Today is July 4, 2026. The 250th birthday of these United States of America. And, like many of my fellow countrymen, I don’t feel particularly patriotic.

This country doesn’t feel much like the one I celebrated at the 200th in 1976, when I was sixteen. Or when I was a young woman in the eighties, finding my way. Or even as a young mother, watching the Berlin Wall fall and feeling a great joy that my daughter might grow up in a kinder, gentler world.

Reagan and his cronies destroyed all that. His murderous policies have affected three generations of Americans and now, Rump and his handlers are trying their damnedest to finish the job. We haven’t had a Democrat worth his weight in years… but now, maybe, there’s hope. Democratic Socialists are on the uprise, led by Mamdani in New York, who has shown that yes, it IS possible. Possible to get the rich to pay, possible to help the poor, possible, possible. Like Lawrence Ferlinghetti, I am waiting for wonder to happen.

Of course Rump is railing against them, calling them Communists (since both communism and democratic socialism are Big Words, I doubt he has the first clue what either means). Several of his cronies have said the quiet part out loud—if the democrats win in November, they’re screwed. It can’t happen too soon. Can we wait until November? Is it possible?

I’ve all but given up on the hope that I’ll see Rump in an orange jumpsuit. My only hope now is that the bastard dies on us, and soon. I think the only things keeping him going at this point are hate and spite. C’mon, Rump, croak already. Then maybe we can get back to the idea of America the free, America the dream, an America without ICE, without hate, divisiveness, Christian Nationalists, fascists. Or is that too big a dream? Maybe so, but I want to try to make that dream come true.

Let America Be America Again
By Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.

O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.

The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—

Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,

America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!