Brave Enough to Love, Brave Enough to Look

“Write about how what’s happening right now shouldn’t keep us from celebrating the Fourth of July and everything it’s meant to be,” my husband says as he glimpses the blank screen staring back at me.

“But I don’t feel that way. I don’t feel that way at all,” I say.

I would like to. I would actually love to.

I would love nothing more than to cloak myself in red, white and blue this Friday and belt out the Star-Spangled Banner (undeniably off-key) as a chorus of fireworks stream down from the sky. I would love to join the crowds downtown and watch my boys snag Tootsie Rolls and Smarties from the street as waving neighbors walk the morning parade. I would love to look at those neighbors, covered in the colors of the flag, and not wonder who they voted for. I would love to go back to a day when that wasn’t the first thing I thought when I saw the Stars and Stripes waving from someone’s front yard or the back of their Silverado.

I would love to stand and place my hand on my heart as that flag passes by, held safe in the care of a local veteran. Fireworks done, noses sunburnt from a day of celebration, I would love to lead my boys into the house at the end of that long day and tuck them into bed without fear of what the future holds in this uncertain country of ours.

But I’m not sure I can get there anymore.

As we head toward the day meant to commemorate American independence, we are further away from those ideals than ever before. We are further away from many of our friends and family members, as well. The cost of silence, ours or theirs, has taken its toll.

When we turn on the news, we see politicians cower under the weight of the almighty dollar, and every few weeks, we watch those same news outlets shrink under the barrage of costly lawsuits and unrelenting lies.

The headlines these dying news outlets run have simultaneously grown more unbelievable and yet utterly unremarkable. What would have once brought down an entire presidency is just another day in the life of this new administration intent on showing us exactly who we are in the darkest corners of our hearts.

Earlier this month, we woke to the news that two Minnesota lawmakers had been gunned down inside their homes. The most shocking part was how un-shocking it all was. This is America. Each day, we wake to some fresh horrendous story. Each day, we accept just a little more depravity than the day before.
With political violence encouraged by both elected officials and the guy down the street, the tragedy in Minnesota somehow did not keep our family from joining millions of other Americans in patriotic protest later that day. And, if anything has made me want to celebrate the Fourth this year, to recall what all the fuss was about before our nation got divided up into bitter little boxes, that protest was it.

Just down the road in Holland, at a march I assumed would be quiet and ill-attended, we were met by thousands of community members voicing their outrage, but also a palpable hope. We caught a glimpse of everything this country could be. Quiet elderly couples, holding hands and homemade signs in their lawn chairs, college students and twenty-somethings and families pushing strollers – we gathered together to call for our country to remember the promises made all those years ago, promises that have been broken over and over again since America’s inception, but still, promises worth fighting for, for our neighbors and ourselves.

Last week, our family traveled to Indiana to say good-bye to dear friends, to snuggle their sweet 7-year-old boy and tell him how much we love him, let him know we will visit once they are settled in their new city halfway across the country. What used to be a quick trip will now require a plane ticket as they pack up and move their family from Indy to Denver. With deep red Indiana continuing to tighten its chokehold on freedom, Colorado feels like a safer bet for an interracial gay couple. But their family has always felt like safety to me, and now they will be so far away, two less loving adults to show our kids how magnificent America can be.

I left their house more heartbroken than I have been about any headline or misspelled presidential tweet. This wasn’t some news story. This was their story. An American family forced to uproot and leave their home because the government does not respect their right to simply be. With every passing day, this becomes the story for more and more families in this country.

This holiday, I would love to sit in awe of our experimental melting pot, in all of its grave mistakes and corrections, its brutality and enduring beauty. I want to celebrate all the ways we’ve gotten it right without forgetting all the wrong that got us to this very day—the third of July in the year 2025—the year our country finally stripped itself naked and dared us to look.

I wonder if we are finally brave enough to look at ourselves this Independence Day. Can we handle staring right into the wounds of those who have already been targeted, ask ourselves how long it might be before the crosshairs happen to shift? Or will we, instead, turn to the sky this Fourth of July and let the sparkles of light ignite our love for this place? What a turning point it would be if we managed to do both.

Ashley, Woman of a Certain Rage