For Americans Who Don't Like America

I used to think I loved America but I didn’t.

It turns out, I loved the myth of America.

Growing up, I bought into its songs and its anthems and its stirring stories of liberty and opportunity, which I guess was understandable.

For a suburban, cisgender, heterosexual male who identified as Christian, these myths were more true for me than most. They were all I'd ever known. That version of America had always been available to me, even if it was out of reach for many people.

But the more I had my eyes opened by travel and experience and curiosity and education, the more I saw the cracks in the glistening, whitewashed facade and into the putrid decay underneath. It is a sickness that now seems more pervasive and profound than ever. As bad as I've come to realize it has always been, in many ways it feels far worse now.

Lately, I'm realizing that not only do I not love this nation but I really don't like it very much, either: not the one we have been and certainly not the one I see us becoming now that we have rejected decency and elected inhumanity.

I don't like the fierce denial of Science and data.
I don’t like the rejection of education and expertise.
I don’t like rising hostility toward the different.
I don't like a cruel white Christian Church devoid of a compassionate Jesus of color.
I don't like the unrepentant brutality of our leaders.
I don't like a political party fully beholden to a traitorous monster.
I don't like the racists emboldened to bully store clerks and harass black teenagers.
I don't like seeing people I love devoured by baseless conspiracy and nonsensical propaganda.
I don't like realizing how many people I know harbor hatred.
I don’t like that we elected a rapist and felon.

I don't like so much of this place that it grieves my heart.