I don’t celebrate the fourth for what America is, I celebrate for what it can be.
What it is:
A place where I don’t feel I can ask for what I am worth, and if I ever do I don’t believe I deserve it.
A place where if I see my brother being stopped by the police, I stop what I’m doing to watch and pray he makes it out alive.
A place where my father feels he will die of gun violence or excessive police force before anything else.
A place where I don’t feel welcome at marches designed to give me and others a voice.
A place where bullets have more freedom, than love, religion, and race.
A place where activism stops at hashtags, and marches never make it to the polls.
A place where we are persecuted for not standing for an anthem that doesn’t practice what it preaches.
I am:
Pessimistic, at times, but hopeful too. Hopeful for what has to inevitably come. This country is still a place of possibility, it just has to be reminded.
Like when you take a picture and someone else has to point out what makes it beautiful. When I look at America, I see all the flaws, but the beauty shines too. The beauty of what it could be.
What it could be:
A place where women don’t have to worry about having access to all they truly deserve.
A place where the sight of police instills a sense of community and not excessive force.
A place where all walks of life are welcome, accepted, and heard.
A place where its anthem reflects who are and not who we were.
A place where we harness and exercise our power in ways that truly affect change.
We have changed, we will continue to change, but we have to do it together.
An experience doesn’t have to be yours to be valid. Pain doesn’t have to be felt to be real. Time alone cannot heal all wounds.
I don’t celebrate the fourth for what America is; I don’t like what it is. I celebrate for what I am working toward it to be.
I love America more than any other country in this world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually. – James Baldwin