Reflections about "Fourth of July" from a privileged immigrant/citizen

[The New Yorker: "Mother's Day," by Ana Juan.]

This Fourth of July I really wanted to celebrate. I mean, I really did. I've always loved the idea of : "Independence" Day. The idea that we are all rejoicing our freedom from tyranny. I have enjoyed celebrating Fourth of July since I immigrated to the United States thirty one years ago. I always found it sweet and festive to be sitting out on some lawn some where eating hot dogs, corn, and apple pie, hanging out and waiting for hours for the thirty minutes of fireworks to begin exploding in brilliant colors high in the sky. It was charming and created feelings of community and pride for our nation.

And so on Thursday this past week, I really wanted to celebrate.

And yet, instead, tears of rage, sorrow and shame rolled down my cheeks as I awoke. How could I feel pride in a nation that cages children, separates families, and rolls tanks into the nation's capital so that the new American royal family can give a show of "force?" My stomach hurt all day, and I tried not to look at postings on social media. No, indeed, I felt as if I was in deep mourning. The day felt dark and ominous to me. People smiling and continuing as if all these things are now normal. A nation without a moral compass and compassion. I wanted to drape myself in black and storm the tanks in Washington DC. A lone, 70-year-old gray haired woman. When I did check in with friends on Facebook and Twitter, I saw protests all over the country - people standing in bright colors with huge signs decrying the ugly cruelty that has become the new normal. People standing proudly and smiling as they showed their stance against our own tyranny growing and blooming before our eyes.

"But why aren't we wearing black and mourning en masse all over this land?" I thought to myself. "Why aren't we singing softly, chanting prayerfully and somberly, fasting and sobbing in despair all over this land?"

This is not a game. Children are suffering terribly - lying in terror in cages, feeling unwelcome and in fear of who knows what will befall them. Families torn apart. What has become of us all? Imprisoning and causing pain to thousands of vulnerable people just because they are Other. Will early childhood teachers waltz into schools the next day teaching children a unit on sharing? How can we do that when we are too stingy to open our arms, hearts, and homes for those in need? How do we continue to model compassion for our young children, when our leaders are cruel and heartless?

I always remember Bruce Perry saying that it was a great day when we wrote the Declaration of Independence. But now we need to amend that and write a new Declaration of INTERdependence. Creating community needs people, who are compassionate, caring, generous, and understand the importance of quality relationships especially for the very young.

And so, this year, on this Fourth of July, as tanks rolled into Washington DC, and so many people in this nation ignored the suffering of thousands in detention camps at our borders denying succor and relief to children and families - the most vulnerable and needy - I was in mourning.

Indeed, my heart is sombre and I am weeping in despair and shame for our nation.