The message seemed mixed. It was 3 o’clock on the afternoon of Sunday, Oct. 3, 1965, and President Lyndon B. Johnson had come to the foot of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor to sign the unsexily named Immigration and Nationality Act. It was a grand and sentimental stage for Johnson, who loved the grand and the sentimental. There he was, less than a year into a term he’d won in the greatest of landslides over Barry Goldwater, at the mythic gateway to America, Robert and Ted Kennedy in the audience, the eyes of the press fixed on him in the shadows of the nation’s most fabled icon of freedom. “Our beautiful America was built by a nation of strangers,” Johnson said, reaching for political poetry. “From a hundred different places or more they have poured forth into an empty land, joining and blending in one mighty and irresistible tide.”

But the president was openly ambivalent, too. “The bill that we sign today is not a revolutionary bill,” he said, defensively, almost as though to reassure white Americans that they had nothing to fear. “It does not affect the lives of millions. It will not reshape the structure of our daily lives, or really add importantly to either our wealth or our power.”