It’s amazing what can happen in a year. A little over twelve months ago, we were celebrating the legalization of same-sex marriages, a fundamental right that members of the queer community had been unjustly denied for decades. I remember seeing rainbows everywhere I looked—decorating store logos, plastering the Internet, radiating from the faces of those who were only just then feeling welcome in this nation. The natural high from the Supreme Court ruling seemed to last forever, filling the hearts of every citizen seeking justice and equality. We all thought, “Well, this is finally a step forward.”
A week after the monumental ruling of Obergefell v. Hodges, I celebrated the Fourth of July with my family. I remember sitting on our dock overlooking the lake, watching the fireworks explode over the glassy mirror and melt into the water. I thought about my indifference to our nation’s Independence Day in previous years, about how I was never proud to be an American before this year, this summer in which we had made a huge leap, together, as a country, as one people. I remember thinking about how far we’d come—yes, how much further we had to go—but content nonetheless to celebrate, for now, the fruits of our labors. It was a bit like the end of an inspirational Disney movie with a bittersweet message—the work is hard, much is lost along the way, and it doesn’t always end perfectly (if it ends at all) but there is nothing quite like sweet victory.
Now, one year later, our nation feels a bit more like the gritty montage in the beginning of a dystopian film, foretelling the events that led into the post-apocalyptic movie-verse. There would be sound bits of Rush Limbaugh yelling about Muslims, shots of news reports on TV highlighting the Pulse shooting or the Stanford rape case, and of course a headline of Donald Trump and his usual homophobic/misogynistic/racist rantings. How did we go from optimistic, peaceful firework scene to this, in one year, no less?
Well, we’ve seen an alarming rise in xenophobia. Our nation is frighteningly tempted by the prospect of simply building a wall around our country to keep out immigrants. Though we haven’t followed in Britain’s footsteps yet, we only hope that we learn from their mistakes during Brexit—that fear of foreigners will prompt us to take extreme measures to keep out those unwanted. We see our country—a country full of families that once boasted about their proud immigrant grandparents—scrambling to “make America great again” by keeping immigrants out.
We see homophobia and racism running rampant, still. We see the sun rise over a country in which gays and POCs alike are afraid to be themselves. When we were young, our mentors encouraged us to be ourselves, be different, stand out, yet it is this fear of being different that drives people to commit heinous acts such as the Pulse shooting, an act of both homophobia and racism, specifically against the Latinx gay community.
We’ve seen hope in the recent election in the form of Senator Bernie Sanders. You may not have agreed with his policies, but he was a strong candidate who rose to the top through small donations from citizens all over the nation—he was the candidate who spoke for the people, not the major corporations. We saw this candidate give hope and volume to minorities.
And yet, as November draws closer, we see an election day that looks to be the same as every other election day—we see ourselves voting for the lesser of two evils. We see citizens preparing to hold their noses and close their eyes as they place their sacred vote for either Hillary (a dishonest corporate puppet, as some might see her) or Trump (who, I learned today, has just had his third rape case filed against him), though many citizens do not support either Hillary or Trump on any front. I see myself doing the same as Bernie—voting for Hillary simply for the fact that she is not Trump. I see myself disappointed in our attempt at a democratic system when once again, the voice of the people doesn’t seem to make it to the final ballot.
We see a nation where people are afraid of living their lives. We see a nation that is run by leaders supposedly elected by citizens, yet we also see citizens constantly upset by those same leaders, with no way to change this. We no longer see a land of the free, but rather a land of the scared. We no longer see a home of the brave, but rather a home of the dishonest and powerful, while the few brave citizens striving for change are shoved to the side with not enough voice or force to make the difference they long to see.
In sum, we have seen the fall of a once strong nation. We used to have the capacity to help out our global neighbors; now, when we try to help, we usually make things worse on both sides. We cannot keep burning the candle at both ends—we have to focus on our own country and our own flaws before we use all our resources up on other nations. We have to admit that we are not the strong country we used to be—America is like an old man that doesn’t know his own age, insists he’s at the prime of his life, and yet pulls a hammy getting out of bed.
When we realize that we’re not in the same shape we used to be and learn to adapt our ways, learn to realize that change is not only good but necessary to move forward, then we can claim to be a great nation once more. Only then will I sing with Lee Greenwood and proudly celebrate this nation and the progress we make. Until then, Independence Day will only be a decent movie with an unnecessary sequel.
