Today, I Am Not a Proud American

I’ve been thinking a lot about the current state of America. About the Trump administration. About what ICE agents are doing to families in Minnesota. About the segregation that still exists in Detroit. About what’s happening in rural communities, especially in the South. About food deserts.

And people still say America is the land of the free, home of the brave.

Where is the freedom?

Freedom does not look like being ripped from your family. Freedom does not look like working twice as hard just to receive half, half the money, half the success, and half the accolades.

I think about how my life might look if I were raised in a country that celebrated my existence instead of constantly questioning my worth. A country that didn’t treat me as undeserving simply because of the color of my skin and what’s between my legs.

Racists don’t give a shit about my law degree. They don’t care about my economics degree. They don’t care how well-spoken I am, how much money is in my bank account, or how fluent I am in the language of stocks, markets, and investments. To them, I am just Black.

I know there are things happening in other countries that I cannot begin to imagine because they are not my lived experience. I empathize. I read. I travel. I pay attention. I understand as much as I can.

But no. I am not a proud American.

I am grateful for the experiences I’ve had. I recognize that my life is easier than some.

But it is also far more difficult than others.

I am not proud of what is happening in this country.

I am not proud that this land was stolen from Native people.

I often wonder what America would look like if it were governed by the people who truly discovered it. What would the people here look like then?

Everyone would have a little brown tint to them, I imagine.

I am not a proud American.

I am a proud Black woman.

And I wonder sometimes, what if my ancestors had never been taken? What if they had been left in Africa? What if they hadn’t been stolen, beaten, forced to work for nothing? What if fear, poverty, and lack weren’t still living in my bloodline?

That’s why I’m upset.

But then we’re labeled “angry Black women” for being angry about what was done to us. For being angry that we have to work twice as hard, be three times as educated, and still not receive what we deserve.

So yes. Today I am upset.

Today I am not proud.

I am grateful but I am not proud.

There is so much work left to be done.

Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve lost my way.

Like I don’t fully recognize who I am.

Like maybe I’ve become too bougie. Too pretentious.

Like my standards have risen.

But just because I’m no longer in survival mode does not mean I’ve forgotten my assignment.

Yes, I have high standards.

Yes, I’m a little bougie.

But I am still for the people.

Still for the cause.

That’s why I’m picking up this pen.

And I won’t put it down until my people are free.

Because I know I am not free until everyone is free.

I may live a little more comfortably, but comfort is not liberation.

We are all one accident away. One mistake away. One bad decision away from the very realities we are too afraid to talk about, too afraid to see, and too afraid to name.

There is so much work to be done.

And today, I am not a proud American.

Today, I am sad.

Today, I am angry.

And today, I don’t know.