So there I was, in a pissy mood, standing on a roof in the dark, slightly drunk, watching enormous explosions in the sky, while the radio was blaring the signature caterwaul of Steven Tyler.
And damn, I couldn,Äôt get into it. Past years, for all the Bush-led half decade, I could lose myself in the fireworks, thinking of what got it here, about how even though this country is in pretty rough shape, it still hasn,Äôt torn itself apart yet, and there,Äôs a chance we can still pull through.
Plus, huge fireworks are cool.
But not that night. I thought about the revolutionary war; not in the specifically cynical, a-bunch-of-rich-white-slaveowners-didn,Äôt-want-to-pay-taxes kind of way, but in the archetypical way, the ,Äúhey, get off my dick,Äù way. A group of people felt like they weren,Äôt being represented, that their government was almost an alien force, with no thought of the governed. That the government was a brutal, controlling force that took with no mercy, and gave no reward.
Not even a reacharound.
And the governed, sick of all the bullshit, decided to do something about it, and (unbelievably) actually stood up and kicked some ass. Whether or not that history actually existed, it,Äôs a symbol of the idea that you DON,ÄôT have to put up with the vile, incompetent, and willfully ignorant leaders that ignore you while committing atrocities in your name.
So there I stood, with not a single candidate I voted for in office, disagreeing with just about every domestic policy decision made, while unjust wars and saber-rattling turn ,ÄúAmerican,Äù into an even worse pejorative than before, and while humans of all nations, (including mine) are being slaughtered for the illusion of democracy. And I was watching the ossified ritual in honor of our ancestors who said, ,Äúnon serviam,Äù, but now is usually associated with the belief of, ,Äúmy country, right or wrong,Äù.
I usually find myself saying, ,ÄúI love most of my country, but I hate most of its leaders,,Äù but at what point does the disagreement trickle down to such a fundamental level that you feel like a stranger in your own nation? When do you reach the point that the country you love simply no longer exists, except in your imagination, and perhaps a few roadside diners here and there?
And at what point do you do something about it?
man, I feel you.
ECH,
mittens, 10/10, etc.
Ah, well.
Hey! I think there's a Simple Life marathon on right now!
Im glad someone wrote a Independence Day rant, cause if noone had, I would have. And, hung over as I am, it would prolly be pretty crappy.
Unlike this one.
:Mittens:, LMNO.
I fired missiles into the Japan Sea to celebrate Independence Day, to show solidarity with the North Korean military. But trust me, the feeling you are not at home even in your home country can become strangely liberating after a while.
In recognition of independence day, we got our driver arrested 100 miles from home at midnight and had a guy with 2 hours of sleep drive us home at three in the morning.
It seemed to fit.
Nice rant, and I agree with you a lot, particularly about the sort of foreigner mentality this country creates.
Except I've never really had any love or pride directed towards my nation.
Perhaps it's a product of being so young and not raised with the same level of nationalism (or perhaps being raised with an attention span too short to soak in any propaganda at a meaningful level.)
Happy belated Independence day.
Fuck yeah. Preach it, LMNO!
Thanks, Rog. Rare praise, indeed.
Mittens indeed! A quite inspiring piece.