“Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

• Inscription on the Statue of Liberty, New York.

We should all, especially the President and government of the United States of America (USA), always keep those important words in mind. Currently, however, the government is ignoring them. For example, ICE (immigration law enforcement agency) and the National Guard (military force) are mistreating many people in the country, including citizens. We all saw the recordings: masked men jump out of a van and grab people from the street, and some of them are never seen again because they are placed in a detention centre somewhere. We must tackle such behaviour and restore our core principles.

The following true and historical story demonstrates the values of the USA as they were and as they should be again.

Thanks to Nancy Kramer (an American living in Julian, San Diego, in the United States) for sharing her own story with us. She is an inspiration and a role model for us, as we too can be true to our word. Here is the question for us who live in democratic countries: What can I do today to improve our country and ensure fair play for everyone currently here, regardless of the colour of their skin or their religion.

The Wings of a New Beginning by Nancy Kramer

As a Pan Am flight attendant, I've seen all kinds of passengers—many memorable Hollywood stars, popular bands, government officials—and I've even helped with onboard marriage proposals. However, my favorite flights were those on which we boarded groups of refugees in Manila and Bangkok.

In our crew briefing, we were informed that the back part of our airplane would be filled with refugees, organized by the U.S. government and resettlement agencies like the IRC. We were advised to expect passengers with limited English who might need help with basics like seat belts and lavatories.

As the bus doors opened at the foot of our 747, families stepped out, blinking into the sun, mothers gripping small hands. Most had never set foot on an airplane before. I watched a little girl frozen at the bottom of the blue Pan Am stairs, terrified by the sound from the engines, clinging to her father's pants.

They arrived in small, quiet groups—Southeast Asian refugees, some with babies strapped to their backs in cloth carriers, others with hollow eyes that spoke of horrors we couldn't imagine, shepherded by young volunteers wearing International Rescue Committee badges. Each family clutched identical canvas tote bags—stark white with bold blue letters: IRC. Those little bags held their only belongings.

Departing families were issued travel-appropriate Western attire to help them look "presentable" upon arrival in Western countries, as agencies knew first impressions could affect how refugees were treated in their new communities. They wore mostly outdated Western-style clothing donated by IRC and faith-based charities: button-up shirts and slacks for men, modest dresses or blouses and skirts for women, along with light jackets or sweaters for the cooler U.S. weather—and secondhand shoes or sandals with socks.

Once on board, we helped them settle into the back rows of seats. The cabin smelled faintly of unfamiliar spices and wood smoke, as if the journey from the camps in Thailand had come with them. I heard many utter a quiet "Cảm ơn" or "thank you" when I showed them how to fasten their seat belts.

During takeoff, many passengers gasped or cried softly as we left the ground. The children’s eyes were wide, torn between wonder and fear. For the adults, the roar of takeoff symbolized both hope and heartbreaking finality. Would they ever see their war-torn homeland again?

After leveling off, we prepared to serve them special rice dishes, which they were more familiar with than our Western foods. We poured them cups of tea, in which some put their wrapped pat of butter. I had read that the Nepalese drank yak butter tea, so I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or if they just didn’t know what butter was.

A young mother with an infant gestured for help in warming a bottle. I carried it to the galley, and when I returned, she bowed her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. They were all so shy, timid, extremely polite, and very grateful. I gave the children plastic Pan Am wing pins, providing a fleeting moment of joy on their frightening and emotional journey.

Some passengers dozed fitfully, jolting awake with every bump of turbulence, while others sat stiff and silent for hours, clutching the IRC bags in their laps like life preservers. These bags were distributed in the refugee camps as part of their travel preparation. The bags contained essential documents like I-94 forms, medical records, sponsorship papers, and a few personal items, such as photos, traditional clothing, or a family keepsake.

As we approached Los Angeles, the dawn light broke over the Pacific, flooding the cabin in gold. For the first time, I saw faint smiles and heard whispers of excitement. The volunteers moved through the aisles, explaining what would happen at the airport: there would be men and women waiting to welcome them, take them to homes, and help them start over.

When we landed at LAX, the plane erupted in applause—a soft, scattered clapping of relief and disbelief. As we taxied to the gate, I looked out at the tarmac, where a group of Americans waited with blankets, signs, and stuffed animals. I took a deep breath, trying to hold back my tears.

I had always loved flying because it connected people and places. But on those flights, I understood that an airplane could carry not just passengers but entire futures.