Hundreds of Lights for Liberty vigil events took place across this nation (and the world) on July 12, 2019. They were all aimed at raising understanding and ending human (children) detention camps on the US/Mexico border. I was invited to be one of the speakers for this local event. I am sharing the transcript below.
Lights for Liberty Vigil, July 12, 2019, Founders Park, Johnson City, Tennessee. By Kiran Singh Sirah.
I want to first thank our organizers, Sam & Debbie for reaching out to me and for inviting to speak to you today. Alongside our other speakers, I am honored to share this space with you all.
My name is Kiran Singh Sirah, and I’m a proud immigrant to this great country. My home now, is here in Tennessee. However, as you can probably tell, I am not originally from here. I was born and raised in England. I’m here tonight, not as the representative of my organization or some political group or even my home country, I’m here tonight, as a person who has worked in peacebuilding, since I was a child. I was kinda born into it. I’d like to tell you more about that, but first…
...I want to start with a happy story, a good memory, about the first time I came to America. This story somehow encapsulates what this country is to me.
It was 1988, and I was 12 years old. My brother was 16. We were here for the first time with my mum and dad, who had saved for years for one of those classic American vacations. We went to Disney World and had our picture taken with Mickey Mouse. We went to see Sea World, and saw Shamu the whale-And of course we went to New York City, where my father took us to see the Statue of Liberty. My mom and brother stayed at the bottom, but me and my dad took an elevator to the halfway point and then walked up the stairwell towards the top.
It was a long way for a kid. When we were finally in front of the window inside her crown, we looked out onto America…and realized we had left the camera at the bottom with mum. This was before cell phones. But luckily a kind Chinese-American man, an immigrant, said he’d take a photo with his own camera and send it to us. Some weeks later after we returned to the UK, we received that photo in the mail.
My parents were immigrants just like the man with the camera. Not to the US, but to England. The country they landed in, after fleeing genocide in their home country. They went there with nothing, unless you count my big brother, and he was just a toddler. It was 1972, and my family had been forced to flee from Uganda, by a fascist dictator called Idi Amin- that threatened to kill my family and people that looked like them. It was the middle of winter, and when they landed in England, …they did not have anything warm to wear. Since they were robbed on route. And not unlike now, there was a terrible anti-immigrant wave happening across the UK. In fact neo-Nazi groups – Skins heads, green bomber jackets, DM boots and white laces, had stormed the airport in London, and sworn to attack any refugees who landed on sight. Some planes were forced to divert. My parents sought refuge in a tiny coastal town called Eastbourne, about 50 miles south of London, right next to the sea. I was born there four years later.
Many people in Eastbourne welcomed my parents, offering them gifts of food and record albums. They taught my family about Christmas and Easter eggs, and fish and chips, to which my parents insisted on adding masala spices. We are all of Indian heritage! These small but powerful acts of kindness, the townspeople’s swift actions and welcoming spirits, helped my family overcome the grief of having to leave their home. But, there would always be the problem of having to deal with some British people who felt like they hadn’t earned their place.
For me growing up, it was sometimes hard to be different. There are people in the world who teach that difference should be feared, not celebrated. A racist politician called Enoch Powell, used his platform to demonize immigrants which gave permission to attack immigrants. One of those neo-Nazis I described knocked me off my BMX bike when I was five. If you look closely, you will notice 26 stitches on my face. I remember that day, waking up and seeing my mother’s kind face. When I asked her what happened, she told me about how a white person, an older woman, had seen what happened, carefully picked me up off the street, and brought me home.
Despite the realities of racism, I understood from an early age that diversity and multiculturalism aren’t things to fear. They’re things to celebrate. If you try to imagine a garden with one breed of flower, or imagine visiting a forest with one kind of bird, it’s almost ridiculous. It takes different kinds of people to truly make a place.
It sounds very romantic right?
But, that’s actually a lesson upon which the United States was founded. As you know,… this is a country of immigrants.
A few years back, when I was sitting in an immigration office to obtain my greencard, I looked up at the wall and read a plaque. It was a quote from Ronald Reagan: which read: “We draw our people, our strength, from every country and every corner of the world.” And, I have to tell you, it felt like Ronald Reagan was talking just to me.
