The America I Still Believe In

As I sat down to write this on the eve of America's 250th birthday, I found myself thinking back over the past few weeks. I had just returned from my first New York City Pride celebration, standing along streets that have become synonymous with the ongoing struggle for equality. I thought about the thousands of people I have met through education, advocacy, community organizing, and simply living life over the past fifty years. I thought about raising my son, the lessons I hope he carries into adulthood, and the country he will inherit.

More than anything, I found myself wrestling with a question that feels more important today than ever before: What does it really mean to love your country?

For me, America's 250th birthday should be a celebration. It is an extraordinary milestone in the history of democracy. Few nations have had the influence, innovation, generosity, and resilience of the United States. We have landed on the moon, expanded civil rights, welcomed generations of immigrants, led scientific discovery, and inspired people around the world with the simple but radical idea that liberty belongs to everyone.

And yet, birthdays are also moments of reflection.

We celebrate where we've been, but we also ask ourselves where we're going.

This year, I find it increasingly difficult.

As someone who has spent much of his life studying history, working in education, coaching individuals to be empowered, advocating for LGBTQ+ equality, and organizing within my community, I cannot simply wrap myself in the flag and pretend everything is fine. Loving this country requires more from me than celebration. It requires honesty.

I've never believed patriotism meant believing America is perfect.

Quite the opposite.

The America I fell in love with was never defined by perfection; it was defined by aspiration.

"We the People."

Liberty and justice for all.

Government of the people.

Equal protection under the law.

Freedom of speech.

The right to peacefully protest.

The idea that no one, not even the president, is above the law.

The reality, of course, is that America has never fully lived up to those ideals. People of color, women, Indigenous communities, immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, people with disabilities, and countless others had to fight simply to be included in promises that were supposed to belong to everyone from the beginning.

But that struggle doesn't diminish America's promise.

It proves its importance.

Every generation has been called to close the gap between our ideals and our reality. The abolitionists did. The suffragists did. Labor organizers did. The Civil Rights Movement did. LGBTQ+ advocates continue to do so today.

The most patriotic Americans have often been those willing to challenge America to become more fully itself.

That is why I struggle with the current moment.

Some of the loudest voices claiming patriotism today seem to measure it by the size of a flag, the volume of a slogan, or unwavering loyalty to a single political leader. But patriotism has never been about performance.

Real patriotism isn't measured by how loudly we proclaim our love of America.

It is measured by what we are willing to protect.

Will we protect the Constitution even when it inconveniences those in power?

Will we defend an independent judiciary when its decisions disappoint us?

Will we value a free press even when it asks difficult questions?

Will we preserve checks and balances even when they slow down the political outcomes we desire?

Will we protect the rights of people whose lives look nothing like our own?

Those questions, not campaign rallies or social media posts, define patriotism.

Today, I worry that we too often choose loyalty over principle.

Power over service.

Division over unity.

Fear over hope.

Facts are increasingly treated as optional. Institutions that provide accountability are dismissed whenever they become inconvenient. Political opponents are portrayed not as fellow Americans with differing views but as enemies to be defeated. Entire communities—including immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, educators, journalists, and public servants—are too often portrayed as problems rather than as fellow citizens deserving dignity and respect.

That is not the America I believe in.

As someone who has worked in education for much of my professional life, I worry deeply about what happens when truth itself becomes partisan. Democracy depends upon disagreement, but it cannot survive if we no longer share a commitment to objective reality. Education should teach us how to think critically, evaluate evidence, and engage respectfully, not simply reinforce whatever narratives make us most comfortable.

Likewise, my work in the LGBTQ+ community has taught me something profoundly American: belonging strengthens a nation.

Throughout our history, every expansion of liberty has made America stronger, not weaker. Every time we have widened the circle of who belongs, our democracy has become more resilient. Excluding people has never made America great. Including them has made America better.

I also reject the idea that dissent is somehow unpatriotic.

Some of the greatest acts of patriotism in American history were acts of dissent.

The Boston Tea Party.

The abolitionist movement.

The suffrage movement.

The Civil Rights Movement.

Stonewall.

Each challenged the status quo because ordinary Americans believed our country could better live up to its own ideals.

Criticism is not the opposite of patriotism. Sometimes, it is patriotism's highest form.

No administration lasts forever.

No president owns America.

No political party owns the flag.

The United States has endured wars, depressions, political scandals, terrorism, and countless moments when democracy itself seemed fragile. What has carried us through is not blind loyalty to leaders but enduring commitment to constitutional principles and to one another.

That is why I remain hopeful.

When I think about America, I don't think of Washington first. I think about neighbors helping neighbors after disasters. Teachers who stay late because a student needs them. Volunteers organizing food drives. Parents sacrificing for their children. Community members standing together at Pride events, peaceful rallies, places of worship, schools, and town meetings because they believe every person deserves dignity.

That is the America I know. That is the America worth celebrating.

On this 250th birthday, I choose to believe that our greatest days are still ahead, not because history guarantees it, but because each generation has the opportunity to move our country a little closer to its founding promise.

Patriotism is not blind loyalty.

It is loving America enough to tell the truth.

It is defending democracy even when it is difficult.

It is protecting the rights of those with whom we disagree.

It is refusing to surrender hope in exchange for cynicism.

It is believing that our country is always capable of becoming a more perfect union.

That is the America I still believe in, and that is the America I will keep working for.