My country, ’tis of thee

February 19, 2025

Maybe it’s the convergence of Valentine’s Day and President’s Day. I’ve been thinking about why I love this country. Having written about the ways it irritates me for the past 15 years, I felt like stepping out of my comfort zone, just this once, and writing about what I love.

Here are a few things I love about our country. We’ll start with the fairly dull but beloved political essentials. Turns out if you take them for granted, they start to go away. Who knew.

The separation of powers. I thought the founding fathers had cracked the code with this formula. Until this January no one person was ever able to amass eye-popping power because of the checks and balances afforded by the separation of powers. Each section of the federal government (and on down) is held in check by the powers granted the others. So the president doesn’t make the laws, that’s Congress’s job. Congress doesn’t get to enforce the laws, that’s the job of the executive branch. The judicial system doesn’t legislate, it interprets the law. James Madison knew that “[t]he accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive and judicia[l] in the same hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary, self–appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny” (Federalist 51). Guarding the separation of powers would ensure that no one person or branch could amass too much power. All parties thus carry on in a rough and tumble game of rock paper scissors that never has a winner. Separation of powers is not unique to the US. And the idea wasn’t born here. But our Constitution was the first to give it a go in 1787. And it’s kept our leaders in check ever since, until last month, even all the way down to city councils and school boards. Despite the fact that the separation of powers is being bludgeoned with a club at the moment, we don’t need, or want, a dictator, king, or strongman here, and we have no use whatsoever for a royal family.

The biggest check on folks amassing power in a way that displeases us is our right to vote, which I love. Don’t get me wrong–voting is suppressed and compromised and has never not been. And it can be a complete pain in the ass. There may be no one on the ballot you want. Our ballots might be pages long and full of dozens of, say, judges, you’ve never heard of so you really have to do some work to figure out who these people are and if they are worthy to retain their seat. Voting requires paying attention. It requires participation in a system that can be raggedy and corrupt. But ceding this right means we have no say at all in determining our country’s, or state’s, or city’s path. In the last presidential election, nearly 90 million eligible voters chose not to vote at all. These non-voters choosing nothing formed an electoral bloc larger than those who voted for Trump (77 million) or Harris (75 million). I guess choosing nothing has power too. I do love voting, and especially taking first time voters to the polls; I loved taking my babies with me to vote and teaching them about it as they grew up. I do not love the electoral college, but that is a topic for another day.

But I’m allowed to say that because of our right to free speech, which I also love. The government cannot control my speech. Anyone may speak freely without fear of government reprisal. It is a Constitutional guarantee. Freedom of speech does not mean that I “get to” use ethnic and racial slurs in public–that’s something our mothers trained us not to do because of manners, and being civilized. (Consequences may follow such speech, but these will be social and from private citizens, not the state.)

It is a basic, basic human right that throughout history has been abrogated more often than guaranteed. Frederick Douglass understood it deeply, and how it was connected to justice:

“No right was deemed by the fathers of the Government more sacred than the right of speech. It was in their eyes, as in the eyes of all thoughtful men, the great moral renovator of society and government. Daniel Webster called it a homebred right, a fireside privilege. Liberty is meaningless where the right to utter one’s thoughts and opinions has ceased to exist. That, of all rights, is the dread of tyrants. It is the right which they first of all strike down. They know its power. Thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers, founded in injustice and wrong, are sure to tremble, if men are allowed to reason of righteousness, temperance, and of a judgment to come in their presence.

“….A man’s right to speak does not depend upon where he was born or upon his color. The simple quality of manhood is the solid basis of the right—and there let it rest forever.” Preach, Mr. Douglass.

This then is my basic list of things political that I love about the US. Let’s keep going.

I love the land. I was raised in Arizona where there is really a lot of wild undeveloped land. You grow up in proximity to wide expanses of land that stretch as far as you can see in any direction, and know you are small upon the earth, and under an even vaster sky, and the very notion takes your breath away a little. It took me a while to love the midwest–most of it is a dear little brown sparrow in comparison to the vibrant tropical parrot that is the beauty of the west. But it’s beautiful here too. I love our national parks–a system originating in Grant’s designation of Yellowstone as a national park in 1872. He knew, and nearly every subsequent president has known intuitively that some parts of the land aren’t for our use so much as our obligation to protect. The national park system now totals more than 85 million acres. State parks add another 18 million acres of protected and mixed use land. It’s for us all to visit and learn from and cherish.

.@Tromboneshorty & @Lauren_Daigle perform America the Beautiful 🇺🇸 #SBLIX pic.twitter.com/qTxkjXbRVO

— NFL (@NFL) February 9, 2025

I also love the fact that we’ve recognized we have to keep it clean. I’m old enough to remember when southern California skies were dim with smog and you could hardly see down one city block. I went to my brother’s college graduation in Claremont in the 70s, and my eyes itched and my throat burned after just two days in that murky air. Several decades of clean air legislation later, that permanent yellow gray sky is gone. Since I was a girl our waterways are much healthier too–due entirely to thoughtful legislation. The Great Lakes are cleaner. Our Chicago River, once an industrial sewage dump that periodically caught on fire, is seeing beavers and even river otters return. If it’s good for a river otter, it’s good for us. (BTW props to awful old Nixon for creating the EPA and for passing this landmark legislation.)

