The following essay has been updated to reflect additional insight from myself and others.

America is broken. There’s video evidence everywhere. Facebook. Twitter. Especially Twitter. Instagram. TikTok. I’ve even seen evidence on Truth Social, that Trumpian fountain of irreconcilable conflict between reality and fantasy. You know things are horrible when the liars are lying about lying.
The videos show that Americans hate each other so much that their faces contort from the short-circuiting anger gripping their hearts in headlocks. If someone could put their heart in a headlock, this is what it would be like. Mobs of black, white, and brown teenage girls, it don’t matter, kicking each other’s asses until someone can’t get up anymore. Americans whom we label Karen and Ken with their spittle running down their mouths onto their polyester rayon shirts and sweaters that they bought at their local Kroger or Marshall and swearing that they are the guides to the truth and that I am in the way. Or the traffic stop that turns deadly because one side is talking about power, and the other party is just trying to get home.
“What we’ve got here is… failure to communicate. Some men you can’t reach,” said Strother Martin as Captain in the 1967 film Cool Hand Luke. (I love that movie). It’s terrible out here. You better believe it.
I haven’t touched the subject of politics, and I’m already disheartened that America doesn’t seem to have learned anything from its history. The struggle over who this country belongs to is insane. How do we define a nation? Are you talking about land? Or institutions? Or history? It’s not like there’s a deed somewhere with my or your name. All I know is that inside that debate, something terrible is happening. The idea of a United States of America, a people unified behind a concept of liberty and justice for all, all those lost words that have become nothing for Americans or those who will die trying to become Americans.

There is a war going on. People are screaming at each other over stupid shit. Meanness has replaced kindness. Empathy has been replaced by antipathy. Threats against persons are commonplace. A gun, a knife, and fists are now the preferred communication tool. Both extreme ends of the political spectrum are gearing up for battle, and many of us are left wondering, “Should I buy a gun or move?” (Move where?) because we all suspect that the real civil war is coming, and it ain’t going to be pretty.
First, I can’t afford a gun except maybe a Nerf Gun, and I may want to kill some people sometimes, but I know I don’t have the cojones to pull a trigger (I’m a lover, not a fighter) or ready for the ugly truth that it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Somewhere in this country (Texas, Florida), the next generations of Americans are being taught a 1950 version of American History where everyone knew their place (Can we like forget those pesky reminders of class, race, and gender warfare and the laws that came out of those battles?). Yeah, some people would rather burn our memories so we don’t remember them and substitute a more tranquil picture of patriotic Americans with their red, white, and blue flags and AR-15s and a mask of revenge and a I don’t give a fuck snarl that is now a license to intimidate whether you like it or not.
2024 and the next presidential election is almost here, and I am terrified that it will turn ugly (Ya’ think?). On one side, we have an incumbent who refuses to see the reality of age before him and that his time has passed (Thank you for your service). We need fresh meat, a fresh perspective, and new ideas.
On the other side, oh my, what can I say? You didn’t think we would let you people take this country away from us? What do you mean, You people? I honestly don’t know who is scarier. The old(er) guy who can barely remember what time period he is in or the other ones who think America needs to go back to that time a hundred and three years ago to find the real America when men were men and women were…well, women who could not vote. Or maybe, at a time when only white men who owned land could only vote (Any time before 1954 would be fine).

I’ve witnessed a lot of American history and hysteria in my nearly seventy-five years. It’s not like I’ve understood everything I’ve seen, but I suspected back then, even when I was a ten-year-old child in 1958 in the South Bronx, that something was very wrong with America. All that talk about the Pledge of Allegiance and the star-spangled banner and that all men are created equal didn’t mean it applied to everyone, only white people, preferably men. Then I was told that certain people had to earn their freedom, not yet but soon, and that those people wouldn’t know what to do with it if they had it. Freedom is earned, not given for free (What?).
I wondered who they were talking about. I was sure the ten-year-old with a Puerto Rican father and a Dominican mother believed all that talk about freedom applied to someone else. Not me. I was born American, and I was free. Then, three years later, I discovered in an all-white school that no, they were also talking about me as they shouted racial insults and thought it was cute to call me Pancho.

We are broken. And I don’t know how to fix ourselves. I don’t think you can pass a law to heal us or think you could start all over and try again or decide to ignore it and go about your business and hope that someone comes up with a fix. I worry about the America my sons and granddaughter will meet as they get older in ten, twenty, or even thirty years when we’re supposed to become a nation of majority people of color. All I could hope for is we’re lucky enough to get there alive and well. It’s just that right now; it doesn’t look good from here in 2023.