We Can’t Even Celebrate This

Dearest Rachel –

I’m starting this letter a couple of days early, on the heels of having told you that the letters I’ve been sending you lately lack the edge of those early days (not that I’d necessarily want to go back to dealing with the level of pain I was undergoing at the time). There are themes that I find myself repeating from time to time that you must be sick of hearing from me at this point, when I should be dwelling on happiness; like the memories of our time together (although remembering those days when they can’t be brought back isn’t as happy for me as all that – which might explain why people let those memories lapse over time).

Today is another example of one of those repetitions that I can’t seem to prevent myself from bringing up; this time, that of politics. Now, in fairness, you and I would discuss politics back and forth, much as I used to do with Dad as well. As with him, those discussions weren’t particularly combative, since you and I were generally on the same page with regard to our political persuasions; it was more a matter of one or the other of us coming across a bit of news to share with the other, and discussing its veracity – I still recall you and Daniel coming across word that a certain prominent individual was about to be arrested and extradited to the States for a particularly heinous crime. I pointed out that the report was beyond improbable, given who he was and the alleged crime in question. Sure enough, nothing came of that news story; not that you were around to witness its dénouement.

So I wouldn’t mind discussing politics with you, but I have to bear in mind that there are those reading this over your shoulder who have views that would not correspond with ours; that, and any such discussion ought not to be one-way. You’re well aware that (since it’s been going on for some time prior to your departure), we have two schools of thought in this country. On the one hand, we have those that insist that this is the greatest country in the world, but that it’s been better in the past, while at the same time, it could be made that much – and possibly more! – better for the future. Then, there are those who deride any suggestion that this country was ever any good, that those who say otherwise are evil, hateful creatures who must be silenced, and that any attempt to improve it (especially by those evil, hateful creatures who seem to think that this place was any good) would simply make it that much worse.

You might be able to guess from those descriptions which side of the argument I’m on, and why I generally try to tread lightly on the concept, because I actually find the opposing group to be a matter of concern. Like Doctor Bruce Banner, I “wouldn’t like them when they’re angry,” and they seem to always be angry about something. Best to give them a wide berth, and distance myself from the blast radius of their wrath.

But on a day like this, that seems impossible to do. Because today is specifically set aside for celebrating a country in which half of its inhabitants seem to hate the place, and everything it stands for.

Despite the fact that I wasn’t all that old at the time, I still have vague memories of the bicentennial. I remember being particularly proud of the fact that the quarter that was struck to commemorate the occasion was designed by a sculptor from my very hometown. Meanwhile, everything else throughout the entire year was red, white and blue; even fire hydrants, which were painted to look like Revolutionary-era soldiers, with the tops being painted to resemble tricorn hats. It was a little corny and over-the-top, but there was joy and glee in it all, even if it was rather silly at times.

Bear in mind that this was during a time when the country was dealing with nearly double-digit inflation, high unemployment, the wind-down of the Vietnam War, and the crisis of confidence in its government that was Watergate – none of which I was aware of or understood at the time. Everyone was all proud of this country that, if we thought about it too hard, wasn’t in the best of shape. Although let’s face it; it’s times like that where a country might very well need an excuse to celebrate itself.

And that’s exactly what we did at the time.

But not this time around. This time feels a lot more subdued, to say the least.

Now that we’re supposed to be commemorating our quarter-millennial (or, more accurately, semiquincentennial – yeah, that’s a word that rolls off the tongue beautifully), there’s this sense that we have to be ashamed of this place in a way that we weren’t fifty years ago. And that’s with so fewer things like I mentioned going on at that time compared to now. Even if we want to celebrate, we have to be careful about it, lest we infuriate those who are firmly convinced that our country is the most evil place on earth, with horrible, noxious people – and yet paradoxically, they simultaneously insist that we need to welcome the entire world that is banging on our doors, clamoring to get in. Don’t they realize how awful we are, and how horrible this place is we’ve stolen from others?

Oh, there are those that fly the flag on this day and in the days leading up to it (and whenever we drive past any of them, Daniel raises his hand toward them in a benedictory gesture like a bishop granting a blessing on the house. I don’t claim to understand it, but I’ve learned not to stop him.)

But there are also no shortage of other flags and displays out there, that remind you of where you are, and why you can’t be too proud of this country, lest you set certain people off.

For our part, the wall mount on our house broke off years ago, so we have no way of displaying a flag, much to Daniel’s dismay. I’m personally just as content about it, as I’ve learned to keep my politics to myself as these two schools of thought get louder and more demanding that I pick a side, when I would just as soon stay out of the fight altogether. Again, you can probably tell that I lean one way, but that’s almost as much because I find one side repellant as I agree with the other.

The problem is – and maybe it’s because I go looking for it, to prove the glass is half-empty, rather than mostly full – I see a lot of evidence of those angry people that I don’t want to have to walk around on eggshells with. There are moments when I’d like to ask one of them where this country hurt them so, and why, like the apartment dweller, they choose to stay in such a distressing place, but I doubt that such dialogue would be fruitful for either of us. And rather than get yelled at and denigrated for my position – which I fully expect, and worse, from them – I simply don’t bother.

To be fair, it’s also a quintessentially American trait, to want to be left to one’s own devices, to do as one wishes. It’s quite literally what freedom is, and while I don’t claim to embody the “rugged” portion of it, I’ll embrace the “individualism” aspect wholeheartedly. It’s just that… it’s disappointing to feel like we can’t even celebrate this anniversary without upsetting certain of our neighbors; so this just has to be treated like any other Saturday instead, but with fewer establishment open over fewer hours.

Considering our national arc from the bicentennial to now, I’m rather glad to think I won’t be around for the tricentennial, if there is one. I’d rather be with you than dealing with that much more of this. But until then, keep an eye on us all, and wish us well; we’re going to need it.