There is a piece of the American spirit drawn towards liberty in the way a person drowning is drawn to the air at the water's surface. Though subdued in modernity, it sits smoldering under the ashes, waiting for the winds to reignite the brushfires of the passionate yearning to be free. This desire exists in all of humanity, but it is openly celebrated as the primary cultural value in one place: here.
The posterity has retained some of its inherited revolutionary essence, albeit partially conflated with convenience and luxury and often only paid partial lip service. What is freedom without security or comfort, they ask while sacrificing liberties for the predictability of a defined order. The potential dangers of a tumultuous and spontaneous existence, the original promise of a nation with no King, are decried as oppression, while red, white, and blue chains of tyranny, forged in the name of the common good, are proudly displayed.
The symbols have been simplified and commercialized, and some, like the mortars exploding around me, are criminalized and demonized. Promises enshrined on parchment are neglected, our principal demands left unmet, and yet we pause our lives in a nearly religious experience to pay our respects. This honor that belongs to the memory of those brave enough to stand in defiance and their defining moment, which not only birthed a nation but also an entire new outlook on the world, is instead centered on a regime whose grievances rival those in our founding pronouncement.
What, then, is the purpose of the festivity? Flags and holidays may be appropriated, meanings altered, and allegiances shifted, but the underlying hunger remains. It is a naive and arrogant notion to lament our current dire predicament, but no more so than to ignore it.
We gather today, not for the Nation or its government, but rather, to honor each other and ourselves. Our banner is not an allegiance to the State, it is the reminder that a better way exists, under which we unite to fight in defense of the individual against centralized authority. We preserve those ideas originally spread in taverns and community gatherings by once again meeting at bars and block parties to discuss the most important and irreverent American principle: that we are the inheritors of the responsibility of living without rulers.
When I was 12 years old my school's chemistry class took a field trip to the Glengoyne whisky distillery. (In those days, we took education - and whisky - seriously in Scotland. Plus the teachers could withdraw to the tasting room while we students took the tour with the guide).
The tour culminated in the still room, which had a bunch of pots linked by tubes - chemistry class, remember - with the final product being discharged into a large outlet vat. The guide drew our attention to the fact that the outlet vat was locked by a large padlock. The bottom of the padlock - where the key would go in - was covered with a wax seal with the royal crest and the letters ER stamped on it. "Elizabeth Regina". This was the excise seal, and the guide explained that the key was held by an officer of Her Majesty's Customs and Excisee, who came by regularly to unlock it and record the amount of whisky produced so it could be taxed.
No one else - not the tour guide, not the stillmen, not the owner of the distilllery, could access the vat, and breaking the seal was a criminal offence.
I certainly learned a lesson that day, but more about the nature of government than chemistry. It probably planted the seed that led ultimately to my quitting Scotland for the United States. (I didn't know about the Whiskey Rebellion until I got here...)