Article: Ross Pollard
Illustration: Mitch O'Connell
I refuse to be silent, I refuse to accept that attacks on women, attacks on the LGBT community, attacks on Mexicans or attacks on any marginalised group in society are a valid view point. I refuse to accept that a directive banning refugees that is a front for an attack on a religion is a valid way for any human to behave.
Donald Trump in his first week has launched attacks on almost any minority he can find. This racist bully sees himself as some kind of crusading knight handing back America to Americans. Mr Trump these groups are American, they are America, the nation exists as a melting pot of people, backgrounds, faiths, sexuality and ideas.
The thing that doesn't live up to those timeless values written on that statue in New York is you, you have defiled the constitution, the founding principles of the nation and the idea of the American dream. You have torn up the beautiful ideas of freedom that once made a nation so great, you've taken the thoughts of that Philadelphia congress and the liberty it demanded and poured it into the sewer you ideologically inhabit.
But I know this isn't just on you, you told people this is what you'd do, you in these troubled times were being honest, however that doesn't make it right. You gave people a choice, a disgusting, fetid, vile choice but a choice none the less. The pain, suffering and hurt felt by the people who you attack isn't just on you, the blood will also be on those millions who ticked that box to elect you president.
America you face a choice, you can still reverse this, you don't just have to be a Democrat, many Republicans claim to be unhappy and outraged, add your voices to the objections, join the chorus calling on both houses in Washington to block, oppose and frustrate the pogroms of this President. I point you back to the opening line that silence is acceptance, if not you need to go to Liberty Island and replace that proud plaque . .
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, the tempest tossed,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Because you'll no longer live up to it.
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