ELLIS ISLAND

Greymouth Evening Star, 1 February 1923, Page 2

ELLIS ISLAND

‘•THE NEW INFERNO.” There is a big hell at the gale ul our great country, writes Sumajer Attiyeh in the ‘‘New York limes. H ;s Ellis Island. It is the first and the worst sample of America. 1 spent six days there, from early in the morning until evening, walking, talking, labouring, begging, and starving m an endeavour to release an aunt of mine about to deported because she had failed to prove that she was a student, coming here for further education, and intending to live with her brother, an American citizen. In six days 1 must have spoken six hundred thousand words, walked six hundred thousand steps had about seventy-live passes, because every Lime you turn round, get in or out of a door, look at an employee, or sneeze, you must present a pass ; then, if you are lucky, you will have the pleasure of looking at a sour, cranky face for a second, asking a question, and getting a snappy answer of “Yes” or “No' ; then you are pushed aside, and some pointed elbow sticks you in the ribs, and if you are not knocked fiat on your back or straight on your nose, you are indeed fortunate.

I came to New York three weeks ago, and learned that my aunt was held at Ellis Island. No one had been permitted to see her. “Yes,” she said, “my brother and two nieces live here, and 1 don’t know why they will not come to see me,” and she wept. Her brother and my sister in turn tried several times to see her, but were refused admission and set away in a harsh manner every time. Her brother sent two telegrams to encourage and cheer her up, and neither reached her. When my aunt could not prove that she was a student, because of her unpreparedness, although she spoke fairly good English, I asked the Assistant Head Commissioner to give her another chance to prove the truth of 1 er case, which he did. He sent me with another pass to another man, who cut me short and in rough manner said to me: “Are you an American citizen?'’ “Yes, sir.” “How long have you oeen in America?” “Twelve years.” “Are you a university graduate?” —“No. I only went one year to college ” “Where?”- —“In Chicago.” “Do you speak English?”—“Have I been talking Greek?” I answered. Iffy grandfather, the Rev. Joseph Attiyeh, the father of this aunt, is a noted orator and a writer. He is called the Moody of Syria, and a saint because of his beautiful and unselfish life and works. The Presbyterian Missionary Board of America is my 'witness. He educated all his children in the American missionary schools, and my aunt has taught in Tripoli, Syria, in the American missionary school for three years, saved her money, bought her ticket and came over here to us, and they were going to send her back without giving us a chance to prove her identity, and the reason for her coming, or even permit us to see her, had I not put up a strong fight against the injustice of it all.