The first time I ever felt a sense of patriotism was at my Kindergarten Graduation. An all Black private institution, with a white owner, they taught us the song God Bless the U.S.A. I loved that song. When graduation day came, I was ready. Standing there, in my white dress, I remember waving my flag around and singing the song proudly. I remember feeling proud.
The first time I felt that patriotism stripped away from me was while watching the grand jury verdict on whether Officer Darren Wilson would be indicted for the murder of Michael Brown. As it wasn't that long ago that I witnessed his body, and his blood, live on television. I remember sitting on the couch in my den, alone, when the verdict was announced. I remember crying, and I remember a feeling of coldness. The pain I felt was a type of pain I didn't even feel when I learned about Trayvon Martin two years prior. This pain was different, this pain hurt more. Maybe it was because I didn't believe that after Trayvon Martin that someone wouldn't be able to get away with killing unarmed Black teenagers anymore. Maybe it was because I felt foolish for believing so. I'm still not sure yet. I doubt I'll ever know.
It's that time of year again. It's that time where I can eat as many hot dogs as I want without being reminded that I'm supposed to be living a gluten free lifestyle.That's right. It's the Fourth of July. Over the past few years, on this day, I've watched my Instagram feed turn from pictures of flags and decorated "Happy Fourth of July" quotes, to pictures of slaves and plantations. The caption section decorated with quotes from the famous Frederick Douglass speech "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?"
This sudden shift in posts came as my peers started to become more aware that America's Independence Day, was historically not an Independence day for all. Specifically Black people. Now my timeline floods with post wishing everyone a happy Juneteenth. Juneteenth is a holiday that acknowledges the announcement of the abolition of slavery in the state of Texas. It also acknowledges the abolition of slavery and freedom of slaves throughout the Southern states. I could argue that Juneteenth isn't truly our Independence day as well but I think thats self explanatory.
I will not take what I can get if I understand the truth behind it all.
I remember when I knew nothing. Back when I believed that a national Martin Luther King Holiday and being able to drink from the same fountain as white people meant that racism was over. Now that I understand that the message of Dr. King has been whitewashed, and that Black people are still being given dirty fountains (rivers) to drink from, I think its safe to say that I know better now.
Growing up in the state of Georgia, the Stone Mountain Laser Show is something I saw often. The first one I actually remember going to they sang America the Beautiful. Fireworks going off in the summer night sky, and if my memory serves me correctly, pictures of patriotic images of families of all races decorated the sky as well. I saw families that looked like me. They were smiling.
Why were they smiling?
Back then, I stood up, proud to be American. That sense of pride washing over me. I was oblivious. It feels good to be oblivious.
Laser shows, especially on the fourth of July, don't cause my heart to flutter like it used to anymore. The little girl who once stood there proud no longer is. The flag doesn't look all but one shade to me, and thats red. It's Bloody and it won't stop bleeding.
Growing up and seeing what was actually never hidden is tough.
To celebrate a country that imprisons, sexualizes, degrades, criminalizes, discriminates, and kills people for looking just like me is no longer something I can do on a clean conscious.
When your white pastor tells his Black Audience that traffic stops don't have to be as hard as we make them seem and you see your father quickly turn to your Black brother and tell him to ignore everything that pastor just said, to keep both hands on the wheel, and not to say a word, you don't feel patriotic anymore. When Sandra Bland, #SayHerName, is murdered a few months later, her tragic ending beginning at a traffic stop, and you still don't know for sure how they killed her, you don't feel patriotic anymore. His privilege of pride is not yours. He is allowed to feel patriotic without conviction. When you feel convicted? When you know better now?
You stop singing America the Beautiful at the laser shows.
You begin to beg the country to sing a different tune...
America the Flawed
My parents never hid the truth about the systematic way our country was set up, they just allowed me to discover it for myself. They've always allowed me room to form my own beliefs and I appreciate that. Why? Having to read and learn for myself gave me passion for what I preach. It only made me want to learn more. I still have so much to learn.
What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?
" a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass-fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy-a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages.”
What to a Black Women is the Fourth of July?
A day that reveals to her, more than all others days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which they still try and make her a constant victim. Except, she writes her narrative as the victor.
