I Hated July 4th. This Is What Changed My Mind.

I allowed my brain to interpret every sign of America as something just left of a lynch mob dancing on my lawn.

Self Portrait 4, 2021 Kimi Katiti

The eruption of fireworks made me want to crawl out of my skin. I fully believed that the night of July 4, 2017 was a celebration of white supremacy, and I couldn't understand why anyone would participate in a festival of hatred. The power was also conveniently out in my apartment for the entirety of the evening, which made the jarring pyrotechnics all the more inescapable and amplified—as garish as a performance of sirens and headlights in my living room, unrepentant in their hours-long parade. Red, white and blue—over and over again. 

The people on the outside celebrated a country that was not only founded on slavery, but used the 13th amendment to preserve it. A country that also maintained the lynching of black men like Michael Brown and Philando Castile through the shield of law enforcement. And even though it elected its first black president, it slipped on the familiar when it elected Trump as its leader—a President who had no qualms with using xenophobic dog-whistles to rally his base. 

And these were just the visible warts on the face of the nation. What about the abscesses that oozed beneath its stripy, starred garb? The invisible system of racial discrimination and microaggressive harm? The walls built into every industry to keep the marginalized away from the American Dream? The emotional labor required by black women like myself to educate anyone on all the above? 

From my 2017 perspective, those who celebrated the 4th of July reveled in the murder of the innocent, and clapped in the defense of the assailant. Anyone who waved a flag, might as well brandish a whip. Anyone who took the day off to corral friends and family around a grill and under an umbrella of explosives or worse—under the presidency of Trump—might have as well donned a swastika pin and raised an arm into the sparkly skyline. 

This was my lens for a good number of years, and one that I look back on with grief. Why did I let a holiday wreck me so well? In hindsight, I have a few theories as to why, and it boils down to a worldview I unintentionally adopted—one that only lent to the fragility of the observer.

For the race-essentialist, the 4th of July is a semiotic nightmare. Oftentimes, interpersonal gestures and words take the spotlight when discussing microaggressions, but in the emoji-age, we ought to consider the role symbolism plays in drilling in groupthink, deteriorating meaning and expanding the modern idea of harm. What made the celebration of American independence an abyss of grief for me was the meaning I placed on every sign that marked the day.   

Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure defined a sign as any motion, gesture, event, or pattern that conveys meaning. The green light at a traffic stop means 'go', and blue on a faucet indicates 'cold' water. Meaning has been given to these shapes to form signs, and through repetitive use and education of the meaning behind the signs, we can add it to our symbolic lexicon. 

After two-dozen revisions, our current Star-Spangled Banner is meant to represent the nation of the United States of America. But how did it go from a mere symbol of a nation, to a symbol conveying conspired hate—at least in the minds of a radicalized few, my former self included?

I'd suggest it has something to do with concept creep—a term Jacob L. Mackey referred to during a previous conversation I had with him on microaggressions. Concept creep, coined by Nick Haslam, and popularized by The Coddling of the American Mind, refers to the ever-expanding meaning of harm-related language, such as trauma, or even the word 'harm' itself. In my case, harm came to include the symbol of the American flag. And in a reciprocal sense, the flag didn't just represent a nation, the concept behind it crept to represent a bad nation. Sure, one can look at a flag and think critically about the flaws of its country's government or systems. In my case, however, I felt like I was under attack at the sight of it. So what energized that progression of meaning—what taught me to reinterpret the meaning behind a symbol to the point of physical distress?

I'd like to nominate the mainstream media narrative for that progression of definition. Everything from social media to sports told me exactly what kind of meaning I should ascribe to the American flag, and its companions. One of fear, not fondness.

With the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement, followed by the catastrophe-confirming appointment of Trump, the media streets in the mid twenty-tens were saturated with posts on police brutality, the national anthem and white America. This came with a flood of symbols to aid the viewers' dissection of events. Images of symbols such as the MAGA hat, The Thin Blue Line flag, the Trump posters, and The BLM fist—to name a few—often accompanied stories detailing the brewing cultural tension. 

Law Enforcement and the Thin Blue Line flag existed in opposition to the BLM movement. So if one was only familiar with the pro-BLM argument, and was as disheartened with grief as I was to hear any opposing cases, the meaning assigned to the Thin Blue Line flag no longer communicated the courage and bravery of law enforcement, but rather that the bearer of that symbol sided with police officers who murder innocent, unarmed black men. 

If you supported athletes' choice to stand during the singing of the national anthem, rather than kneeling in protest, in over-simplified reasoning, you supported the killing of black men. The further this meaning-to-symbol relationship was exacerbated through fear-mongering media—especially social media, where news travels best when laced with negativity—the further the meaning ascribed to certain symbols waxed sour.

