Free to sulk

The Fourth of July never leaves Bloomington without a few battle scars. The day before, I passed by a protest of the Iraq war at the Courthouse. A week before, there was a protest at People’s Park in “solidarity” with a handful of people who were arrested while tree-sitting in protest of I-69. That day’s Facebook status page contained updates from acquaintances muttering something about colonialism and blood for oil. Their message was resoundingly clear: We’ve very little to celebrate this year. \nSomewhere in the annals of American ritual it is read that July 4 should be about sparklers, hot dogs and national pride, but it never works out that way. There’s a brief parade celebrating whatever it is we stand for and then a lengthy national discussion on how our politicians say one thing and do another, that legislation sometimes takes too long and that our president is not perfect. We are, evidently, tumbling into barbarism. But at least we get to narrate our descent. \nI reflected to a friend that July 4 in Bloomington made me feel much the same way as if I celebrated the yearly anniversary of the time I hit a raccoon on the freeway. I wanted to celebrate and to do so in an atmosphere, not just in Bloomington, but in the media and popular culture, that allowed me to actually enjoy it. We could set aside the other 364 days of the year for berating ourselves over excruciating minutiae, but for one day I wanted to reflect on the magnificence of what we had, even in its perpetually imperfect state. \nWhere could I go for such an experience, I wondered. “North Korea,” my friend said. \nAnd for a second, the idea sounded appealing. Their idea of history is, to me, ridiculous, but no more ridiculous than the visions of our past sold by writers like Noam Chomsky. A North Korean independence day would no doubt feature compulsory essays by schoolchildren deifying their exalted leader for having invented electricity, and that seems like brainwashing, but I’ve seen around Bloomington a kid no older than 14 wearing a shirt that said “Bush” with a swastika where the “S” should be. I know he has a low approval rating, but my God. How many issues of “Harper’s Magazine” can one boy have read?\nUltimately, I supposed, I’d have to take what was here. But ever since I thought about National Day in less-free lands the music of popular dissent doesn’t sound so coarse. For whatever it’s worth, we’re free here, despite whatever flaws we perceive with the actions we choose, to voice our opposition. We can wear shirts demonizing our president and publish alternative histories of the world. Here, we trust that truth floats, and leave it up to our citizens to chart our course. Even if it goes off track sometimes, we can always wake up and choose a better direction tomorrow. \nThat’s a comforting thought. I suppose a country where everyone feels proud of what they are is a country lost. At least when some of Bloomington sulks about the Fourth of July, it sends out a message the rest of us can interpret. A city where people can sulk openly about their country is the freest country anywhere.