As the Fourth of July approaches, there is an intense pressure to embrace my American nationality. Every day, at least one of my Facebook friends posts some form of patriotic propaganda claiming that we are the best country in the world with an incredible military, excellent colleges and universities and endless opportunities. We are a country seeping with diversity and filled with the most resilient, most diligent and most intelligent people the world has to offer. We are a country with a Bible-based moral compass that never falters and always leads us in the right direction.
On the contrary, many of my friends are very vocal about their dissatisfaction with the United States. Conservatives and liberals alike argue and discuss how we can make America great, and some wonder if America was ever great to begin with.
America is too messed up. Too racist. Too politically correct. Too open. Too restrictive. Too godless. Too corrupt. Too brutal. Too soft.
Many of my friends are fine with posting statuses and memes commenting on how much this country sucks. And sometimes, I share them, too.
But as a child of immigrants, I feel like I'm caught right in the middle of these two standpoints. I can't say that America is the greatest country in the world, but I also feel guilty whenever I voice my discontent with this country.
How can I say that America is so great when my parents experienced racism when they arrived here? How can I say that America is so great when my family still experiences racism today? When my parents were just a couple of chinks stealing jobs from hard working American people? When patients ask, "Can I get another nurse?" because they don't want an Asian person taking care of them? When my 14-year-old brother is called violent racial slurs when he's walking around downtown? When I am told, as an Asian-American, that being born in America isn't enough to make you American? When I am still seen as a foreigner in my own country?
How can I say that America is so great when my black friends experience racism on such a scary, systemic level? When they get anxious when they see a police car approaching? When they constantly have to live in fear? When they are told that they're not good enough, or smart enough, or beautiful enough? When Eric Garner, Sandra Bland and Freddie Gray don't live to see another day? When black children like Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin and Tamir Rice don't get to grow up because their lives were ended too soon? When it is clear that black lives really don't seem to matter to this country?
How can I say that America is so great when a student who attends the high school right behind my house can be taken by Immigration Customs and Enforcement on his way to school? When that student and others like him spent their graduation day in a deportation cell instead of walking across the stage with their classmates? When my undocumented friends are not known by their names or their accomplishments in the media, but are labeled as criminals and "illegal aliens?" When education is not a right, but a privilege that somehow has to be earned? When teenagers are sent back to their birthplaces to die?
There are plenty of things wrong with this country. There are plenty of things that need to be fixed, and I know it. But I can't help but feel ashamed when I voice my discontent with America because, in some ways, it feels like I'm cursing everything that my family has worked for.
Even though I'm angry about the oppression in this country, I'm still incredibly grateful to be here.
Because I remember that I could be on a farm in the Philippines. I remember that I could be walking three hours each morning in worn-out sandals in hot, tropical weather, just so that I can receive an education. I could have limited access to clean water. I could have to take a 45-minute taxi ride each week just to be able to buy groceries. I could be far from any dentist offices or hospitals, and healthcare could be something that I rarely receive.
Because my parents' stories of coming to America still resonate with me, especially my father's. He sacrificed his dream of becoming a dentist and took his parents' advice and became a nurse instead. Like many other Filipino nurses, he and my mother immigrated to the United States in the late 1980's and early 1990's, and I was born shortly after their arrival.
One of the stories that stood out to me the most was my dad's first time going to a buffet. The immigration workers who were helping my dad and his friends get settled in America took them to an all-you-can-eat buffet, and my dad told me that he was shocked because he had never seen that much food in his life. And he could eat as much of it as he wanted to.
As messed up as it can be, America is still the best thing that has ever happened to my family. All my parents ever wanted was to be able to put food on the table, and if being able to feed themselves meant having to work with racist and ignorant people, then so be it. My parents don't complain about injustice because they don't really see it as a problem. How can I convince my parents that the best thing they've ever had could be better without making it sound like I'm ungrateful?
Being a first-generation American is hard. Because I'm happy that I'm not starving, but we need more than food to be able to survive.
We need to be free.