When I moved to Johnson City six years ago, in my first few weeks here, I met a man for coffee. He’s a self-made guy and a highly influential person in the region. The first thing he asked me about, was my background. So I told him the story I just told you, about my parents fleeing Uganda. And in return, he told me that, in 1972, he was a cargo plane pilot who delivered food and other goods to the refugees fleeing the Ugandan border into Neighboring Kenya. I was stunned. Here I was, the new guy in East Tennessee, shaking the hand of a man who had helped my people thousands of miles away, even before I was born.
Now, I think that’s what you call Southern hospitality. But honestly, it was incredible to realize that complete strangers can be so deeply connected.
I’m here tonight because we all have one story on our minds. It’s a story that weighs on my heart. And I would say that it’s because of my family’s history, or my own story as a US immigrant, but I’m not sure it’s really those things. We may come from different background, religions, even political persuasions, and I think this story is weighing heavily on your hearts, too.
Down at the US border, refugees who were only seeking shelter from harm have been piled into cages. Families have been separated. We know that some of the children have died. And, when they died, we know that they were sick, and that they were probably frightened, and that many of them were alone.
Think about that.
As someone who works with stories every day, I can tell you that even if the camps are closed tomorrow, this is a story that we will be talking about and unpacking, for a very long time. But in the meantime, it is my hope and belief that we can find a way to work together to show the world, that this story does not represent who we are in the United States of America. In the name of the woman who carried me home to my mother all those years ago, after I was knocked off my bike, I am asking you tonight to join me in doing whatever you can to help reunite these families—whether that is to volunteer, or to organize, protest, to make a donation, or even just to pray.
In the name of my parents’ adopted home in England, the Brits who took in my brown mum and dad in that first English winter and made them Sunday roasts and cups of warm tea, I ask you to join me tonight in looking for ways to offer these families a helping hand.
They have been wrongly and unlawfully imprisoned, and I believe they deserve our welcome, not our fear.
Finally, in the name of you, here - my neighbors, colleagues, and friends who have made me feel at home here in East Tennessee - I am here to remind you of something you already know. We don’t stand to lose anything by helping others. Kindness is not a form of weakness. It is more like a superpower, and every time we use it, we grow stronger.
Thank you, God bless you, and may peace be with you all.
Lights for Liberty Vigil, July 12, 2019, Founders Park, Johnson City, Tennessee. By Kiran Singh Sirah.
I want to first thank our organizers, Sam & Debbie for reaching out to me and for inviting to speak to you today. Alongside our other speakers, I am honored to share this space with you all.
My name is Kiran Singh Sirah, and I’m a proud immigrant to this great country. My home now, is here in Tennessee. However, as you can probably tell, I am not originally from here. I was born and raised in England. I’m here tonight, not as the representative of my organization or some political group or even my home country, I’m here tonight, as a person who has worked in peacebuilding, since I was a child. I was kinda born into it. I’d like to tell you more about that, but first…
...I want to start with a happy story, a good memory, about the first time I came to America. This story somehow encapsulates what this country is to me.
It was 1988, and I was 12 years old. My brother was 16. We were here for the first time with my mum and dad, who had saved for years for one of those classic American vacations. We went to Disney World and had our picture taken with Mickey Mouse. We went to see Sea World, and saw Shamu the whale-And of course we went to New York City, where my father took us to see the Statue of Liberty. My mom and brother stayed at the bottom, but me and my dad took an elevator to the halfway point and then walked up the stairwell towards the top.
It was a long way for a kid. When we were finally in front of the window inside her crown, we looked out onto America…and realized we had left the camera at the bottom with mum. This was before cell phones. But luckily a kind Chinese-American man, an immigrant, said he’d take a photo with his own camera and send it to us. Some weeks later after we returned to the UK, we received that photo in the mail.
My parents were immigrants just like the man with the camera. Not to the US, but to England. The country they landed in, after fleeing genocide in their home country. They went there with nothing, unless you count my big brother, and he was just a toddler. It was 1972, and my family had been forced to flee from Uganda, by a fascist dictator called Idi Amin- that threatened to kill my family and people that looked like them. It was the middle of winter, and when they landed in England, …they did not have anything warm to wear. Since they were robbed on route. And not unlike now, there was a terrible anti-immigrant wave happening across the UK. In fact neo-Nazi groups – Skins heads, green bomber jackets, DM boots and white laces, had stormed the airport in London, and sworn to attack any refugees who landed on sight. Some planes were forced to divert. My parents sought refuge in a tiny coastal town called Eastbourne, about 50 miles south of London, right next to the sea. I was born there four years later.
