The Fourth of July is upon us.
Sigh. Another one o’ these.
Also known as the day we celebrate our independence from you Brits. Two hundred and fifty years later, most US citizens can’t name what exactly we were so mad about, but we’re aces at holding a grudge.
My husband and I used to find some local-ish fireworks show and cripple our spines on a lumpy patch of suburban lawn, craning our necks to get a good view of the cascades of light. This will be the tenth year we eschew anything resembling jingoistic patriotism.
We God-forsaking heathens didn’t even track the National Day of Prayer in May, can’t believe the UFC cage on the White House lawn wasn’t a photoshopped cover of MAD magazine, and after hearing about Freedom 250 for the last six months, the commemorative pyrotechnics can pee right off. What, exactly, are we supposed to be celebrating? It’s 250 years of independence, not freedom; big difference, especially when you ask the Black folks. By their count, it’s 161 years of freedom, which fittingly comes out to a little over three-fifths. If I wasn’t talking about the Trump administration, I’d say that was a subtle insult. But they don’t do subtle; or math.
Maths don’t lie
Speaking of math, the oldest nation dates back to 301 CE. That’s 1725 years ago; 250 years equals just 15% of that period.
The average life expectancy in US is 79, 15% of which is just shy of twelve; an awkward age. That explains why we think we know everything and love shouting about it at top volume but have so little experience we’re constantly making a fool of ourselves.
Here’s another question that’s been plaguing me lately:
What does “American” mean, exactly?
In February 2026, Bad Bunny headlined the NFL halftime show. Trump called it a “slap in the face to our country” that “[made] no sense” and was “an affront to the Greatness of America”, apparently forgetting that Puerto Rico is America.
Then again, who can blame him when the moniker “America” is associated with the States, despite there being 22 other countries in North America alone. When you add Central (7) and South America (12) that number goes up to 41 (and shhh—includes Greenland! Don’t spoil the surprise!).
Bad Bunny named more than half these countries during his live performance. I’m sure most of the MAGA contingent watching Turning Point USA’s alternate halftime show – without earpieces while sitting in the stands at the Super Bowl – couldn’t name that many in an open-book test.
Love him or hate him, Spanish-speaking or not, surely one can recognize talent and flawless execution versus a MAGA frontman unable to line the microphone up with his face in time with recorded lyrics.
This wasn’t the first time international stars headlined this show. For instance, we’ve welcomed Paul McCartney and The Rolling Stones (England), Shania Twain (Canada), Shakira (Colombia), and Rhianna (Barbados).
Here’s the head-scratchiest bit: Jennifer Lopez played halftime in 2020. Like Bad Bunny, she is Puerto Rican, but she was born in New York. She sings primarily in English, but sometimes in Spanish. As does Shakira, who joined her on stage that year with J Balvin (also Colombian and bilingual) and…Bad Bunny. The people making the loudest complaints have already seen Mr Bunny play half-time.
Equality backsliding
For a while we were doing a little better with gender and race relations, but we quickly took a massive step back. It was as though we were waiting for someone like Donald Trump to finally give us permission again, denouncing all but cis, white males.
My hope for a woman president in my lifetime was dashed in 2024, after a disturbingly large female contingent insisted that commander-in-chief is a man’s job. I can’t see another president of color in the near future either (though I hope I’m wrong on both counts).
Alligator Alcatraz has finally closed, but hundreds more detention centres remain. Dozens of people who were either born here or came “the right way” have been incarcerated and have since reported several abuses. To those insisting these people are criminals simply for being undocumented, illegal residency is a civil infraction, not a crime. Like speeding, smoking in restricted areas, and fishing out of season.
Two hundred and fifty years later, the Founding Fathers’ concept of a New World remains a contradictory fantasy created by misguided adults who never grew out of playing cowboys and Indians. Not surprising when its visionaries murdered Natives and enslaved Africans in the name of progress.
How to be an American
Bad Bunny gave us a glimpse of what we could have if we truly welcomed the tired, the poor, the ambitious, the homeless, the downtrodden. I like this symbolic version, the joyful, inclusive one. The version that lives up to America’s former inspirational brand of using its wealth to take care of its people – especially its children – and doesn’t erase the ugly parts of its history, but learns from them.
Instead, we have an aggressive flag-wearin’, gun-idolizin’, Jesus-lovin’ RPG molded to suit a select few.
The rules are simple:
- be a Christian. or at least label yourself one;
- adore country more than family, but only slightly less than God;
- never speak ill of the US or its leaders, unless those leaders are Democrats;
- consider the placement of firearms in your allegiances: nestle it above country, atop God’s mighty shoulders. Otherwise, how will you defend either?
- dangle the Stars ‘n’ Stripes from your porch. Leave it up all year. Let it swaddle baby Jesus in the nativity you erected after Labor Day and abandoned through the endless rainstorms of spring;
- stick a matching flag decal on your lifted pickup. If you must drive a car instead, it better not be one of those woke hybrids;
- revere veterans and bestow a 10% discount on goods and services but spit on any who complain about their abysmal healthcare;
- and finally, assert your freedom by demanding that immigrants remain caged. Remind them you’re doing the Lord’s work. Forget the only reason you were born here was thanks to the immigrants that came before.
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