Born in a refuge camp

By Ingrid Miles, Ipswich

I was born in a refugee camp and I feel as if I am reliving my parents nightmare after World War II when my dad had to modify his name and identify himself as Christian; my mother was Catholic in order to come to this country as displaced persons aka DP’s. It took many years to overcome the stigma associated back in the 50s and here we are again.

Here are the words at the bottom of the Statue of Liberty that I was fortunate to see on a cold November night as the Korean warship, the SS Hahn came into NYC port and everyone ran on deck to view this beautiful and welcoming lady at the shores of the home of the free:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “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!