My America

By Katie Frailer

written in 2020, revisited in mourning

My America.

make America great again.

A slogan coined by a man who does not know what greatness is.

Who does not know what America is.

Whose view of this country is through a position of privilege so high he cannot see the people on the ground. 

So I guess you cannot blame him for not understanding. 

But before you put on the red hat with the pretty propaganda.

I have one question, sir.

What does that mean?

What is it that you believe makes America great?

What is this idea of greatness you want to return to?

I love my country.

I am proud to be an American. Despite what you have tried to turn it into, I will continue to be proud to be American.

I am proud to be American because we are a country that is supposed to care about the little guy. The underdog. The downtrodden and forgotten. 

We are great because we are the ones who act, the ones who change the world. 

We tore down injustice. We fought for our freedom with blood and used it as ink to set into law a new way. Our history is not all red white and blue. a lot of it is just red. The body kind. Our history is ugly and bruised. But we must take her and move forward.

My America, sir, is complicated. The poison of the past still runs through her veins. But still I believe that America can be great. That greatness comes with great tragedy. So when you, 

a round orange man with little hands, from on a throne of privilege you have never stood up from preach to me about making America great again.

Forgive me if I spit in your face, but:

You do not deserve my America. You cannot have it. It is not yours. 

Your America runs on fake patriotism. It is fueled by the false idea that we are done. My America knows that we are never done, and that the fight for freedom is not won until it is won for everyone. 

Your America has taken my flag and shoved it down people’s throats, choking them with the lie that they are free. You wave guns in the air and a child dies. But look how free you are with your gun in the air, sir. 

Your America loves freedom until it does not apply to you, and then you like to pretend that it is not the backbone of this country. Free to love. Free to choose. Free to protest. Free women. Free people of color. They were each written in blood too, sir, on the same document as your second amendment, or did you stop reading when it stopped applying to you?

Your America can suck my America’s dick. 

My America is stitched together. it is a patchwork of the Indigenous who were silenced, the enslaved, the freedom fighters, and the activists. We are a people who know how it feels to be suffocated by injustice. We are a people who have built ourselves back up stronger than before. We are a people who use that strength to lift up others. 

My America is out on the streets, with signs of ripped cardboard marching with linked arms because it understands that freedom has never been free. It’s funny sir, did you forget what our history looks like? Did you forget the harbor that tasted of tea? How dare you celebrate that history and condemn it now. My America does not make excuses for its past. My America is tumbling statues. My America is marching for its life.

My America is not, and never has been, afraid to tear down what is known to make room for what is right. 

My America does not need to broadcast its greatness on hats and banners. Her self-esteem is not so fragile, 

Make America great again. I mean no offense, sir, the last thing I would want to do is upset a man so keen on destruction. But you would not know where to start. You do not know the meaning of the word. 

You can not make something great when you yourself have never been great.