This Fourth of July
I am not proud of my country.
Not right now. Not when we have, as a nation, failed so profoundly to deal with this pandemic the way we needed to. Not when over a hundred thousand Americans have died, and the number is climbing frighteningly fast. Not when there are so many people whose personal liberties are precious to the point of sociopathy, such that they won’t even put on a fucking mask to protect other people. Not when police officers brutalize American citizens in the name of their own power. Not when the injustice against people of color continues every goddamned day, in every stratum of our society. Not when we worship the almighty dollar to the exclusion of human decency and the future of this planet.
There is a cancer in American society, and it’s killing us.
I know there are good people as well as heartless ones. I know that there are movements for change. I hope to hell they succeed — because the alternative is that we continue this downward slide.
This Fourth of July, I dream of a day where I can actually be proud of my country again.