I do not celebrate Fraud and the Lie

I do not love America.

I do not tear up at the sight of the red white and blue. Fireworks on the fourth of july, just remind of me of wars of aggression against foreign people. Independence day is a farce because my people were in no way free. On thanksgiving I say prayers for the blood of the indigenous slain and dispossessed.
The Pledge of Allegiance is like acid in my mouth. I will not speak lies about this country. I will not speak lies about this country. I will not believe this countries lies.
I cannot rationalize the Westward expansion or the growth of industrial capitalism, nor can I comprehend the human feelings behind rationalizing the slave trade. No amount of strangeness or animosity could make me think what happened to us was in any way okay. I think that if I were white and linked in any way to the oppression of indigenous or African people, I would not be able to live a quiet life.
Some people say “Well it is a whole lot better here than any other place.” I don’t bother to argue, but I do wonder how many of the people that say that have ever lived any other place. And what makes it better? Is it the cable television? Is it the shopping? Is it the “freedoms”? Or is it just the fact that if I can manage to secure a place in the Middle Class, that I can get enough stuff to insulate me from the things that make me feel uncomfortable? I can get a job that will take me from in front of the kids who grew up in tabloid television homes. I can move into a neighborhood where there are not as many homeless people. I can eat Japanese, or Chinese or Indian or Soul food, any time I want. I can consume a whole lot more than I can in other places. I can send my son to a school where I can be reasonably certain that he is going to get a basically sound education. Are these the things that make America “better?” I have heard a lot of people say that it is the diversity of the people here in the US, this is one of the things that makes America great. Most places where I go, there are still a majority of white people just outside the door of that place, so that to me doesn’t count. A little pocket here and there, a few belts of cosmopolitan behavior, which does not matter to me. None of these things make me feel in my heart that America is the best place for me.
What would make me love America is if I felt like America loved me. If America really valued me and people like me. If I felt like America wasn’t super eager to throw my sons' precious life in front of some bullets, if America showed me in some real substantive way that I was a valuable citizen. That what I said mattered, that the issues of my community were American issues, and then I would maybe begin to love America.
Instead America has never loved me, she has always, always, always treated me and others like me, as if we didn’t matter, like what we have to say is not that not that important. I am forever “special interest” America has loved my labor, my music, my food, my body, my blood, but she has never loved me. She has never loved me enough to say that she was sorry for hurting me, for abusing my children, for treating us, my special interest group, like we were beneath the regard of the rest of her “regular” citizens.No, America has never loved me, never respected me, never treated me well at all. She has always treated me like shit, has always turned a deaf ear to my pleas and when I did love her, she didn’t love me back.