Therefore, the progression of meaning in my mind, energized by the media, devolved this way: 

1. Wearing or waving the American flag is associated with patriotism. 

2. If you're patriotic, you're most likely a conservative. 

3. Only conservatives oppose BLM. 

4. Opposing BLM means that you support the killing of black people. 

5. Therefore, waving the American flag means you support the killing of black people.  

We also see this same re-education of benign signs into something indicative of harm in the recent lawsuit filed against Penn State at Abington, where the boss of plaintiff Zack K. DePiero, Liliana Naydan, allegedly told writing faculty that “white supremacy exists in language itself, and therefore, that the English language itself is ‘racist’ and, furthermore, that white supremacy exists in the teaching of writing of English, and therefore writing teachers are themselves racist white supremacists…”

Now imagine that it's not just the American flag that warrants this ungracious interpretation of meaning, but other icons of American culture: an eagle, American football, a pair of cowboy boots. For those steeped in critical social justice ideology, interfacing with these objects (and I'll speak for my former self) is aggravating on an average day. But seeing these concept-crept-visual-ideas all in one weekend, over and over again, paired with loud explosives and laughter, distorts the character of loved ones opting to celebrate the 4th of July, and as a black individual, lends to a sense of distrust because once more, bearing the American flag with pride means you support the killing of black people—with pride.

All of this—the concept creep, the concentration of offensive symbolism, the narrative—contributed to a sense of catastrophization on the 4th. Catastrophization is a cognitive distortion that leads you to assume the worst case scenario out of a relatively generic circumstance. In my case, I was brought to tears under a burden of anxiety because I allowed my brain to interpret every sign of America, including a date dedicated to the celebration of its independence, as something just left of a lynch mob dancing on my lawn. 

The Shame of America, 2021 Kimi Katiti

What Changed My Mind

If you aren't familiar with how I broke the grip of cultish indoctrination as a whole, forgiveness played a key role in setting me free. But my attitude shift towards the 4th of July began amid the insanity of 2020. 

I was hit with the sting of cognitive dissonance after COVID-minded public health officials failed to call George Floyd protesters back indoors. The protesters were instead given the green light to do what we had been warned against repeatedly out of love for others. I couldn't quite tell—did these people who declared support for BLM, actually care about black lives?   

They allowed good people to go outside and do the thing we had been warned would kill us all. That transcends inconsiderate. The people that were supposed to be the 'good guys' were no better than Derek Chauvin. And that forced me to think more critically about who the 'good guys' were, and what exactly caring for the marginalized really looks like.

I started to question what was in it for them to maintain such dangerously contradictory positions. Somehow, somewhere, someone was lying. But why lie? Why distort the compassion of well-meaning individuals? This line of questioning led me to the obvious-–money and power.

Around this time, I turned to a refreshing pair of news anchors, Krystal Ball and Saagar Enjeti, who at the time had a segment on The Hill's YouTube channel called Rising, and I was impressed by their similarly aligned remarks concerning the contradiction of stay-at-home orders—especially since Krystal and Saagar's observations were from both the right and left—and felt some peace and validation in questioning the powers that be. 

I questioned the fear that fueled media, and the censorship machine that went to work to squash varied opinions on COVID and quarantine measures. I questioned the power that tech corporations had to minimize voices at will. I questioned every one from Don Lemon to Patrisse Cullors, to the celebrity cohort that marched in lockstep with the 'right' idea. I had always questioned Donald Trump, but I allowed myself to question Joe Biden—why was a white old guy all of a sudden the arbiter of blackness? 

I questioned so much that I began to question questions—specifically why people were paying dearly for merely voicing them? That led me to revisit a little American idea called Free Speech—once a textual sign for intolerant rednecks, and now, my last hope towards freedom from a form of slavery that I had no idea was slowly choking out my mental health.  

I realized that it was this freedom to think, to express new paths of reasoning, to outwardly question those in authority, to protest injustice, or to express oneself uniquely, that many Americans remembered and honored when they beheld the symbol of the flag.  

Over many months, I meditated on the reality that the United States is ultimately structured to protect the smallest minority—the individual. There is something to be said about how even the collective identity of blackness turns on its own once certain questions threaten sacred cows like the Black Lives Matter movement or the status of oppression. Anywhere that groupthink can be formed, totalitarianism has a chance to consume the participants of said group. 

Being told what to think by conforming to group ideals made me a slave to fear, and allowing myself to reorganize how I thought set me—the individual—free. Learning how to think has afforded me the freedom to reinterpret symbols with more grace. It's also placed the control to assign meaning to symbols, signs, gestures and words back into my own hands. I don't need to depend on cash-hungry newscasters to tell me who to love or hate. And I won't leave it to billion-dollar corporations to manipulate me into surrendering my ability to reason—they won't get me to roll-over on command. This freedom to question popular ideas, re-evaluate their truth and efficacy, and communicate my findings without jail time—as I am doing now—is partly why those annoying fireworks pop-off as fiercely as they do. 

For those who have grown up here in the United States in struggle, I'm not diminishing your experience by declaring my old beliefs completely moot. The economic disparity grieves me. The American Dream slowly fading away from my generation and the one to come, frightens me. Wrongful sentencing in this country's brutal penal system breaks my heart. The glaring disparities that rip through various demographic lines infuriate me. No, rather, my new position is founded on the reality that without American ideals—voting rights, freedom of speech, checks and balances—those issues will be so much harder to address, let alone fix. (Trust me, I'm ethnically Ugandan) 

While the United States has a lot to work on, given its checkered past, maintaining the freedom to progress towards a better future, or preserve what has worked for us in the past, is worth celebrating. This year I celebrate freedom from the lens that was my own imprisonment.