A Glorious Fourth?
Like many American women, I’m having trouble feeling star-spangled awesome this Independence Day. Thanks to the Supreme Court’s decision that women are no longer deserving of bodily autonomy when it comes to reproductive rights, my now muzzled voice is a bit off-key when singing about the land of the free.
But that changed last night.
Over dinner, I shared with my husband and son that I am conflicted this year about celebrating Independence Day as usual. I wondered aloud how I could continue honoring my grandmother’s favorite holiday, keeping alive her traditions of food, fireworks, and festivities, when I am now less free than I was a week ago. Less free than the two men who sat across the table from me.
With a quiet resoluteness to his voice, my husband asked me a question. “Do you care more about six justices and their out-of-touch, politically-motivated ruling than you do the lifelong patriotism of your grandmother? Are you willing to forego the traditions of your family and let the justices and the MAGA crowd win?”
Silent, I thought about his question.
After a moment, he concluded his thought. “They can only take what we are willing to give away.”
My husband is correct.
The words ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’ were penned by white guys who owned slaves. They were authored at a time when women couldn’t vote or own property.
The words aren’t reflective of truth in society then – or today.
Rather, the founding fathers declared a vision, an ideal end-state. And 246 years later, we are still struggling to form that more perfect union. I suspect we always will.
Old Glory now flies by my front door. I’ve reclaimed it; a symbol of welcome to all.
I’m still pissed. But that anger is fueling my adamant belief that America must continue moving forward in redeclaring what it means to be the land of liberty and justice for all. We cannot – will not – go back. Not backward to back-alley abortions. Not backward to separate but equal. Not backward to interracial marriage – my marriage – being illegal.
They can only take what we are willing to give away. I, for one, am not ceding anything more from our country to those who make a mockery of our nation’s values.
They can no longer co-opt our flag, the symbol of our ideals, and turn it into a weapon to attack the very seat of our democracy. I’ve reclaimed our flag and it’s now flying at my front door where it belongs, a symbol of welcome to all.
I’ve taken back my celebration of our nation’s founding as an act of defiance against those who would limit my rights and the rights of others who call this country home. I’m wrapping anything that doesn’t move in bunting and sticking flags in every flowerpot I own. Not because I feel like celebrating, but because the foundational tenants of our democracy aren’t up for debate. Or commandeering.
My grandmother’s bowl that she filled with cherries every Fourth of July is sitting on my kitchen counter. And her potato salad, the lore of generations of family gatherings, is at the center of our family table; her recipe and traditions inspiring a new generation to wrestle with what it means to be an American today.
In the words of my grandmother, it’s a Glorious Fourth. The fight continues to make it so.