Though she is the most recognisable symbol of the American experiment, there is something about the Statue of Liberty that goes largely unnoticed. And that is that she is moving. The torch in her right hand, symbolising enlightenment, cannot be ignored and is never overlooked. The book in her left hand, with 4 July carved in roman numerals, is not likely to be missed. Nor are the seven spikes of her crown, matching the world’s seven continents and seven seas. And though, if pressed, we remember that she is wearing sandals, we forget, if we ever knew, that the Statue of Liberty is on the go.

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Take the ferry to Liberty Island. As your boat rises and falls on the rough waters of New York Harbor, you will see, with undeniable clarity, that her right foot is striding forward. And around her feet are chains, broken, which sculptor Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi meant to symbolise the breaking of the chains of bondage and tyranny. She is caught, forever, in the moment of becoming free.

The 305ft statue is a marvel of artistry and engineering, and there are many details to admire, but none is more important than her right leg, which is stepping forward, and stepping forward not casually but with great striding purpose. This right foot, though largely unheralded, might be its most important feature. For what would it mean if the symbol of liberty were standing still? That would imply that freedom is static, that once established, it’s a settled thing.

But freedom is not a settled thing.

It would imply that once the first few million immigrants arrived on American shores, fleeing religious bigotry or political violence or ethnic persecution, then the United States should or could close its gates. It would imply that the welcoming of new arrivals, the poor and tired and struggling to be free, was a temporary thing, that the welcoming of the world’s oppressed was a thing of the past.

But the welcoming of the world’s oppressed is not a thing of the past.

We live in a moment when shrill voices tell us that not only should immigration be stifled, but that millions of current residents should be deported, returned to their country of origin, no matter the consequences for their souls or our consciences. These fearful voices put forth a direct repudiation of the origin and elemental purpose of this country, and to the meaning of the statue that we accept as our talisman.

But no one can repudiate a monument of this size, nor can they deny its message, nor can they deny the hundreds of millions who see in it a beacon of exuberant and ceaseless welcome. The Statue of Liberty was not built to welcome just 5,000 immigrants from Italy on one certain day in 1888. No, it was also built to welcome 1,200 immigrants from Poland the next day, and 2,000 men, women and children from Turkey the day after that. And it will – it should – welcome 20,000 Syrians tomorrow.

This welcome will not end. It can not end.

So long as tyrants and terrorists chase innocents around the globe, we must offer them refuge. Humans seeking peace, seeking acceptance and the possibility of a life without oppression, will always be on the move. And this is why the Statue of Liberty, the world’s largest kinetic sculpture, is on the move. She is striding not away from the troubled, but toward them. She is, in fact, meeting new arrivals before they even land on our shores.

So in this era of fear and xenophobia, or in the next wave of fear and xenophobia – they seem to come every four years – remember that the symbol of this country has not put down her torch, has not closed the book on the Declaration of Independence, and has not stopped moving. If we ever forget who we are or why we’re here, if we ever forget the meaning of America, we need only look at the woman’s feet.

• Dave Eggers is the author of The Circle and A Hologram for the King. His forthcoming book is Heroes of the Frontier.