Conservatives interpret it as an attack on the value of entrepreneurs and the free market.

In truth, both have a point. Tom Brady would not be fabulously wealthy without the social infrastructure that offers him a field of play. But we (at least those who are fans) would be the poorer for not seeing his brilliance on the field. Tom Brady is wealthy because we value the entertainment he provides.

Examples abound. Steve Jobs (rest his soul), was enormously wealthy but brought us our ubiquitous, dearly loved iPhones. Larry Page and Sergey Brin, each multi-billionaires, founded Google, an indispensable tool to billions of people every day. Mark Zuckerberg, another multi-billionaire, brought us the spectacle of silly cat videos and embarrassing spring break photos on our Facebook feeds. None of these folks “built that.” But “that” wouldn’t have been built, in this way, at this time, without them.

More quotidian examples surround us. For government employee, teacher, police, and fireman pension funds, those are invested in corporate America. The success of those companies, and the CEOs who lead them, is paramount to your retirement. Yet somehow it is fashionable to decry and punish that success.

Just as in science, society has evolved a commercial infrastructure upon which our entrepreneurs and business leaders create and implement their individual visions. It is true that trucking companies couldn’t be successful without public roads. But without trucking companies, the value of public roads would be diminished. And it’s also true that we must all contribute to the public fisc.

But we must never demean nor punish individual achievement, whether an Einstein, Zuckerberg, or Brady. Individuals need society, and the inverse is blindingly obvious. The trampoline is useless without the jumper.

The measure of success

What is the measure of success?

To some, it is material. The Porsche Cayenne. McMansion. Oversized yacht. To those of us looking on, we must wonder – how much do you own, how much the bank? Perhaps the measure of success is the ability to hornswaggle one’s banker?

There are many other measures of success. Popularity. Athletic skill. Acting chops, Oscars. Youtube views. Nobel Prizes.

But perhaps the more meaningful measure is deeply personal. At the end, what did you accomplish? Did you do good? Are others better off because of you? These are important questions.

Dad was second generation Italian. Sicilian, more specifically. That means that his parents migrated here through Ellis Island in the early twentieth century, nearly 100 years ago. Sicily, the land of intense sun, shimmering seas, incredible beauty, heartrending cruelty, and mind numbing poverty. A good place to be from.

Grandpa came first, his wife following a year later. This is because it was necessary to start a life, find work, build some reserves. Something the government does for folks nowadays.

Dad was the youngest of four, born in the late 1920s, with his formative years firmly spanning the Great Depression. Life was hard. Speaking only Italian, he learned English on the side as he attended school. He worked at twelve to help support the family, without complaint. Hard work, farming and landscaping, calluses, sunburn, exhaustion. The 1930s were not kind.

And then it got worse. His father, stressed, or drunk, was abusive. Other, darker things, not to be spoken of. He moved out of the house as a young teenager, just to survive.

Then, the war. Rationing, rag picking. Gleaning. Times were tough, but the American spirit was strong and we built ships and planes and trained our troops and won the war. Dad did his part, a proud Navy veteran at the ripe old age of 16, lying about his age, serving in the South Pacific. The war was soon over, and he, with millions of others, returned to civilian life.

He took up with his high school girlfriend, a ravishing redhead, the love of his life, and by 1948 was married. Soon after, the children began to come – third generation Italian English Scottish German mutts. The wonderful generosity of America chipped in with the GI bill, and Dad became the very first in his large, multigenerational family, spanning two continents, to gain a college degree. Physics, science, and mathematics, thank you. Not bad for a scruffy Italian brat, knees protruding from torn trousers just a few years prior.

We moved to the country, the family growing in size - ultimately nine kids, too expensive in the city. With room to breathe, we learned to prepare the soil, plant the garden, weed and cultivate, harvest and store. In spite of tough times, we never went hungry. Instead, we learned to prune the apple trees, milk the cows, tend the chickens, and care for the garden. We ate well, but it was the fruit of our labor. We learned the value of work.

