But if you're at all familiar with this Whirled, it will come as no surprise to you that reaching this milestone feels to me a bit like limping across a marathon finish line while wearing a ridiculously ill-fitting blue suit, a too-long red tie, and cheap shoes that are much too big. It's very hard to fully enjoy the patriotic fanfare when a significant portion of "We the People" remains completely enthralled by Mango Mussolini and his circus of grievances, which they have adopted as their own just because he commands it.
Watching the toxic wave of Trumpism wash over the land for nearly
a dozen years has been exhausting, disheartening, and flat-out
ugly, particularly during Trump 2.0. Every time we think it can't
get any worse, Trump and/or his allies say, "Hold my
beer." So again and again, many of us find ourselves looking
around in dismay at the ruins, both figurative and, in the case of DC, literal,
that litter the landscape on this momentous occasion. In that
light (or lack thereof), the frantic flag-waving and grandiose
expressions of patriotism we're seeing everywhere seem like
little more than ostentatious virtue signaling by masses of
people who, knowingly or unknowingly, are supporting efforts to
tear this country limb from limb and throw it to the wolves.
I am not the only one who feels this way, of course. Millions of
others in the US are similarly upset by the
state of the union today, whether or not they blame Trump
specifically or view Trumpism as symptomatic of a malaise that is
both larger and deeper. And on the world stage, America has
definitely lost its former glorious standing, with both allies
and adversaries viewing the US at 250 as "a solid global
citizen gone rogue," in the words of a July 3, 2026 headline for an opinion piece in The
Guardian.
But birthdays are for reflection, not just complaining.
If these 250 years have taught us anything, it is that America is
much bigger than any single demagogue, any single administration,
or any temporary bout of national madness. This country, this
flag, and this July 4th holiday do not belong to a cult of
personality. They belong to all of us.
The red, white, and blue has survived deep wounds, terrible
errors, and profound divisions before. A fabric this resilient
can handle a stubborn, garish orange stain. It won't wash out
overnight, but it is not permanent.
So today I am holding onto hope, the same hope that, hand-in-hand
with my cynicism, I have consistently expressed on this blog
throughout the Error of Trump. I am choosing to believe in the
enduring power of our democratic experiment and the quiet decency
of the people who keep it running. We are still here. We are
still writing the story. Even my favorite foul-mouthed pundit,
Jeff Tiedrich, took a break today from his usual Saturday
"This Week In Stupid" column with this message for Americans:
today, let’s rest. tomorrow, the fight continues.
above all, do not let some tinpot fascist wanna-be spoil your day. the Fourth of July belongs to We the People.
here’s to you on this July 4th, America, you great big beautiful fucked up country.
So pass the hot dogs (or vegan equivalents),
light the sparklers (but be cognizant of fire hazards, and please
keep your pets safely in the house away from scary fireworks!),
and let’s keep working to make this union a little more
perfect.
PS ~ Here
is an uplifting 250th birthday message
from the president I miss the most,
Barack Obama.
