"This is America?"

In first grade, we stood each morning to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. It was the late 1960s and all girls were required to wear dresses at school. I would stand respectfully in my hand-me-down dress, colored with groovy orange and purple flowers. But sometimes I didn’t put my hand on my heart. Sometimes I mouthed the words, but didn’t say them aloud.

I was not raised to love the United States. My parents were horrified by the Vietnam War, its needless bloodshed, the drafted young men who never returned home. My father, in particular, had a deep sensitivity for the oppressed. His childhood best friend (who may or may not have been his first lover) was Black. My dad walked in the famous “I Have a Dream” civil rights march, and later, in gay rights events.

All my life I have had an uneasy relationship with this country that I call home. I have had a good life here. I grew up in safe neighborhoods with good schools, attended a first-class university, bought a lovely home, and was free to do everything I set out to do. Still, I don’t know that I have ever been “proud to be an American.” My mind whispers, “Yes I am free, but many others are oppressed.” I know our history is more complex, tinged with ugliness along with bright light.

                                                                                  ***

One autumn, many years ago, my youngest daughter returned home from first grade. Picture her:  blonde curls, a beaming smile, and big blue eyes. Like me, she wore a flowered dress to school, but not because she was required; she chose her dress. Anna had been learning about Thanksgiving and Christopher Columbus discovering America.

I turned to her, "You know, Columbus only discovered America from the standpoint of the Europeans, who didn’t know it was here. But there were already many people living in America."

         "What?" her innocent, loving face turned toward mine.

         “Well, yes. You learned about Native Americans, didn’t you?”

         “Yes! We live on the land of the Lenni-Lenape.”

          “Exactly. So, the Lenni-Lanape were already here when Christopher Columbus came, right?”

           “Oh. I guess so,” her little face looking puzzled.

           “So he didn’t “discover” America. The land was here, and people like the Lenni-Lenape were already on it. Then he, and the Europeans who came after him, pushed the Native Americans off their own land, and many of them were killed.”

           “What???”

           “Yes. That is the actual story of what happened.” I gazed at my daughter. She looked shocked.

           “Why don’t they tell us that?”

           “I’m not sure. Maybe they don’t want to upset you.”

These are the stories that we shield from our children, lest our history cause them distress, which I think this is a grievous mistake. Anna weathered that conversation fine; I doubt she even remembers it. What I can tell you is that Anna is now a woman with deep compassion for the oppressed. Knowing our history did not wound her, it was an element that helped her grow up wise and kind. Knowing our history is vital, both individually and as a nation.

                                                                                  ***

Our country has never really been what it says it is. We have always been a nation forged on the ashes of broken pacts, paved over the bones of the Indigenous people who were here first.

Then we systematically enslaved ten million Black people.

Then, yes, we won a revolution, fought on the principal that “All Men Are Created Equal.” These are incredible, inspirational words. These beautiful words were written by a slave holder who slept for years with his deceased wife’s enslaved half-sister. Inspired by his words, we won the Revolutionary War, and then white men had the right to vote.

It took women another 137 years to win the right to vote. That happened only 104 years ago. Recently, in 2024, some men have asserted that if women do not vote in accordance with their husbands, women should no longer be able to vote. Really.

Forgive me if “All Men Are Created Equal” rings hollow to me.

I am cynical about this country; I have always been. I think that growing up disfigured and bullied made me acutely aware of disadvantage, even though I was a white girl with financial means. I have always been good at sniffing out the acrid stench of hypocrisy.

 This week’s election results shocked many of us. More than half of our country chose a convicted felon for president, a man who has made scores of racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and xenophobic insults. Still, he was preferred to an honorable and intelligent Black woman. “This is America?,” we asked, shaking our heads with stunned grief.

Yes, this is America. Racism and sexism were baked into our origin but we prefer to look the other way. We glowingly retell the story of World War II, when America saved the world from fascism. We tell the story of our inspired Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. We point to Martin Luther King’s “long arc of justice,” under which more and more people attained equal rights.

We have indeed done great things as a country. My friends who are immigrants sternly advise me that every nation has terrible problems. I’m sure they are correct. Still, minimizing, avoiding and denying the racism and misogyny that has always been knitted into our history

only dooms us to repeat mistakes.

 As a psychologist, I sometimes must guide clients into uncomfortable discussions about themselves, their actions, their history, their words. If people want to change, and to build better lives with love and connection, they have to know when they are messing up. That knowledge empowers people to do better. That knowledge would help our country do better as well.

I don’t write this piece to make anyone feel guilty about being white or having privilege. I’m white and I have plenty of privilege and it is quite pleasant. I personally have never killed a Native American, or enslaved a Black person, and I’m sure you haven’t either. I'm also not saying that everyone who voted for Trump is racist or sexist. But this is the history of our country, and it reverberates still. Denial only empowers the reverberations, because we cannot correct that which we refuse to see.

None of us know what will happen next. I hope the dark predictions on TV never come to pass. I hope American democracy endures. I hope we are all safe and well, united in kindness and respect with one another. I hope our great country -- and yes, I did say great country, because there is a lot of good here-- survives and thrives as it always has.

For those of you who are scared and exhausted, I hear you. I’m climbing out of a dark hole too, blinking into the sun. For those of you who are exultant, I hope you are right. I hope that this election somehow brings prosperity and safety to every American.

To every American. That’s the key. Every one of us.

                                                                     ***

Coda: That was the original ending to this piece. I shared it with my daughter Anna, she of the Lenni-Lenape conversation. Now an educated and observant 25 year old, Anna remarked, “It’s good Mom, but it’s. . . missing something. Your pieces are always about resilience, and helping people to cope and have hope. Where is that part?”

I laughed, chagrined. “Oh, hope!! Ugh. I’m too depleted to write about hope. I'm not up for hope today.”

Anna smiled kindly through the Facetime lens. “I know. It’s been an exhausting week."

“But you are right. That part is missing.” (I told you Anna was wise).

End Part I

Part II: Hope and Coping; coming soon

Photo credit Ronan Furuta

Lise Deguire's multiple award-winning memoir, Flashback Girl: Lessons on Resilience from a Burn Survivor, is available for purchase on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Newtown Book Shop and The Commonplace Reader. Check out her TEDx talk "Scarred Not Scary"