You can’t say you love America but rally against democracy. We are living in an age where facts are fake and propaganda proliferates. Platitudes of patriotism and obscene displays of power are more a sign that our country is tanking rather than flourishing. Vulgarity is misrepresented as grandeur, and honor is mocked as weakness. All eyes are on us as the world watches the United States sanction abuse of children while terrorizing parents who are simply seeking refuge, the very foundation of American values. These are tumultuous times, and I am growing weary.
We resist and persist while watching our nation crumble, each stone below our feet a soul crushed by this cruel, greedy, and inhumane administration. These practices, while once reserved for DC theatrics, are seeping into our own communities. Every single day we see stories of firefighters, teachers, elected officials, business owners, and shopkeepers expose their xenophobic claws as we clench our fists. We see state legislatures like my own, trying to validate ICE. Every crevice of our society is oozing with hate, and we don’t know where the drops will spill. It is exhausting to be always on the lookout, tense at every turn. We are not meant to exist in a constant state of fight or flight. It is immeasurable privilege if you do not live like this.
I majored in History in a resplendent place and am only now, at age 50, learning that most of what I learned is a lie or untruth in some fashion. Whitewashed and romanticized narratives that got it all wrong while we are now battling to make it right. Have we memorialized a farce for 243 years? Brick by brick, hand in hand, and soul to soul, we march in lockstep, link arms in protest, raise our voices in song, all to rebuild this notion of America that is indeed the land of the free.
We see bravery in everyday acts of resistance.
And here we are, on July 4th, 2019, a country that doesn’t learn from history and is instead penning chapters that will make future generations bellow in rage. Independence Day is my favorite holiday, but this year I am really struggling. I am an immigrant. I am a brown woman who fits no stereotype.
I am a mother to sons who were born American while I was made American.
My family does not take our station in life lightly. We volunteer, we vote. If nothing else, we must ALL VOTE. The right to free, civic engagement is uniquely American, and we owe it to ourselves and our legacy to lift our voices in votes. This is what it means to be American, and this is what we are celebrating today.
I have no erudite thoughts or uplifting words to share, so I leave you with others’ words that resonate with me and remind me why I continue to fight.
Poetry just might save us all.
Imagine played over my sons’ crib as their John Lennon mobile of plush whimsical creatures fluttered above. The song makes me weep, both because I remember the soft, cherubic cuddles of my babies and because the lyrics resonate so deeply.
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one
Learning to Love America by Shirley Geok-Lin Lim
because to have a son is to have a country
because my son will bury me here
because countries are in our blood and we bleed them
Who Will Be the Messenger of This Land – by Jaki Shelton Green
we are the messengers
new messengers
arriving as mutations of ourselves
we are these messengers
blue breath
red hands
singing a tree into dance
Immigrants in Our Own Land by Jimmy Santiago Baca
We came here to get away from false promises,
from dictators in our neighborhoods,
who wore blue suits and broke our doors down
when they wanted, arrested us when they felt like,
swinging clubs and shooting guns as they pleased.
But it’s no different here. It’s all concentrated.
The doctors don’t care, our bodies decay,
our minds deteriorate, we learn nothing of value.
Our lives don’t get better, we go down quick.
Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!