Freedom? For Whom?

It's the Fourth of July. I think I should probably say something about it before the calendar rolls over the fifth. Something heart-warming and patriotic to bring a tear to your eye.

 

Um... Happy Fourth of July.

 

Sorry, folks but that's the best I can do.

 

I have a friend who's-- well, it's not nice to give a senior lady's age without her permission, so let's just say she's much older than I am. More than twice my age, in fact. And I'm 40-ish (emphasis on the -ish), so you can figure it out.

 

She's a proper English lady, whom I like and respect, and who has taught me a great deal through her stories of having survived the London blitzkriegs (and maintaining the sort of British "stiff upper lip" you only read about in books).

 

We disagree politically most of the time. But, somehow, she's the only Bushie I know with whom I can hold a lengthy conversation (we're talking three, four hours, or longer) without wanting to bash my skull against a wall over and over until the frustration goes away. That we can be at such polar opposites, and yet work through nearly any issue until we come to an understanding (which is sometimes just the agreement to disagree) only increases my respect for her, and gives me hope that the most committed ideologues aren't so different as we all assume.

 

She called the other day, and asked how I was planning to celebrate the Fourth. At times like this, it's ever-so-tempting to make a snarky crack about beating the British back in 1776, but I don't do that. Not only do I like and respect her too much (although she would take it well, knowing I would mean it in jest), but my ancestors certainly never had anything to do with the American Revolution; my ancestors were too busy getting their feet purple in a grape-stomping frenzy back in the old country.

 

Instead, I told her that I wasn't planning to do anything to celebrate the Fourth this year. "It's Independence Day," I said, "a day that's supposed to represent American freedom. I won't feel much like celebrating until we get some of that freedom back. Ask me again in... Oh, I figure I'll have something to celebrate on the Fourth of July in, say, 2005."

 

She understood what I meant. And -- bless her little conservative heart -- she laughed out loud.

 

That doesn't mean I don't recognize the significance of the first Fourth itself; of course, I do. And, even though I'm not terribly happy about the fact that all those Early Americans slaughtered a bunch of indigenous people in order to claim the U.S., I am grateful to be here. It just may not sound that way, especially when I seldom fail to mention that if it weren't for the French navy stepping in, the revolutionaries would've gotten their asses kicked, and today we'd all sound like the cast of Eastenders, and be looking forward to elevenses instead of a coffee break.

 

So I acknowledge the Fourth of July, but I just don't feel like celebrating today. I think if I were to walk outside tonight and watch the fireworks (one can see a number of displays right from my front yard), I'd be reminded too much of how this nation was borne of war, and how little has changed in the past 227 years. That's what the fireworks symbolize, you know -- the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air... in other words, killing people.

 

And here we are again, enmired in an endless "war," for reasons far, far less valid than those of the American Revolution.

 

Lack of patriotism? Nah. I'm just mourning the fact that we haven't learned much since 1776. And there's nothing unpatriotic about treating July 4th as a day of mourning; in fact, it's practically an American tradition.

 

Of course, July 4th marks the deaths of Presidents John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, signers (and with Jefferson, author) of the Declaration of Independence; both died July 4, 1826, fifty years to the day after the United States was "born."

 

And, strangely enough, President James Monroe died exactly five years later, on July 4, 1831.

 

But I'm not even talking about Adams, Jefferson, and Monroe. When I think of July 4th as a day of mourning (and a reason not to celebrate), I always think of Vicksburg, Mississippi.

 

Now, bear in mind, had I been around during the Civil War, I most certainly would have been on the side of the Union. I sometimes think it would have been better to let the South secede altogether, but if we had to remain united, I'm awfully glad the North won. (Slavery was never a "states' rights" issue; it's a simple human rights issue.)

 

Anyway...

 

You Southerners, I'm sure, know the story: During the American Civil War, the city of Vicksburg fell to the Union on July 4, 1863. With the surrender of General John Pemberton and more than 31,000 Confederate troops, the fall of Vicksburg and General Lee's nearly simultaneous defeat at Gettysburg pretty much wrapped up the whole conflict. Except for some more pointless bloodshed, the South had lost.

 

Understandably, Vicksburg did not celebrate the Fourth of July again until World War II (1942, if memory serves).

 

You want to be patriotic today? Then stop your flag-waving and put down the barbeque fork long enough to spend a quiet moment thinking about the latest dead and wounded in Iraq. And then ask yourself what you're celebrating. Maybe instead of celebrating the hard-won freedoms which have been disabled until further notice, you might prefer to honor the freedom that may one day be returned to us.

 

I think the soldiers who died in 1776 so that you could be here to read this today would rather you did.

 

The past is the past, the dead are dead, and the damage has been done. The greatest fireworks display in the world can't change that.

 

But you, my fellow Americans, have the power to change the future -- and the obligation to be aware of the actions taken by your beloved country, in your name, so that you can change the future.

 

So what am I doing for the Fourth of July, 2003? Taking a break and watching a "Twilight Zone" marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel. Oh, yes, I think it's quite appropriate: I'm awash in memories of the early 1960s, when I felt truly free.

 

Posted 9:12:29 PM   Send comment

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