Binderama60for60

I know how blessed I am to have been born here and to live here. All my life, my family and communities have nurtured my love for this country. My travels and experiences seasoned it.

On its surface, America is beautiful. I can’t say that any better or more concisely than Katharine Lee Bates did 130 years ago. Amber waves and so on from sea to shining sea. I’ve flown over and driven through thousands of miles of the place for 60 years. Some vistas take your breath away. Others make you want to hold your breath. I’ve visited hundreds of towns and places, met people of all kinds: good, bad and ugly. When I’ve traveled abroad, being an American, I was a movie star in India, a business mogul in China, a friend in Copenhagen, invisible in Japan and a wanker in the UK (Jelly much? No hard feelings).

When I began outlining this post six or more months ago, the country was horribly divided. I didn’t think it could get any worse. It has, in ways I never could have imagined.

But that’s the thing that makes America great. It’s messy. We have differences. We persevere. We overcome. We are stronger for it. I hope.

JFK’s “We do these things not because they are easy but because they are hard” is one of my favorite quotes about this place. Our system of governing is hard. It’s slow. Corrupt. It’s getting worse. America was founded as an experiment. Even the Constitution says it plainly: “to build a more perfect union.” It’ll never be perfect. What makes it even trickier, “perfect” means different things to different people and it changes over time. The word “union” seems more straight-forward, but alas, not so these days.

I won’t debase myself by delving into the current state of divisive, vitriolic partisan politics, at least not for a few more paragraphs. First, I want to establish some bona fides.

Some Bona Fides

Growing up near Washington, DC, the symbols of America, its history, diversity and its politics were everywhere.

My parents were keen to take us into the city all the time to visit the memorials, the White House, the Capitol, the Library of Congress, the massive edifices of various departments. Just the idea of the Smithsonian is a treasure; I could navigate the Museum of American History and Technology blindfolded. I can still see the blood-stained pillows in the house across from Ford’s Theater and the eternal flame and so many stones at Arlington. Even the non-jingoistic hotspots enhanced my love of America, connecting cultures from the past 400 years that weave the fabric of our country. It ain’t all pretty, and that’s the point.

My Father served on a destroyer in the Pacific during World War II and was later editor-in-chief of ARMY Magazine for 30 years. He was something of a war historian, so we hiked and camped at the battlefields of the Revolutionary and Civil Wars a few times a year. The principal of my elementary school was the grandson of slaves and grew up on the Manassas battlefield near Bull Run. He passed around cannon and musket balls and told stories of digging graves for soldiers whose bodies they found decades after the war, separating and burying them based on the buttons on their uniforms. We learned about sacrifice from early on and often and came to understand the “better angels of our nature.”

I sat on the curb of Pennsylvania Avenue for hours to see Ronald Reagan’s first inauguration. I waved to him at the White House Easter Egg Roll a few years later, me dressed as Scooby Doo, backing a performance by Up With People (tell me something more American than that!). When Reagan died, I walked two miles to the funeral home in Santa Monica to see the hearse arrive. Nancy was there too.

My Father raised the American flag every morning at our house on Lake Michigan. Since he passed, I do the same every day I am here. I fly no other flag. As for apparel, I have sported a pair of Vans featuring the stars and stripes but without any additional context.

Does that make me more American? More of a patriot? No. Any citizen is as much an American as I am. All that stuff about inalienable rights and life, liberty and pursuit of happiness, count me in.

A Good Run

Admittedly, I’ve only perused The Declaration of Independence and The Constitution in my 60 years. As with the Bible (and other scriptures), I hear a lot of people quoting these documents to conveniently and definitively prove whatever argument they’re trying to make.

When I hear fallacies about the intentions of the Founding Fathers, I go back to the reality that in those documents there is no reference to “God,” but rather, “the Creator.” No “Jesus,” no “Christianity.” No mention of “democracy” or “freedom.” No mention of “patriot” anywhere in sight. Nothing about “economy” or “supremacy.” There’s also no mention of “diversity,” “acceptance,” “inclusion” or “empathy.” No “immigration,” perhaps because most of the authors were immigrants or descendants of recent immigrants.

The documents leave much to interpretation, by design. How could anyone imagine back in 1776 what we have a still have a hard time grasping about state of the country and the world today. The Founders knew they didn’t know how all this would work out so they created three equal branches of government to check and balance one another, including one taxed with interpreting their intentions. Brilliant! As long as you can keep it that way.

