Fireworks, fireflies and foreign languages

On July 4th, idealism is perhaps the sweetest indulgence of all

Happy Sunday - 

I spent the 4th of July here in New York City. In my 10 years here, this was the first year the fireworks were coming to the Hudson River. The Hudson is a global all-time favorite place of mine, and a stone’s throw from my apartment, so that the fireworks were coming to my doorstep in my 10th summer here felt like a serendipitous narrative I had to participate in. New York City has this effect on people. It makes you want to believe in serendipity. 

A wonderful quality about the 4th of July is that it’s a day we can all tap into. There are many narratives available. It meets us where we are; there’s something for everyone. For the tired worker, it’s a much needed break from work. For the jet setter, it’s an obvious week to gallivant through Europe. For children, it’s a sensory experience full of salty potato chips, hot dogs, fizzy sodas and red-white-and-blue bazooka popsicles that leave their mouths looking like an art project. For the nostalgic history buff, it’s a journey back into America’s past. For the rich and famous, it’s Michael Rubin’s white party in the Hamptons. For the political talking heads, it’s another opportunity to dunk on the other side. For the culinary-inclined, it’s a ripe opportunity to put on a show in the kitchen or outside on the grill. For the golf and the beer crazed, it’s one of the best days of the year. For many, it’s just a fun excuse to get drunk. 

And for many of us, it’s a refreshing opportunity to turn on our simple mind and turn off our sophisticated one. To turn up the idolizing of America and her ideals, and turn down the understandable, widespread and seemingly growing concern over our cultural and political woes. Yes to watermelon, grilled meats and fireworks. No to election polls, Twitter and CNN. Yes to a romantic notion of America. No to the complicated reality that is the United States. 

On July 4th, idealism is perhaps the sweetest indulgence of all.

As I walked the Hudson River a half hour before the show, the night air was hot, heavy, humid and full of fireflies. I was struck by how little English I heard in the herd of fireworks-goers migrating toward the water’s edge. Spanish. Chinese. Hindi. Dutch. French. Eastern European. It was an incredible sensation. Couples, families, and larger groups of friends all rubbed sweaty shoulder to shoulder with one another, angling for a good view of the show that would soon roar into the sky and cast light, fire and smoke high above the skyline. “Excuse Me” and “Thank you” were the only shared English currencies amongst the plurality of languages. A pair of young hispanic kids, presumably siblings and probably no more than 7 or 8 years old, tapped me on the back of the leg and politely asked if they could go in front of me to get a better view. I happily obliged. Their excitement made me smile. 

The fireworks made us all smile. A fantastic performance. New York City knows how to put on a show. Explosives roared above the New Jersey skyline before exploding into dazzling bursts of towering color, cascading into darkness with sonic booms in tow. Red. Purple. Gold. Green. Silver. Blue. Dazzling colors as diverse and multi-plural as all of us ooh-ing and aww-ing down below.  The light of the fireworks brought the Statue of Liberty into view. Their reflections cascaded off the glass pane windows of downtown condos and skyscrapers. Their glow lit up the lush green trees dotting parks along the water. If your phone was frantically capturing pictures, you likely had to turn down the brightness. The sky was bright. The night was bright. The moment was bright. 

In these moments, we were together tipsy on American idealism. For a moment, we all looked up at the same night sky. For a moment, children of all socioeconomic groups were playing outside and in cahoots together to secure the best possible view. For a moment, the cell networks were jammed so we couldn’t scroll, swipe or text. For a moment, the dividing lines of ethnicity, race and class were gone, erased, and in their place was a messy collision of lawn blankets, coolers, folding chairs and footballs. In these moments we were together in the warm glow of American idealism. 

And in these moments, slowly bleeding into the framed corners of the night, was a sobering series of blunt “yeah, but” qualifications potent enough to sour the moment. 

Yeah, but that debate in Atlanta. 

Yeah, but these two Presidential candidates. 

Yeah, but children’s mental health statistics. 

Yeah, but social-media-frayed relationships .

Yeah, but erosion of institutional trust.

Yeah, but growing income inequality. 

Yeah, but New York City is not America. 

The space between American idealism and present day reality in the United States is substantial. Or it feels substantial. Is there a grim reaper amongst the fireflies? There is at least a sad song. 

Vietnamese author and American immigrant Andrew Lam, in his book East Eats West: Writing in Two Hemispheres, paints the duality of America versus the United States when he writes a letter to an Iraqi immigrant, describing life in America: 

“You must look at this country through two oftentimes opposed lenses: America versus the United States. The two can be as opposed to each other as the olive branch is to the cluster of arrows in the bald eagle’s claws on the Great Seal. In good times, America leads and the United States follows. In troubling times, the United States dances alone.”

The cause of, severity of, and solution for our troubling times is the source of much debate today in culture. Opinions are understandably as varied and subjective as we are. There are many ways to cut the data. Lasting solutions often feel futile and out of reach. What are we to do when the gap between American idealism and the day-to-day reality in the United States feels uncomfortably large and we’re not entirely sure why? 

Lam reminds the Iraqi that we are a country forever working to close the gap between idealism and reality, and that working to close the gap is itself the essence of American idealism:

“America is the deepest promise of this country, fashioned out of the fire of idealism, never fully realized but constantly reimagined and fought over by each generation, a nation becoming”.

So what are we to do? A nation forever sailing to, but perhaps not ever reaching, the other shore. A nation being forever reimagined and fought over, long before, and likely long after, we’re gone. A nation forever becoming, and never quite being. This prospect can be big and tiring. How do we contribute? How do we find satisfaction in our contribution without letting its forever incompleteness stall our engines and smoke our minds? 

At the end of the fireworks, after the explosions in the sky give way to a brief blanket of silence, We The People erupt in unison with thundering applause. Spanish. Chinese. Hindi. Dutch. French. Eastern European. Clapping. Cheers. Whistles. Oohs. Aaws. High-fives. Hugs. Kisses. Smiles. Even the fireflies are overcome with enthusiasm, dancing with appreciation. The cell networks generously remain jammed, preserving our moment of sanctity for a minute or two more. 

In this moment, we remain together in the glow of American idealism.

Lam ends his letter to the Iraqi immigrant:

“Even if you don’t know it yet, we all desperately need to be reborn through your eyes. For every story that belongs to you, in time, belongs to America.”