Dad became a high school teacher. Science and math. Planning laboratory experiments for his students, he often tried them first on us at home. We learned to make gunpowder from scratch. To burn magnesium, brighter than the sun. That the age of paper could be determined by the degree of yellowing, and modeled by “aging” in a hot oven. We learned to think.

And much, much more. How to change the oil in the car. To replace a flat tire. To add an electrical outlet. Repair a leaky faucet. Plumb a brand new hot-water heating system. Dig a septic system and pour concrete footings. Always teaching, a lifetime vocation and avocation.

What was the outcome? At the end, he lived in a small cottage, drove a tiny, rusted car, and tended a postage stamp garden. He worried and fretted that he had not been a good father, could have done better, should have done more. The kids deserved far better.
 
Now that you’re at peace, Dad, you may rest well knowing what you’ve achieved. Your students, hundreds of them, benefited from your tutelage. Your children are successful, each in their own way. We are happy, secure. We are kind and charitable. Self-reliant and capable. We learned well.

Thanks Dad. You were a fabulous success, the model of a life well lived. You made us who we are. You made a difference. No Nobel Prize here, but perhaps there should be.

Our wonderful gift of liberty

Statue of Liberty, 1901, Library of Congress

Two hundred and thirty six years ago, a new nation appeared on the face of the Earth, unlike any other. At its heart, with this core tenet, the Declaration of Independence was radical:

We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal…

Equality was extremely rare on the planet.  The English had their Kings, the Catholics, their popes, the Egyptians, their Pharaohs.  But here was a new country dedicated to the principle that we are all created equal.  The individual freedom flowing from that simple principle has made us the greatest nation in the world.

All men are created equal – no one can tell you what religion to practice, or not practice, or which words you may utter, or print, or with whom you may associate.

All men are created equal – your property is yours, no one may confiscate or use it without your permission or fair compensation.

All men are created equal – the government has no divine right and serves only with the consent of the governed, the people, who have the right “to alter or abolish it.”

It is important to note that we imperfect humans have not perfectly implemented this equality, but have striven to achieve it, driven by bedrock principle, over many years.  Witness the Civil War, the 13^th amendment (slavery abolished), the 19^th amendment (women’s right to vote), the Civil Rights Act, Title IX… the list goes on as we continue to perfect this belief in equality. But to be clear, the individual liberty recognized by our social covenant does not guarantee equal outcomes, rather it affords equal opportunity. 

The results have been very encouraging.  President Barack Obama, billionaire businesswoman Oprah Winfrey, former Senator and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and Supreme Court justice Thurgood Marshall (died 1993) are just the tip of the iceberg.  How about Meg Whitman, CEO of Hewlett Packard, or Stanley O’Neal, former CEO and chairman of Merrill Lynch. The incidence of successful, powerful, minorities and women continues to escalate, all to our mutual benefit as their ingenuity and drive contributes mightily to our collective success and well being.

Our founding fathers have given us a wonderful gift and our military has sacrificed mightily to help us keep it.  But whether we keep or squander it is up to us.  We can easily vote it away while chasing a mirage of equal outcomes.  Because with individual liberty comes choice and responsibility - the freedom to make choices and then being responsible for the outcome.  If you want equality of outcomes, then we must, perforce, yield up our liberty, forgo our choices.

Here is a better way.  Studies of census data have correlated individual behaviors to poverty over the past 60 years, and some simple relationships have emerged.  Ron Haskins of the Center on Children and Families at the Brookings Institute, recently testifying before Congress, made the following observation:

“… young people can virtually assure that they and their families will avoid poverty if they follow three elementary rules for success – complete at least a high school education, work full time, and wait until age 21 and get married before having a baby.”

Haskins went on to say that young people following those rules would almost certainly join the middle class and those who did not, would not.

Three simple rules.  Individual responsibility.  The outcome is your own doing, for better or for worse.  This is the cost, and the opportunity, of freedom.