America is not "full" - echo opinion from Arkansas

Immigration policy  Opinion letter published in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette by Howell Medders, Fayetteville

Donald Trump's (evil and false) claim that Hispanic countries are sending us their dregs, criminals and drug smugglers has been refuted. I won't call him a liar. The truth of it is irrelevant. It's a "feeling." Feeling is more important than truth, for many.Unfortunately Donald Trump's evil feeling is shared by many Americans. It's part of a more fundamental feeling, a fear that Hispanics will, or could, dilute and alter what they feel is the essence of America: whiteness. Few, not even Trump, say that out loud. They know it for what it is.

I feel that the immigrant border crisis is also an opportunity. We should spend the money required to process the refugees in a timely manner and provide support for those who qualify to become Americans. We should welcome more immigrants. America is not full. We can always use more good people.

When I see refugee families on TV, I see young men, women and children who will make great Americans. Like other immigrants, by virtue of their ordeal, they have the grit and determination to be great Americans. They are "good stock." They will produce, create, consume, pay taxes and enrich America.

I look forward to the children intermarrying with other races, or not, as they choose. I feel our whiteness is a weakness. We need more color.

Lady Liberty remains the true guide for our immigration policy: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free ...*"

From Howell Medders, Fayetteville Arkansas

*The New Colossus
BY EMMA LAZARUS

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-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”