America, it's the 4th of July, and We Need to Talk
Boshemia designer and contributor Lauren Elizabeth reckons with America in the wake of personal and collective loss.
The 4th of July was always one of my favorite holidays, admittedly for basic and superficial reasons. I like day drinking, I love the smell of barbecue, and I’m down with any socially-acceptable excuse to set things on fire and wear my tacky Goodwill star pants. But this year, for many reasons, I am not celebrating America.
I am not celebrating America because it catfished me. It claimed to be the land of the free, that we are “out of many, one.” It duped us with the promise of an (oft-mythical) American Dream™. This year, America aired its dirty laundry, and I am reckoning with the uncomfortable ways in which my eyes have been opened to certain realities I should have long ago been aware of.
My ancestors came to America on the Mayflower, including a man named Stephen Hopkins who signed the Mayflower Compact. My school textbooks (written by white historians, through a white supremacist lens) branded them as heroes, but I am learning to be a bit more critical. While their intent to escape religious persecution and seek their own freedom was admirable in many ways, their involvement in colonization was problematic. In my re-education, I am learning that our history was far more complicated below the surface of what I was taught in school. How did I just learn about Juneteenth? How did I only recently realize that the “melting pot”, “colorblind” narrative of our diverse population is in fact harmful because in denying race, we ignore the ways in which our system discriminates based upon it? How could I have celebrated my freedom for years when hundreds of thousands of Black people are stuck behind bars for petty crimes which my white peers and I have likely committed with no consequence or punishment? In 2020, my personal patriotic duty is to pick up the slack and begin my re-education.
Photo by Jakayla Toney
This 4th of July, I mourn the loss of American life, much of it avoidable, because our “leaders” tossed up their hands in the face of COVID-19 and failed to lead. We’re only halfway through the year* (*cue collective groan*), but their negligence has already contributed to mass casualty greater than all American lives lost in World War I. They privileged the economy over people … a rampantly capitalist economy, let’s not forget, where the 1% profited off of the pandemic and got richer, while millions of others lost their jobs, and we’re careening towards another Great Depression. A country where treatment costs for COVID-19 vary widely depending on which hospital one goes to and who administers the tests and where the BIPOC and Latinx communities are disproportionately infected and have poorer treatment outcomes. A country where our most essential workers are directly exposed to the virus but often receive a minimum wage and are the least likely to be able to afford care should they get sick. A country based on the survival of the fittest, where the elderly and immunocompromised are practically given up as sacrificial offerings. After all, the Lieutenant Governor of Texas so tactlessly assumed that most grandparents would take a gamble on their health to help the economy. A country where the government sent Shake Shack and the LA Lakers millions in unrequested bailout funds but has lagged in providing aid to struggling hospitals and nursing homes, which could cut off peoples’ access to healthcare in many regions if they are forced to shut down. A country where for-profit healthcare has become the norm—something my father, an advocate for not-for-profit facilities, lamented. Although these not-for-profit facilities usually provide a higher standard of care, my father saw, and knew, how hard it would be for them to stay afloat after COVID. Throughout his career, he advocated for their protection and their existence. He believed, as I do, that things so precious as human life and health should not be abandoned to the whims of capitalism.
On that subject, this weekend and every day, I also mourn the loss of my father, who died in late March by suicide. My life, and this country, is worse without him. He was a man who often kept his disappointments to himself, but in his last words, he lamented the failure of our leaders in this current crisis. Ironically and somewhat sadly, my last text to him was, “Somebody give Trump COVID.” I still stand by that, and given his blatant disregard for science and public health advice, he just might bring it upon himself.
To a much lesser degree, I mourn the loss of my previous life in France. I miss watching the briefings of a leader who spoke with the solemnity and respect required of the situation, who shed genuine tears in empathy with his people, and who stepped up to lead and take action even if he knew, as happened, that he would catch major flak. I miss being surrounded by a citizenry who, for the most part, complied with a strict stay-at-home order for six weeks and put a hold on their individual liberties for the benefit of the greater good. Now, my friends back in Paris are reaping the benefits of this sacrifice and living in much greater normalcy—although of course “normal” is still relative—than I am over here in the States. Deaths and new cases have dropped in France and Europe, but the rest of the world now watches in pity as our own numbers skyrocket. What started as a slow burn has become a forest fire in a mere matter of weeks. In early April, I flew from one eye of the storm in Paris directly to the other in New York City; it felt like going back in time. Luckily, New Yorkers stepped up to the plate and stayed home. As a state, we flattened the curve. I only wish the rest of America would learn from the lessons we faced and apply them.
Photos by Forest Simon (left) and Koshu Kunii (right)
Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, on this 4th of July, I mourn and remember the loss of innocent Black lives. For Americans, who are generally skeptical, sometimes only seeing is believing. Our cultural lens of individualism often limits our view to ourselves or whatever’s an arms-length around us. As a result, due to my own white privilege, I realize I have been complicit in white centering. I regret that it took a stream of violent videos of modern-day lynchings for me to shift from a goal of simply “not being racist” towards one of being anti-racist. My heart breaks for Gianna Floyd, who will not only have to grow up without a father, but who will live with visual proof of his brutal murder only a click away in the public domain. George Floyd may now be a hero, but he did not choose to be one. His death was a catalyst in the awakening of our collective conscience, his body no-longer-living proof of the deadliness of systemic racism. But let’s not forget that George Floyd did not want to die. On social media, we were asked to #SayTheirNames. But this “Independence” day, I’m wondering, how much longer is that list? Will we ever know? If this is just the tip, exactly how big is the rest of the iceberg? If innocent Black people can be killed for the most basic things that I, as a white person, take for granted—walking home, going on a run, going to bed at night—then America as a country is not free.
This weekend, I am also reckoning with the reality of being in the U.S. for the immediate future, and considering the ways I must move forward as an active participant. My previous (and grossly privileged) attitude was always, “I don’t particularly like America, therefore, I don’t want or need to live there.” I “escaped” America and indulged in France. But America, and its ugly past, never escaped me. Ironically, it took personal, national, and global tragedy for me to realize this basic truth.
James Baldwin once said, “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.” Belief in a better and fairer system is the foundation of patriotism. The creation of America would not have been possible without the destruction of property—just google “Boston Tea Party” if you need a reminder. Our founders rebelled against unfair taxation without representation. Well, how does it settle now that someone convicted of a felony will continue to be taxed, but stripped of their right to vote? As for the removal of certain monuments, I doubt this would be shocking to the founders of America, because they themselves engaged in it. It was one of the many ways the revolutionaries showed their rejection of British symbols which they felt no longer represented them. I recently saw a headline that claimed, “U.S. Vandals Destroy Monuments Because They Hate America.” No … U.S. “vandals” destroy monuments because they love Americans. All Americans … which Columbus, or the myriad Confederate figureheads, did not. These statues have been removed because they no longer represent us. This is okay—countries, nations, and states are fluid. In Germany, there are no remaining Nazi memorials. This does not mean that Germans erased their history. On the contrary, they were forced to reckon with it, and subsequently decided to remove any public representation of a regime whose values have proven to be deadly and harmful. Recognizing what we didn’t know, but knowing what we know now, Americans in 2020 have been given a valuable opportunity to decide what is worth keeping on a pedestal. The next time someone claims that “the protestors have gone too far,” I won’t hesitate to remind them that America as a country was founded on dissent and revolution, and that is the only thing I can be happy about this 4th of July.