I was sent one of those blast emails from someone who really did not know me at all -- after I hit "reply", they got to know me a bit better. They were forwarding an article that appeared in a Florida newspaper.
I was responding to a message that again felt that you Must speak English and basically said that Christianity is the only respectable religion -- it started out saying:
"IMMIGRANTS, NOT AMERICANS, MUST ADAPT. I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture."Here is what I said in my reply:
Considering that the percentage of christians in the US is declining at a rate of about 0.9 percent a year, which means that by about the year 2042, just 37 years from now, non-Christians will outnumber the Christians in the U.S.
Today the "christian" population should thank the Latin immigrants since about 93 percent of all Latin Americans self-identify as Christian -- without them, the decline of christians in the US would be declining much faster if not for those non-english speaking people infusing their ranks.
The rhetoric here is clearly directed toward Latinos -- but when you say you "must" say season's greetings instead of "merry Christmas" , then surely the reporter also has a problem with the Jewish population as well. The reporter is simply trying to hide his bigotry behind a warped patriotism; although his xenophobia is clear and things like this email only foster such feelings.
I will leave this discussion with the poem by Emma Lazarus called "The New Colossus" that is on "OUR" statue of liberty: Note that there is not a disclaimer at the end..."but only if they speak English".
The New Colossus
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!"
