The American Dread

Another early morning rant, though this one is at 6:45 instead of the previous 5:00. Instead of carving my name into a metaphorical tree, I’m wielding my digital knife and stabbing it. Yet again I have learned another bite of historical information that not only changes my macroscopic outlook of the American culture, but also ripples down to my core, making me question some of the fundamentals of my being, commonly labeled ‘identity.’

As I type, I grimace at how my privileged lifetime ignorance will become overtly conspicuous, like a whitehead ready to be popped, and I balk, even with my indignance pushing to burst through the dam, because where do I even begin? So much of my life is a lie, or at least based on one. The concept of American “freedom,” drilled into our infantile hearts and minds; the version I was trained to believe was “coming to America for religious freedom!” Even if that were solely the case, I was only one in a rabble of hopeful fools that my country was based on such a dream as freedom.

However, the foundation for such “freedom” is quite contrary.

The very fundamentals of our “great, free nation” are firmly built upon blood, sweat, and tears: the blood from the genocide of native inhabitants who resided here well before any paleface claimed stake to it; the sweat of people forcibly captured, relocated, and enslaved for the rest of their lives; and the tears of all who had the unfortunate lottery of being born with more melanin than their foreign invaders. America is not so much a melting pot as it is hot cast iron with oil and water.

Slave ships arrived on these shores well before the renowned Mayflower did. Thanksgiving is less warming than our roast turkeys. Christopher Columbus is the OG for why the #MeToo movement is crucial (and for some reason, a national holiday still remains in place for his name). The voting system is fraudulently alleged as giving all a fair voice. And these are only the cornerstones of American traditionalism. Even lesser known are the reasons behind the establishment of private schools, police forces, and many commonly-known nursery rhymes. The common denominator? Agonists of melanin.

And this is where my double-entendre whitehead comes to the surface: my schooling was in a private, religious school, where these stirring myths were taught. My nationalism continued with our cultural obsession of ourselves, namely through my steadfast desire to enlist in the Navy. Though that dream never came to fruition, I continued my penultimate, and finally, master’s degrees at a private university.

As I sit here, wrestling to reconcile all the effort I’ve invested in my education and growth, my stirring sentiments are inconsequential. My rage and sorrow are not going to emancipate or liberate anyone. The only system they exhaust is my own. What use are the vast stores of research and literature I’ve gained if they remain largely inaccessible in their academic elitism? We scholars take so much time, money, and brainpower to conduct the studies and write the research, only to have it remain chiefly within the realm of academia so we can continue to feel as gentry while simultaneously patting ourselves on the back for our contribution to the greater good by bringing awareness to the human plight, even though scarce amounts of the population could decipher it, let alone access or even be cognizant of it. And while singing our own hymns, we deign to snub professions that “anyone can do,” commonly coined ‘entry-level positions’ or ‘burger-flipping,’ ignoring our entitlement.

Awareness is a necessary first step to any conscientious change, but truly, what next? “What can I do?” is not being used as an excuse for inaction, but genuinely is my question. Sure, I was not responsible for creating the systems already in place, but I participated in them, even though unknowingly done. As “ignorance of the law is no excuse,” nor should the ignorance and palliation of American history be either. We have an obligation to ourselves to acknowledge our barbarous heritage and our own culpability in it, ignorant or not, if for no other reason, because it is what happened.