It would be a lie to say I’ve always been steadfast in patriotism. Like almost all young Americans, I went through a long period of losing faith in the American dream I was sold on as a kid. The first piece of art I loved was Lin Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton, which shaped my formative years and is still very important to me.
Hamilton portrays the United States as a place where anything is possible, for anyone. Your only limitation is your own willpower (or lack thereof). The ‘American Dream’ is built into every public school’s elementary program. A global superpower with roots in immigration, passion, and freedom.
That dream isn’t really true, though, not for a lot of Americans. It’s inevitable that your country will disappoint you. America, the concept we grow up on, is not the same thing as the America we live in every single day. It’s easy to see the cracks in the idea that we are fed.
As I continue to grow up, the problems my home displays unabashedly become increasingly obvious. All of a sudden, those American underdog stories seem few & far between. America seems to be a place full of selfishness. ‘Independence’ looks like an excuse to abandon our citizens. The more I study history, the more atrocities I discover. It’s disheartening. For a long while, it was impossible to love America the way I used to.
It wasn’t until a few years ago I came back to loving America. Most of that initial wave of patriotism came from a place of anger . There’s been a recent uptake in the idea that criticizing our country is the same as hating it. The narrative that a lack of patriotism means you don’t deserve a space in America is spreading.
I think that mindset is horribly unfair; if we can’t recognize problems with our country, we can’t nurture it. If someone hates their home, why would they waste time fighting for it?
My way to protest to this mindset is to love my home country the same way I did when I was young. Wholeheartedly, fiercely, and loudly. I cry to ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ and ‘American Nights’ and ‘My Rifle, My Pony, and Me’. ‘Born in the U.S.A’ is one of my top songs. I make a point of watching ‘Forrest Gump’ on summer nights. I get genuinely emotional whenever a character’s goal is ‘get to New York City’. I know all of Hamilton. That’s not an exaggeration.
And while I love fiction, music, and art, that’s not my main point. There is so much to love about America, as it currently is. I love the diversity of the land, from the Rocky Mountains to the Everglades. I love the mixing of histories to create a new culture. I love the Super Bowl, I love jazz, I love national parks. I love carving jack o’lanterns and I love cowboys, I love 50s style diners, I love blue jeans and barbecues and red, white & blue. I love Cajun food and big yellow school buses, I love the never-ending cities, each overflowing with art and creation, I love new beginnings. I love expansive cornfields, I love rock n roll and bluegrass and the hippie movement. I love Johnny Appleseed and John Henry. I love the way a sunset looks behind a worn-down church, a flag hanging from its stoop.
Above all else, I love that so much of those pieces of culture are inherently not mine, but I am allowed to experience all of them because other Americans are open, kind, generous, creative, and beautiful. I love my freedom to criticize my country without loving it any less. I love the United States of America even when I hate it, because when the narrative is hate, our power is held in love.
What I’m trying to say is I still believe in the America I was raised for. We may not be in that country just yet, but with a continued love and passion for our home, our country is only going to keep growing. Happy Fourth of July, and never let anyone convince you celebrating means you can’t show up to protests. America should never be a country that is comfortable in its complicity. We the people, should never stop fighting for a better home.
