“If you know something is morally reprehensible, then it is your moral obligation to stop it as soon as possible. “
Jane Velez-Mitchell
I have the opposite of a photogenic memory. I have trouble memorizing, or even remembering details, names, and people. But despite that, there are random things throughout my life that I have memorized. Those things that I’m not even “recalling,” they’re just always there at the tip of my brain.
I love to sing. It’s therapeutic; it’s a creative expression; it somehow allows me to be completely present while getting lost in memories tied to songs.
The first “non-kid” song I remember memorizing, learning every lyric, and became permanently lodged into my brain was I’m proud to be an American by Lee Greenwood. I learned it for an audition in third grade to get into an enriched music program, which at the time was a big deal to me. I didn’t pick the song, my mom did. I loved every one of the countless hours I practiced that song with my mom, and my audition was a success as I got into the program. And since then, that song has been a part of me. Not just because it brings me back to those memories, but because I also love America. I love the opportunity it gave both of my parents, who weren’t born here. I love that it has allowed me to be fortunate, grow, and live in a way that I don’t know I would be able to in another country.
A friend of mine recently publicly shared how proud she is of who she is, her heritage, her bi-racial ethnicity, her family. She shared the confidence she has for herself was, at a young age, instilled in her by her parents. It struck me, because I feel so privileged that the same kind of self-worth I have for myself was ingrained in me by my parents. The same type of self-esteem and pride that I hope to instill within you, for you.
But this morning in the shower, as I was getting lost in the songs I was singing, I had a physical reaction as I, through routine, started singing I’m proud to be an American. I stopped five words into the chorus. I couldn’t finish singing the sixth word.
At that moment, I tried to reconcile my feelings. There were two competing feelings: disappointment in the America that I love, and fear.
Why the fear? Despite being born here, despite being nothing short of 100% American, I know that as a person of South Asian descent, if I criticize America, a natural response for too many people my country is to tell me to “go back to” one that is foreign to me.
And as I reconciled that realization, those emotions faded, and defiance was all that was left. Even needing to think about holding back my feelings. To be scared of fellows Americans questioning my eligibility, my belonging, my right to be here is everything wrong with my country.
I am an American, but at this moment, and in so many others over the years, I am not proud to be one.
But it doesn’t have to be that way, because I, we, are part of this country, despite what anyone says. We have the power to do something. We, as Americans, are obligated to defend the rights, humanity, and the people of this country.
Most of the time, I’m writing about how I can support you, but even though you will experience racism, you are fortunate for the mild racism you will experience. It doesn’t dismiss the pain that you will feel or the pain that I have felt at the hand of racism, but we must contextualize our pain compared to others. Right now, others need us. In the future, others will need us. I need to do more to help our black friends and even our non-friends, because we are all humans and deserve to be treated fairly.
I have a crushing feeling that when you are old enough to read this, more will be needed. Learn what you can do, and when you can, do something to help too. Anything. Everything you can.
In the meantime, until I die, I will do what I can too.
