"This is America"
Reflections on what it means to be American...
They tell me being American
means god, guns, and pickup trucks
means wearing a flag
means erecting more walls
means filling up prison cells.
They tell me to be patriotic
is to keep certain people out
is to forget how we came in
is to erase those here first.
They tell me to love my country
means to hate my neighbor’s accent
means to fear my friend’s trans child
means to keep silent about my nation’s sins.
They tell me democracy
means making a king
means blaming the poor
means blind allegiance to braggarts, billionaires, and ballrooms.
They tell me to be a good American
I must stay with my own:
“don’t cross that bridge,
don’t eat at that table,
don’t share my bread.”
But I went to the ocean
and there I saw America walking
in bodies of color — pink, freckled, tan, pale white, honey-brown, dark, like chocolate
in pairs of eyes — blue, green, brown, wide, slanted, wrinkled, raised
in a myriad of languages — Spanish, English, Italian, Korean
and the universal one of laughter.
A woman with espresso skin and an accent from the islands asked if I’d take her picture
then twirled in her blue and white dress
in front of the very water which brought my ancestors here by boat
and I realized in her smile…
she doesn’t believe what they tell us.
She already knows what it means to be American.
She already knows she belongs.
Knows she’s beautiful in her glistening, sun-kissed skin.
Knows her mother’s tongue still belongs in her mouth.
Knows they don’t own this flag;
we do.
We the people.
We the all of us here.
We here, from everywhere.
We the children of immigrants,
we the descendents of indigenous.
We who work in the field and the factory,
we, in the schoolroom and the boardroom.
We who clean toilets after hours
and tend to the feeding of children and the homeless.
We who worship in the church and the temple,
in the synagogue and the forest.
We who welcome soccer players from every nation
and delight in crossing every border.
We who open our living rooms.
We who widen our tables.
We who honor our flag and like Lady Liberty say,
“All are welcome here.”
This is America.
A friend sent me this song this week, and I think it captures both the reality of how one can deeply love their nation and also grieve its many sins.
YES! Thank you.
This is America by Childish Gambino