thoughts

Un-American Non-Patriotism: How This is Still America

Truth Within the American Façade

Who needs the news when everything to learn about America is right outside the front door? Over the last year alone, the fear of a plot to destroy America has intensified into an obsession, especially in regards to black people, people of color, the LGBT community, women ‘s empowerment, and impoverished people in general.

Conspiracy theories hold more weight than the actual news, becoming a huge problem in regards to how we tackle politics and other social issues. Eventually, the next conspiracy will center Parkland and how their protests of gun control to end the rise of tragic shootings across the country were only used as distractions. The real threat is Black Lives Matter organizers working with ISIS terrorist groups and MS-13 gang members to take over the government.

This paranoia is not anything new but is in fact buried deep into American soil—pushing through the earth, reaching every continent on the other side. Bridging the whole world together, sharing centuries of oppression and hatred to everyone who aren’t rich and white and male.

And what makes it worst is the ignorance of it all. As if tragedy is a pathogen we’ve come into contact with, that doesn’t turn people into zombies, but bigots and horrible people. So maybe Rosanne Barr was on to something with this Ambien thing?

As rhetorical as this question may be, how can the words “This is unamerican” shoot out of people’s mouths with utter confidence despite the immoral problems happening everywhere in America?

When we have 90% of American history proving how American this all is—In a country cluttered with so much history, the blood of our ancestors exudes a toxic smell. This method of erasing one’s burdens must require a shitload of bleach and a heavy dose of amnesia relating to everything pertaining to America, including how it was born.

Blind Patriotism & the American Blindfold

These words are uttered all the time: how unamerican this America is. Molding into a mantra—that if said enough times they’ll actually come true. The American dream as a reality one must wake into, or maybe this is White America’s clever way of taking the phrase “stay woke” away from us as well.

Unfortunately, it seems that no matter how much “progress” is made, we still fight against the same enemy from centuries ago, who ironically enough share our faces, politics, and beliefs.

Overtime, America has begun hating itself, turning Patriotism into an old habit like opening the door for someone or exchanging hellos with people we come into contact with—its just something we do to be polite.

Even with a full-fledged, White Supremist approved president, who’s civility is as bland as the dull coloring of the Confederate flag hanging off the back of broken down pick-up trucks and rickety, old SUVs across the country, it only has reinforced the already held beliefs that America isn’t as good as it claims to be.

How does anyone believe this conflict has ended? Because for many Americans, the war has been over. But what has been won? All that was accomplished is the battlefield has a change of location—being everywhere but on American soil. 

I guess they figure by hiding the guns, they can pretend no one is dying from them. This deluded way of thinking has worsened as the unethical and brutal actions taking place at the border, both inside and outside its bloodstained and oppressive walls, continues to become more severe.

Isn’t it ironic how a country torn from daily protests, vapid yet heated arguments, and the ever expanding list of public shootings turning people’s lives into sad songs and city streets into open cemeteries is also a country that claims the promotion of peace and prosperity for all?

Stolen Property & the New Home Owner

Imagine America as a dirty old house where people refuse to do much of anything to make it look better, except paint the walls a brighter shade as this absurd notion that cleanliness is dependent on clarity, or a not-as-bigoted way of saying “less color” (which makes sense because of the bleach).

In reality, America wants what lies in between those two extremes: for there to be enough color to rid the black and brown, while also being intimidated by a rainbow. How does its colors become the most oppressive flag to stand for?

When I imagine this house, I see skeletons piling on the floor and how they were covered with a fluffy carpet to make people feel welcomed here, even when they aren’t. Somehow it’s forgotten that the stench of dead things only intensify the longer they’re left unattended? To evade responsibility, entire graveyards were stuffed into the far corner of a basement to hide that this house was built on top of human remains.

And yet, even air fresheners aren’t strong enough to drown out the smell. Although  the entire house has been doused with so much of it, people can only pretend the oxygen isn’t foul. When we’re told there’s nothing that can be done to fix things, it sounds like an excuse. Since in order to care means one must accept responsibility—to be honest about the past as well as our present.

The Guest Suffering from Insomnia

I realize to be “woke” entails knowing one’s job description—to understand that I’m not a homeowner and never was intended to be. Likewise, I’m not the servant either, as that would require the need for compensation, benefits, and even the most basic form of decency.

Isn’t it ironic that a house without doors resembles a cage? Patriotism is understanding that this resemblance isn’t coincidental, but still trying to make home of America, even when it’s difficult to breathe.

In this house, there are no doors but open windows, and I no longer question its intent as I know only eagles are invited to any tea party and afternoon brunch taking place here. As the sunrise kisses my skin, validating my belief the sky has loved me more than most humans, I see even the sun has made this place, home.

The Ignorance of Paying Rent in a Home Where I’m Not Wanted

Being a fool, I believed that one day I’d be given a room with a warm bed as a souvenir of everything once sacrificed. This is how I lose myself: thinking I was lost to begin with, not understanding that only things belonging to me can be considered lost. In truth, real liberation is knowing my voice can be taken back, and that no matter how many times its silenced, my voice still matters.

As I look at America without forced patriotism clouding my vision, I remind myself I was someone stolen, and that this understanding holds importance as I cannot recover anything taken without knowing those who took from me.

I see the ignorance in asking how I’m less human than an eagle. I come to terms with the sad reality, that the American dream is more realistic than my own future. And lastly, I avoid being around people who see me as something borrowed, merely to be returned only when I’m no longer needed, as if a house will never need maintenance.

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