As many others have already echoed across the internet, it sure was one strange Fourth of July. I'd like to explore two trains of thought.
First, the difficulty of feeling patriotic for a broken country. Far from feeling proud, I've actively wondered (daydreamed?) if moving a few hours north to Canada could be a realistic option for my family. Somewhere, deep down, I know I love this country enough to fight for it. But it was hard to find that place this year.
Many years ago, European friends told me that Americans were cowboys. I think it was probably during the George W. years, when my French friends told me what a "cowboy" they thought he was, and describing to me the American mentality of the "gun-slinging Wild West." At the time, I didn't really see what they saw, and thought they were just relying on outdated stereotypes to make false generalizations about American society and culture.
But in the face of both gun control, and especially the "great mask debate" provoked by the pandemic, I see exactly what they were talking about. The white American ideal of individualism, and in extreme cases the individual above all else, has come back into focus. The (largely white) conservative right's focus on "my rights" and how mask mandates trample their God-given right to do what they want with their bodies (cue pro-choice rage here) evokes the image of the lone cowboy with a gun on his hip. (And never mind image, there have seen gun toting white cowboys in the news lately too, threatening protesters and even shooting at them). We are indeed a nation of cowboys, so obsessed with our own individualism and personal freedoms that we put our individual needs above the health of the whole. Maybe I shouldn't be so shocked, but our failure to put the good of others above our immediate personal desires leaves me appalled and heart sick. The recent surges, due largely in part to the failures of federal and local governments to enforce (or even strongly recommend) basic protective procedures, put all of our essential and front line workers at risk. As a teacher, I recently felt ready and optimistic about our to return to school in the fall. But with the recent surges in cases, and the demonstration by my fellow Americans that they don't care about my or my students' safety, make me reconsider my willingness to go back to the classroom. I am deeply ashamed, offended and hurt by my fellow Americans right now, and I couldn't find a lot worth celebrating this July 4th.
Second, I'd like to explore being patriotic (or really, not) in threshold times. I'm not going to say I've never thought about our racist, white supremacist, slave driven, colonial past before (or that it never occurred to me to feel conflicted about such things on Independence day before). It has. It is something I have done a lot of thinking, reading, and reflecting about. I've studied (and taught) about the horrors of colonization, imperialism, white supremacy, albeit mostly in a francophone context, and largely from white perspectives. I will say that I have A LOT of learning and listening left to do, but I will also say, that as a collective nation, something felt very different this year.
At least for my community, the focus wasn't on how great our nation is, everything we re doing right, or how the glorious ideals of our founding fathers were. In my spheres, the focus was on everything we are doing wrong, police brutality against Black Americans, the erasure of indigenous cultures, and the deliberately structured white supremacy, highlighted and endorsed by our sitting president, upon which our nation was built. Discussion around dismantling systemic racism (as well as the ever-present pandemic and its related controversies and and dilemmas) took the place of the usual relaxed holiday conversations. Friends asked each other, "What are we even celebrating?". Here in my town, all of our usual events were cancelled. No fireworks, no parade, no festivals on the town green. The lack of celebration seemed to be a perfect moment to pause and reevaluate ourselves as Americans, an added moment of reflection in these threshold times.
And still, I feel victim to the trap of traditions and old celebrations. Feeling sad that our local parade was cancelled, I shot out an email at about 2pm on July 3rd, asking our local mountain biking crew if anyone wanted to bike the parade route with the kids on the 4th. And so, on the morning of the 4th, as I set about to decorate my bike, I was suddenly stumped, reflecting on all the ideas I just put into words above. It just didn't feel right to celebrate the dumpster fire that is America right now. Unsure of how to proceed, I painted a multicolored rainbow sign proclaiming "celebrate diversity!", followed by a red white and blue one reading, "We are all immigrants." But then I felt the latter sign eclipsed our indigenous populations (as we historically do on this Independence day), and without enough space on the sign to elaborate, I made a third, "Honor Indigenous cultures". Slightly consoled by my self-assured signs, I still felt sheepish about organizing a celebratory parade at all, and immediately felt conflicted about the whole thing.
By 10am, there were suddenly about 25-30 people on bikes on the quiet side street in front of my house. My community showed up. They brought balloons and noisemakers, streamers and hats. We set out along the route, ringing our cowbells and blowing our whistles, and many neighbors came outside to wave and cheer and clap! We even got to wish one man a happy 109th birthday! Instead of his usual place in the parade, he parked himself in a lawn chair in his front yard for a few hours. Many in the community, including our little bike parade, swung by (at a distance!) to wish him a happy birthday.
And here is where I found something to celebrate. Perhaps the best way to fight the rise of idiocy (in the Greek sense, or maybe all senses) and the hyper charged individualism gripping our society: Develop community. Deepening our connections to and reliance on each other. Showing up for our neighbors. Getting an email at 2pm one day and showing up at 10am the next morning to support a small community effort. To celebrate each other, support each other, rely on each other. I can't take on systemic racism alone. I can't decolonize our educational system as an individual. But with the support of my community, through continued discussion, dialogue, listening, reading, and collective action, I believe we can make progress. White people especially, we have to do better.
