Citizens by action, not birth

The ‘cradle of liberty’ becomes a federal court for a swearing in

“All rise!”

Hundreds of people stood as a federal judge strode into the chamber.

“Court is now open,” an officer called. “Please be seated.”

This was no typical courtroom. This was Faneuil Hall, built in 1742, brick façade embodying Colonial Boston, wooden interior not much changed in nearly 300 years (except to add electricity), a sweeping ornate balcony overlooking the dark floor. It was here that the Sons of Liberty plotted a revolution, Sam Adams rallied rabblerousers, and George Washington toasted the nation’s first birthday. People call this “the cradle of liberty,” though that is deeply ironic, because Peter Faneuil, who paid for this handsome hall as a gift to the city, did so in part with money he made off African slaves.

There was no defendant, no defense or prosecuting attorney offering opening arguments. But 344 people had been summoned. Outwardly they had little in common, but were there for the same reason:

To become United States citizens.

They took seats in the main hall, family and friends sequestered in the balcony. From above they made a pointillist painting of shades and sizes, skin colors and garb. They was little joking or pointing, not much small talk.

All had made long journeys, many harrowing, to reach this moment. Some had sought asylum or escaped war. Some arrived sheltered, with family. Some sought economic opportunity or religious freedom. Some had come too young to know why. Some were called refugees, students, spouses, employees. All had run an international gauntlet that takes many years and never is easy.

They rose as one, and made promises: Swear true faith and allegiance to their new country, join the armed forces if necessary, support work of national importance under civilian direction, obey the laws.

They did not swear to vote, though they were told that is now their responsibility. They did not swear to treat each other with respect and compassion, my personal wish for our national oath. But they were assured that because they are “naturalized” rather than born here, they are in no way second-class. On the contrary, they represent the nation’s highest ideals, this accomplishment of their own making, not granted by geography at birth. They have earned what others inherit.

Then federal judge Paul Levenson did a remarkable thing: He recited the names of every country where emerging United States citizens seated before him had come from, asking those referenced to stand up:

Albania, Algeria, Angola, Armenia, Australia, Bangladesh, Barbados, Bellerose, Bolivia, Brazil, Bulgaria, Cameroon, Canada, China, Colombia, Congo, Costa Rica, Cote d’Ivoire, Cuba, Dominica, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Egypt, El Salvador, Eritrea, Ethiopia, France, Germany, Ghana, Greece, Grenada, Guatemala, Haiti …

Here we broke into applause because our girl is from Haiti, and she was there:

Honduras, Hong Kong, India, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Italy, Jamaica, Japan, Jordan, Kenya, South Korea, Kosovo Lebanon, Mexico, Morocco, Nepal, Netherlands, Nigeria, Pakistan, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Russia, Serbia, Somalia, Spain, Switzerland, Syria, Thailand, Trinidad-Tobago, Turkey, Ukraine …

The hall erupted for one young woman who stood and waved before the judge spoke the final nations:

United Kingdom, Venezuela, Vietnam.

344 people, 71 nations, one ceremony enacted on the last Thursday of August, 2022.

“The court is now closed,” called the officer.

A month earlier, on the last Thursday of July, we had been there as well, joining 354 new citizens including another goddaughter.

This event happens once a month in Boston, among companion ceremonies all over the country. Perhaps people elsewhere also call those places “cradles of liberty,” also muse about the extent of the truth of that notion.

Here, with papers that satisfy a government, experiences that span a globe, these new citizens walked down stone steps, merging into a crowd in front of Quincy Market that had gathered without any awareness of them, to watch a street performer juggle.

Then these new citizens who also have kept so much in the air and hand (though mostly invisible), who should have been celebrated with marching bands for their amazing juggling accomplishments, moved on and anonymously dispersed, fanning into the city, fanning into the future.

With special thanks to Jim Cantwell, Massachusetts State Director for United States Senator Ed Markey, who (as he put it) joined us in the balcony “to share history.” And to Janice Gray and Wellfleet Town Moderator Dan Silverman for fine company, and bearing witness.

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