Four years ago today my Wife and I were visiting the West coast from our home near Philadelphia. My niece had gotten married at the end of June and since my Wife had never been to California we took the opportunity to see some of that State’s splendors.
We happened to be staying with my sister and her husband in Cupertino, CA (in the apple red heart of Silicon Valley) over the July 4th holiday and so at dusk we were all dutifully trudging to the municipal park to ooohhh and aahhhh over the local fireworks display.
Even during the walk to the park, and in spite of the diffuse light of dusk, I couldn’t help but notice that our small group of pale-skinned W.A.S.P.’s formed a distinct minority. The neighbors streaming out of the trim, well-kept homes in the community represented just about every country, culture, and ethnic group on the planet except ours.
Although I grew up in Southern California, I hadn’t spent any appreciable time there for several years and had never made anything other than brief business trips to the San Francisco area. Of course, I knew about the super-conducting magnet that the tech giants in the area had become for the best educated and most ambitious people on the planet. It’s one thing to read about this tectonic cultural shift on the printed page, though, and quite another to be walking in the midst of it.
Once we arrived at the park and settled in to await the nightfall, the remarkable variety of the neighboring family groups became even more apparent:
There were California’s ubiquitous Latinos of course, chattering away happily across multiple generations and extended family members. There were also more reserved but equally large and extended families from India whose sparkling eyes and ready peals of laughter belied their calm and controlled demeanor. Several large groups of West-Indians, distinguishable by their lilting, musical dialect, were sitting cheek by jowl next to Asians of every persuasion, from golden-hued Chinese with their carefully controlled children, to rambunctious groups of Filipino’s whose waves of raucous mirth soared above the murmur of the rapidly increasing crowd.
I exaggerate only slightly when I say that the nearest island of participants that looked or sounded even remotely like our own small group was probably about 50 feet away through that multi-hued tide of Humanity. Even more remarkable to me was, apart from the utterly unique composition of the crowd, how similar they were to every other crowd gathered to observe every other display of fireworks I had attended on every other Fourth of July over almost sixty years.
The guys were mostly quiet, exchanging occasional pleasantries with their neighbors. The women chattered ceaselessly among themselves while keeping watchful eyes on their children. None of them seemed to be concerned (or even aware) that each family grouping, like our own, was more or less an isolated island in the midst of people distinctly UN-like themselves. If it mattered to any of them you certainly couldn’t tell from any outward indication.
As the last vestiges of the setting sun faded from the evening sky and an expectant hush settled over the assembled throngs, the reason for this placid demeanor was made dramatically clear (to me, at least, my fellow audience members had probably known it all along):
From the far corner of the park, almost simultaneously with the setting of the sun, came the very faint but unmistakable strains of our National Anthem. As far as I could tell there was no scratchy recording or strained rendition emanating from a public address system to trigger the event. This was entirely spontaneous (or maybe an annual tradition, which in my eyes would make it even more powerful).
As the well-worn musical phrases rolled over the crowd, EVERYBODY on that field rose in unison (more like leapt to their feet, actually!) and joined-in. The Chinese grand-mothers were helped to their feet by their daughters. The Guatemalan infants were hoisted onto their father’s shoulders. The Indians and Filipino’s stood tall, they stood side-by-side and they SANG!
This wasn’t the barely audible, mumble-under-your-breath while shifting your eyes self-consciously and hope it ends soon kind of singing (so often displayed by native born Americans at football games and other public events), either. This was stand tall, breathe deep, let-loose and belt-it-OUT! The song swelled from the assembled hearts and soared triumphantly into the night sky.
The all-engulfing wave of sound that resulted from thousands upon thousands of unique, disparate voices all united in loudly proclaiming and joyfully affirming the most basic emotions treasured by generations of Americans drove home the sacred ideals of our Nation like nothing else I have ever experienced before or since.
It didn’t matter to ANY of those patriots where their neighbors had come from. They couldn’t care LESS about what language was spoken in those neighbors homes or whether Allah, Buddha, or God knows who-else was worshiped by them. It didn’t matter how each individual had come to be there or what they had chosen to leave behind in order to stand proud on that field, that night, and sing their hearts out in sheer gratitude for the opportunity this country represented for their own future and that of the children and grandchildren whom they cradled in their arms.
As one of those aforementioned native born Americans, I have often wondered whether I would have the intestinal fortitude demonstrated by my great-grand fathers to leave EVERYTHING behind, and strike out for an utterly foreign land based only on the hope that it might prove to be a better place for my children and grandchildren. I honestly don’t know the answer to that.
But, now I DO know, based on personal experience, that there are literally thousands of strong, courageous, and admirable people who DO make that decision every day and every year. Given the wealth of talent, dedication, and ambition represented by that random assemblage of ordinary citizens (and future citizens), it is also self-evident that we, as a country, are vastly improved by their presence and their unflagging dedication to the ideals upon which our nation was founded almost 250 years ago.
Given the turbulent times in which we are now embroiled, I find one other aspect of this annual event to be of even greater import: Even more than a country of laws, we ARE a country united by shared ideas and ideals such as: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. We proudly proclaim that ALL men (& women) are created equal. Being Human, we often fail to live up to these ideals, but we hold to them, nonetheless.
As we are now witnessing, laws can be subverted. Entire governments can be hi-jacked and corrupted by those with greed in their minds and hate in their hearts (yes, even in these United States of America, as hard as that may be to believe). As has been stated many times before, though, “You can’t kill an Idea”. Noble Ideals have proven to be even more indestructible.
When the current crop of corrupt and conniving politicians have come to their well-deserved and unavoidable end, the ideals expressed in loud, joyful chorus by that multitude of proud citizens will inevitably re-assert themselves and help right the ship of state that has been so badly battered by the storms of ignorance and intolerance which currently threaten us all.
I can claim no more credit for being among them four years ago than I can claim for my incredibly good fortune in being descended from other, earlier immigrants who shared AND demonstrated by deeds the same unshakable commitment to the ideals upon which our nation was founded.
I CAN state unequivocally, though, that I was proud to stand straight and tall among my fellow Americans on that night in that place and express with them, at the top of my lungs, my sheer, unadulterated joy to be living in these United States.
Bridges-Not-Walls 