Proud to Be an American?
Disclaimer: Discussion about guns, abortion rights, sexual assault, and general themes of discrimination. The letter “u” is used sparingly.
Growing up in the United States, I often heard Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to be an American” on television and at public events. While the song excites the patriotic erogenous zones of conservative Americans, it made me roll my eyes like a bad dad joke or getting into another long line at Stages. But I appreciated the sentiment—I too am proud to be an American.
It’s just, I used to be prouder.
The past few years have been sadly embarrassing for many Americans. There is absolutely nothing pleasurable—a Lee Greenwood song notwithstanding—in seeing the country of my birth descend into a place that prioritizes guns over life, control of woman’s body over liberty, and general cruelty over the pursuit of happiness.
During my childhood, I knew I was lucky. I was raised in Alexandria, Virginia, a quiet suburb just across the Potomac River from Washington D.C., where George Washington once owned property and where Confederate General Robert E. Lee lived. Only half a dozen subway stops away were swarms of tourists visiting Smithsonian museums and photographing world famous monuments.
My parents moved to Washington from Toronto, and both were involved in politics, one in each party. They worked on campaigns, in Congress, we watched 4th of July fireworks from the Capitol steps—the whole DC experience. For me, I skated with Alex Ovechkin (FYI, he’s faster than me) and traded jokes with former Sen. Al Franken (FYI, I’m funnier than him). I even graduated from T.C. Williams High School, made famous through the movie Remember the Titans.
I tell you all this because I find it difficult to reconcile my peaceful and sunny childhood with the violence and darkness currently engulfing my country. But it was likely because I didn’t know better. And I really should have.
From elementary school through high school, I think I had as many school shooter drills as I did grammar lessons. Almost monthly, our school would be locked down because of a rumor of a gunman in the area, an unwanted intruder or another weapon brought on to school property. But the response in my state—and so many others—was NEVER to address access and lethality of guns, but to add another inexperienced security guard, inspect student knapsacks and locate better places for the students to hide.
While many at home display an indifference to life—as I wrote this, there have been 537 mass shootings in the U.S. in 2022 and a total of 36,123 gun deaths—the “pro-life” forces won a victory when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, effectively allowing each state to set its own laws governing abortion.
This was a punch to my gut because, in my view, it undercut another aspect of America that made me proud: the idea of liberty. Instead of enshrining into law my right to choose, to honor my liberty, the Court let states steal it. And did they act quickly—in the past four months, one-quarter of the states made abortion illegal and another 14 states adopted more hostile rules governing the procedure.
With two legs of my “proud to be an American” stool broken, I find I cannot balance on just the pursuit of happiness, especially when that too has been undercut by the growing cruelty many Americans show—and the joy with which they display their callousness.
“Elected officials who are supposed to protect the rights of citizens do not care about my rights as a woman. ”
While I know the U.S. has a rich history of intolerance and discrimination (like every other country), I used to think Americans were always trying to do better. But beginning with the Muslim ban in 2017, followed by the anti-Semitic march in Charlotteville and the caging of migrants at the southern border, many American openly displayed a visceral enjoyment over the suffering of others. As one commentator noted regarding Trump-era policies, “the cruelty is the point.”
When I came to Kingston in September 2020, to pursue higher education (and a fun party), many asked “Where are you from?” I used to proudly say Washington, DC, but now I find myself questioning my pride in my country. Telling people I’m American – with Canadian citizenship! I always quickly add – means questions. Questions about my sympathies, the political climate, guns, Trump. None of it is ever good. I answer, but it's enervating. Am I forever meant to be associated with a growing notorious place? A place where basic safety is at constant risk?
So I admit it—I’m ashamed. The very thing that makes the U.S. unique—its democracy and peaceful transfer of power—now is under siege, but from those at home. I’m angry that my country is changing for the worse and so-few people care because a gallon of unleaded gas is $3.80 now. I’m angry that our scientists rushed to develop a vaccine that weakens the impact of a virus that has killed over 1 million Americans, and about one-third of the population refuses to take it. I’m angry that when a young girl is raped and becomes pregnant, she is forced to pay child support to her rapist when the state denies her custody of her child. Cruelty is still the point.
So I’m ashamed. Ashamed that a country my parents put so much trust into is failing me. Elected officials who are supposed to protect the rights of citizens do not care about my rights as a woman. They don’t care about their citizens who may be gunned down at a grocery store, a school, a church, a movie theatre or any other public venue.
As I observe my home country spiral out of control daily, I wonder if anything will get better. Will there be a time when I am no longer ashamed of admitting I am from the United States? When checking the news makes me mad, sad, and lost at the same time? Although I am only a few hours from the border, I feel farther away from my country by the day.
Header by: Aglaia Joithe