I love the diversity of this country. I married into a family of Greek immigrants who landed in the US after losing their homes and livelihoods to the Nazis in World War II. I don’t have words for how wonderful and precious this family, this adopted heritage, is to me, how much I’ve learned, how much I’ve been loved, embraced, and welcomed into a world of traditions and practices not my own. I love this. (Also my husband.)

I love that I could move from lily-white Phoenix to Chicago, be plunged into the world of the south side, an almost entirely Black region of the city, and learn new foods, music, traditions–and history utterly new to me. How did I not know that GI Bill benefits never applied to Back veterans? My dad was a real estate developer in Phoenix but I never heard about redlining like it was practiced here for generations. Oh well, it’s taking a while but I know more true stuff now. And what if I never had the example of hope and faith that never wavers no matter the challenge–that I have only ever seen from Black activists in my neighborhood? I’m so thankful for my decades here in my neighborhood, for all the joy and all the learning from folks who are different from me, even when it is hard.

Speaking of neighborhoods, Chicago has 77 of them, many of which are little immigrant enclaves sparkling with treasures that local folks are willing to share with those different from themselves. From the Swedish-American Museum to the National Museum of Mexican Art, to restaurants from everywhere you can think of and many places you couldn’t, to jam sessions, folk dancing from everywhere, churches worshipping in every language. Chicago is in this way a microcosm of the nation. I am here to tell you non-Chicagoans, you diversity skeptics, and you, Pete Hegseth, that yes, in fact, our diversity IS our strength. When people are able to share who they essentially are, in peace and safety, the essential joy of their music and food and traditions–we are all blessed. We are all enriched. This is essentially American. It is unique in the world. And I love it.

I love public schools. This past weekend I was at the citywide Chicago Public Schools robotics championship. It was amazing! The robots were astonishing! And my niece’s team won! It’s been a few years since our kids were in public school, but this event reminded me all over again why public education will always have my heart. In my city, it has every type of kid from every demographic and ethnicity. Public high school facilities may not look like, say, the U of C Lab School’s with its multimillion dollar art wing. But with regard to high school robotics, the excellence of the work the kids are doing, the dedication of club advisors, and the whooping enthusiasm of the parents couldn’t be grander. Everything about urban public education may look a little shaggy or raggedy, but don’t let that fool you. Most of the folks involved perform alchemy every day despite decades of defunding, profiteering curricular fads, and the absurd attacks against public education from deranged culture warriors who probably never stepped foot in a public school in their lives. And kids learn a ton beyond what is in the curriculum, not least of which is that they are one person among many, all with important needs and goals; resources must be used creatively and shared generously; and they have to push to attain their goals. Everyone gets to be a part of a community in which you actively work to make it all work for all. And usually, eventually, it does. That neighborhood public school down the road from you? Diamonds are being formed there. Democracy is being created, bolstered, and strengthened. And I love that.

Public education is connected to two other things I love about our country. You don’t need a fancy pedigree here to succeed. You don’t have to establish social networks in private schools, you don’t have to have connected parents. We don’t have immutable structures such as class-identifying accents which place you in a status from which you can never relocate, like in England. That’s because in this country, despite everything, we have a measure of real social mobility. It’s taken a lot of hits but it is still part of our American experience and character. You don’t need to go to Harvard to get a good higher education. Our state systems have amazing public colleges; our community colleges are stealthy wonders; our public libraries have an embarrassment of riches. We are not born into a static immutable position, wealth doesn’t equal character, and we are on equal footing based on the importance of our role in our democracy.

This has made Americans less fatalistic than we otherwise might be. Most folks I’ve met everywhere I’ve lived are optimistic, energetic, creative, helpful, problem solvers. You give a hand to your neighbor when they need it. You work together to fix a problem on your block. You deal with issues in your school, your city, your state. You pitch in, because it makes a difference. We all think we can change things, because we can.

Finally, I love that striving to be better together is baked into our system from the get-go. The goals of the Declaration of Independence are lofty and have never been fulfilled. The preamble of the Constitution (sing it to yourself now if you are of a certain age–go ahead, I’ll wait) sets purposes that can only be achieved together: Secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity. In 250 years we have never fully secured the blessings of liberty for everyone. But there it is, waiting to be grasped after, pushed for, legislated towards, and held up in court. I love that the goals to be better and to do better are woven into our fabric–to expand justice and liberty, not contract them. I love that they are in all our DNA. And I love that these goals will stand, even though they are being badly battered right now. The aims of a tiny handful of greedy tyrannical men of poor character cannot overcome our American inheritance–a centuries-long demand for the expansion of liberty and justice. This is my heritage. And I love that.

These are some of the things that I love about this country. I am sure you have different ones. Or maybe you don’t, maybe there’s nothing you love. Maybe everything you thought you had or wanted is a pile of cinders now, or maybe your experience of this place has always been much more dumpster fire than blessings of liberty. I’d love to hear your perspective. The main thing I think we need to grasp for now is our joy, our hope, our love of what goodness there is here, dig it up from under the rubble that seems to surround us, grab it, and not let go.

Our country is not perfect. It does not work for everyone. But it’s incumbent on all of us to make it work as best we can. We must treasure the good parts of our legacy and strengthen and uphold them, and each other, together.

Because if what we have here is not worth that much to us, then it will be very easy for us to accept the new regime. Let’s make it hard.