Okay, enough historical opining from a novice. Though I did just happen to nail AP History at James Madison High School and American history at James Madison University. Madison, of course, wrote the Declaration of Independence. Fact check: that was actually Thomas Jefferson; Madison scribed the Constitution. Both good Virginians, though not as highly regarded by today’s evolved (woke) morals and institutions. I’ve heard Madison felt bad about inheriting over 100 slaves from his dad. Bummer.

Politics as Narrative

It’s said that if you’re 20 and a conservative you have no heart; if you’re 40 and a liberal, no brain. I think I got that backwards.

At 19, my first presidential vote in 1984 went to Ronald Reagan. After that, I voted for Perot and Democrats. Even after the debacle of the 2000 election, the country stayed the course, if with a little more tension and fright, thanks to 9/11 and our reaction to it. I credit the election eight years later for sending the country off the rails. While the Great Recession was kicking my ass, the first black president was being assailed by the cosplay “patriots” of the Tea Party. It all seems so Lewis Carroll in retrospect. Then shit really got weird.

Today, the idea of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness seems to belong to a self-chosen few who angrily insist that they are the true “patriots.” Too many have become performance patriots, preaching and judging without doing. They like to play dress-up and wave flags from 250 years ago or modern American flags bastardized with political, tribal and merchandisable bullshit.

In all the many sketches and etchings that depict the Founding Fathers doing their jobs, whether signing of the Declaration or drafting of the Constitution, I don’t see a single person wearing a flag or waving pennants proclaiming Washington Strong or Fuck John Adams. America and its flag(s) aren’t a fashion brand. It’s an idea, a set of guiding principles. The only boat parades that I can think of from back then is, oh shit, the Boston Tea Party. Ok, flawed analogy.

As for the current acronym of merchandizing, grift and governing, I can get behind some of the initiatives, like efficiency, cracking down on crime (all of it, not just selectively, racially or politically focused)…and…wait, I realize that those are the only two things I can get behind right now.

The problem for me is the swagger, the vitriol, the greed, anger and hatred. There’s a winking cruelty behind it all and so much projection. In their version, the victims are the oppressors and the oppressors the victims.

I know the acronym represents something honorable to many people, but to others it’s become no different than a swastika or a confederate flag (l like southern rock but FFS you lost!). To me, that’s not what America aspires to be.

Why Me?

As an old white man, I should be grateful that there are 400+ old white men who run the country who are fighting for me. They want to lower my taxes, get me a promotion, keep “the other” out of my neighborhood. I should be happy, right? I should vote in my own best interests. I should get in line because this has to be all about Me. I’ll say it again: Me. ME! ME ME ME ME!

That’s not what America was founded on. I’ve been fortunate by birth, but I’ve also worked hard, hit hard times and overcome. It wasn’t easy — it’s not supposed to be in America — but I recognize my course was easier than others and certainly “the other.” How bad is it for me to want to share my good fortune with others. It’s not socialism, it’s compassion.

Light a Candle

One of my greatest fears in all this runaway mayhem is that younger generations will see it as normal. It’s okay to break the law, deny justice and disparage and vilify those weaker or different from you. Yes, there’s been a faction of those believers for 250 years but now it wields a megaphone louder and more intense, powerful and relentless than any other. It, quite literally, IS the law.

History is written by those who win, and right now I feel history will not remember what truly makes and made America great. That’s the thing about civilizations, all through time: to the victor go the spoils. Take it all, exact revenge, erase the evidence, write the books and rewrite or destroy the other kinds; America was founded on much of that. But it’s especially dangerous when almost half the population proudly celebrates itself as “deplorable” and when a leader cloaks himself as the ultimate patriot while grinningly enriching himself as the ultimate charlatan, selling hats, bibles, crypto and cologne(!) to sheep and sycophants, and selling out America to the highest bidder(s).

I am proud to be an American but today’s America is not the America I’m proud of. It shouldn’t be a problem for me to say that. I accept that our country is not perfect but I sure I hope it won’t become evil, more evil. I won’t live to see what it becomes, but I hope it will find its way back on the path toward “more perfect.” I will always believe that America can someday become that “shining city upon a hill.” If only for a generation or two, here and there.

This Friday, the 4th, grab some wet naps and a roll of paper towels because America was born to be messy. And here we are.

Happy Birthday, America. Love you.