Many people in Eastbourne welcomed my parents, offering them gifts of food and record albums. They taught my family about Christmas and Easter eggs, and fish and chips, to which my parents insisted on adding masala spices. We are all of Indian heritage! These small but powerful acts of kindness, the townspeople’s swift actions and welcoming spirits, helped my family overcome the grief of having to leave their home. But, there would always be the problem of having to deal with some British people who felt like they hadn’t earned their place.
For me growing up, it was sometimes hard to be different. There are people in the world who teach that difference should be feared, not celebrated. A racist politician called Enoch Powell, used his platform to demonize immigrants which gave permission to attack immigrants. One of those neo-Nazis I described knocked me off my BMX bike when I was five. If you look closely, you will notice 26 stitches on my face. I remember that day, waking up and seeing my mother’s kind face. When I asked her what happened, she told me about how a white person, an older woman, had seen what happened, carefully picked me up off the street, and brought me home.
Despite the realities of racism, I understood from an early age that diversity and multiculturalism aren’t things to fear. They’re things to celebrate. If you try to imagine a garden with one breed of flower, or imagine visiting a forest with one kind of bird, it’s almost ridiculous. It takes different kinds of people to truly make a place.
It sounds very romantic right?
But, that’s actually a lesson upon which the United States was founded. As you know,… this is a country of immigrants.
A few years back, when I was sitting in an immigration office to obtain my greencard, I looked up at the wall and read a plaque. It was a quote from Ronald Reagan: which read: “We draw our people, our strength, from every country and every corner of the world.” And, I have to tell you, it felt like Ronald Reagan was talking just to me.
When I moved to Johnson City six years ago, in my first few weeks here, I met a man for coffee. He’s a self-made guy and a highly influential person in the region. The first thing he asked me about, was my background. So I told him the story I just told you, about my parents fleeing Uganda. And in return, he told me that, in 1972, he was a cargo plane pilot who delivered food and other goods to the refugees fleeing the Ugandan border into Neighboring Kenya. I was stunned. Here I was, the new guy in East Tennessee, shaking the hand of a man who had helped my people thousands of miles away, even before I was born.
Now, I think that’s what you call Southern hospitality. But honestly, it was incredible to realize that complete strangers can be so deeply connected.
I’m here tonight because we all have one story on our minds. It’s a story that weighs on my heart. And I would say that it’s because of my family’s history, or my own story as a US immigrant, but I’m not sure it’s really those things. We may come from different background, religions, even political persuasions, and I think this story is weighing heavily on your hearts, too.
Down at the US border, refugees who were only seeking shelter from harm have been piled into cages. Families have been separated. We know that some of the children have died. And, when they died, we know that they were sick, and that they were probably frightened, and that many of them were alone.
Think about that.
As someone who works with stories every day, I can tell you that even if the camps are closed tomorrow, this is a story that we will be talking about and unpacking, for a very long time. But in the meantime, it is my hope and belief that we can find a way to work together to show the world, that this story does not represent who we are in the United States of America. In the name of the woman who carried me home to my mother all those years ago, after I was knocked off my bike, I am asking you tonight to join me in doing whatever you can to help reunite these families—whether that is to volunteer, or to organize, protest, to make a donation, or even just to pray.
In the name of my parents’ adopted home in England, the Brits who took in my brown mum and dad in that first English winter and made them Sunday roasts and cups of warm tea, I ask you to join me tonight in looking for ways to offer these families a helping hand.
They have been wrongly and unlawfully imprisoned, and I believe they deserve our welcome, not our fear.
Finally, in the name of you, here - my neighbors, colleagues, and friends who have made me feel at home here in East Tennessee - I am here to remind you of something you already know. We don’t stand to lose anything by helping others. Kindness is not a form of weakness. It is more like a superpower, and every time we use it, we grow stronger.
Thank you, God bless you, and may peace be with you all.