The Contradiction of Independence Day in the United States

A short story about the 4th of July

The United States of America just turned 249 years old last Friday on July 4th. The annual tradition of Americans exploding bottle rockets in the night sky as their tax dollars fund missiles exploding in some faraway land is alive and well, even as disillusionment among citizens is at a fever pitch.

For many, celebrating Independence is as easy as cracking a cold one with the boys on their front lawn, but for some, it isn’t. On the night of the 4th of July, I stepped outside the front door of my building to witness Chicago police stop and question the validity of my Eastern European neighbor’s home address for simply drinking a beer and smoking a cig with a friend of his, while surely illegal fireworks were ignited on all over the surrounding streets. English is not my neighbor’s first language, so after some back and forth, he finally convinced the officers that he lives here, and they leave.

My roommate and I check in on him. “This is the first time this has happened to me,” he says.

My roommate and I continue to walk down the street to our local taco spot. We had celebrated our "Independence" Day by attending a Socialism Conference (s/o Haymarket Books) where many panels and workshops discussed the current state of growing fascism in our country and abroad, and what we can do to help each other in times of distress. We ate our meals and decompressed from a long day of learning some heavy but necessary information. We were in good spirits as we got ready to leave until we stepped out the restaurant, just to immediately be blinded by the flashing blue lights of a police SUV.

Two CPD officers (one white male, one ethnically-ambiguous male) had stopped a visibly brown-skinned Latino who had parked in front of the restaurant to pick up his food order, as he explained. English was not the man’s first language based on his accent, and the CPD officers ordered him to get out of his car and keep his hands on their SUV as they searched him and his vehicle. My roommate and I stood and observed directly in front of them to make sure the pigs would not escalate their harassment. We carefully watched the white cop glisten from the inside-car lights reflecting off the beads of sweat he produced, knowing we were watching his every move. Soon, even a couple of the workers from the restaurant came out to see what was going on. After 15 minutes, they found absolutely no evidence of contraband and drove off as if nothing happened.

Checking in on the man, he said to us, “This is the first time this has happened.”

Upon returning home, I reflected on what I just witnessed on a day on which people are supposed to be celebrating their freedom, even as our neighbors are being questioned by the police state for even existing in this country. I reflected on a day that’s supposed to celebrate freedom even as the United States keeps 25% of the world’s incarcerated population behind bars, and it’s president just gave a historic $150 billion influx to Immigration and Customs Enforcement for state-sanctioned kidnappings. That’s up from the previous, paltry (sarcasm) $3 billion budget they had; meanwhile, the 42.7 million Americans still living in debt slavery for daring to get the higher education they were told to do to get ahead in life, are told time and time again that there’s no money to forgive their loans because who would pay for it? I reflected on how this is the second year in a row I witnessed the harrowing contradictions of the 4th of July in America’s heartland, the first time coming when I was on a camping trip in Southern Illinois.

Last year in 2024, my homie and I went camping for his birthday on July 3rd. The following morning, I went on a smoke walk around our camping grounds when I returned to a heated verbal exchange happening between the family camping about 50 yards away from us. Their volume woke my homie up from his tent. We caught the tail end of it, so we don't know how it started, although we picked up on context clues after a 30ish-looking white male ended the argument by yelling, “I’m fucking homeless and I work a full-time job!”

He then stomped off. The folks on the receiving end of his tirade seemed to be his mother and girlfriend, with whom he has a child. We realized that these people aren’t just here camping for fun, they literally live here because they have no other choice financially. My friend and I were getting ready to leave the campgrounds that day anyway, so we gave them some leftover potatoes and other veggies we had brought with us to cook over an open fire. As we’re driving, we ride past the same white man from earlier, walking alone on the side of the road alone, alienated and desperately trying to clear his mind by cracking open a cold one on the 4th of July.

“And if a stranger dwells with you in your land, you shall not mistreat him. ³⁴ The stranger who dwells among you shall be to you as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” — Leviticus 19:33-34 (King James Version)

God Bless America.