First, the difficulty of feeling patriotic for a broken country. Far from feeling proud, I've actively wondered (daydreamed?) if moving a few hours north to Canada could be a realistic option for my family. Somewhere, deep down, I know I love this country enough to fight for it. But it was hard to find that place this year.
Many years ago, European friends told me that Americans were cowboys. I think it was probably during the George W. years, when my French friends told me what a "cowboy" they thought he was, and describing to me the American mentality of the "gun-slinging Wild West." At the time, I didn't really see what they saw, and thought they were just relying on outdated stereotypes to make false generalizations about American society and culture.
But in the face of both gun control, and especially the "great mask debate" provoked by the pandemic, I see exactly what they were talking about. The white American ideal of individualism, and in extreme cases the individual above all else, has come back into focus. The (largely white) conservative right's focus on "my rights" and how mask mandates trample their God-given right to do what they want with their bodies (cue pro-choice rage here) evokes the image of the lone cowboy with a gun on his hip. (And never mind image, there have seen gun toting white cowboys in the news lately too, threatening protesters and even shooting at them). We are indeed a nation of cowboys, so obsessed with our own individualism and personal freedoms that we put our individual needs above the health of the whole. Maybe I shouldn't be so shocked, but our failure to put the good of others above our immediate personal desires leaves me appalled and heart sick. The recent surges, due largely in part to the failures of federal and local governments to enforce (or even strongly recommend) basic protective procedures, put all of our essential and front line workers at risk. As a teacher, I recently felt ready and optimistic about our to return to school in the fall. But with the recent surges in cases, and the demonstration by my fellow Americans that they don't care about my or my students' safety, make me reconsider my willingness to go back to the classroom. I am deeply ashamed, offended and hurt by my fellow Americans right now, and I couldn't find a lot worth celebrating this July 4th.
Second, I'd like to explore being patriotic (or really, not) in threshold times. I'm not going to say I've never thought about our racist, white supremacist, slave driven, colonial past before (or that it never occurred to me to feel conflicted about such things on Independence day before). It has. It is something I have done a lot of thinking, reading, and reflecting about. I've studied (and taught) about the horrors of colonization, imperialism, white supremacy, albeit mostly in a francophone context, and largely from white perspectives. I will say that I have A LOT of learning and listening left to do, but I will also say, that as a collective nation, something felt very different this year.
At least for my community, the focus wasn't on how great our nation is, everything we re doing right, or how the glorious ideals of our founding fathers were. In my spheres, the focus was on everything we are doing wrong, police brutality against Black Americans, the erasure of indigenous cultures, and the deliberately structured white supremacy, highlighted and endorsed by our sitting president, upon which our nation was built. Discussion around dismantling systemic racism (as well as the ever-present pandemic and its related controversies and and dilemmas) took the place of the usual relaxed holiday conversations. Friends asked each other, "What are we even celebrating?". Here in my town, all of our usual events were cancelled. No fireworks, no parade, no festivals on the town green. The lack of celebration seemed to be a perfect moment to pause and reevaluate ourselves as Americans, an added moment of reflection in these threshold times.
And still, I feel victim to the trap of traditions and old celebrations. Feeling sad that our local parade was cancelled, I shot out an email at about 2pm on July 3rd, asking our local mountain biking crew if anyone wanted to bike the parade route with the kids on the 4th. And so, on the morning of the 4th, as I set about to decorate my bike, I was suddenly stumped, reflecting on all the ideas I just put into words above. It just didn't feel right to celebrate the dumpster fire that is America right now. Unsure of how to proceed, I painted a multicolored rainbow sign proclaiming "celebrate diversity!", followed by a red white and blue one reading, "We are all immigrants." But then I felt the latter sign eclipsed our indigenous populations (as we historically do on this Independence day), and without enough space on the sign to elaborate, I made a third, "Honor Indigenous cultures". Slightly consoled by my self-assured signs, I still felt sheepish about organizing a celebratory parade at all, and immediately felt conflicted about the whole thing.
By 10am, there were suddenly about 25-30 people on bikes on the quiet side street in front of my house. My community showed up. They brought balloons and noisemakers, streamers and hats. We set out along the route, ringing our cowbells and blowing our whistles, and many neighbors came outside to wave and cheer and clap! We even got to wish one man a happy 109th birthday! Instead of his usual place in the parade, he parked himself in a lawn chair in his front yard for a few hours. Many in the community, including our little bike parade, swung by (at a distance!) to wish him a happy birthday.
And here is where I found something to celebrate. Perhaps the best way to fight the rise of idiocy (in the Greek sense, or maybe all senses) and the hyper charged individualism gripping our society: Develop community. Deepening our connections to and reliance on each other. Showing up for our neighbors. Getting an email at 2pm one day and showing up at 10am the next morning to support a small community effort. To celebrate each other, support each other, rely on each other. I can't take on systemic racism alone. I can't decolonize our educational system as an individual. But with the support of my community, through continued discussion, dialogue, listening, reading, and collective action, I believe we can make progress. White people especially, we have to do better.
July 10th:
Vermont Cases: 1,272
US Cases: 3.17 Million
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