Freedom of speech
Without hesitation, the thing I treasure the most about the United States of America is our freedom of speech. This freedom is guaranteed among a short list of related freedoms in the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights.
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
I find it almost impossible to imagine living without the ability to speak freely. It’s a freedom so ingrained in Americans that I believe most of us take it for granted — a dangerous tendency that we must recognize and avoid.
Freedom of speech means that our national discourse can become heated and distasteful at times, but the value of such freedom is incalculable, and the alternative is simply unacceptable.
I cherish our freedom of speech, embracing both its power and its pain, and pledge to do my part to preserve it.
God bless the United States of America on her 250th anniversary. May she remain a secure nation of liberty in an increasingly troubled world.
David Zimmer, Public Safety Policy Fellow
John Wayne movies
When my dad was nine years old, his father walked out on his family and the resulting vacancy for male role model in his life was largely filled by John Wayne. America sent that heartbroken, fatherless boy, sitting in a darkened cinema thousands of miles away, an example of what it was to be a man.
As an immigrant, like most people in the world, I first met America through its cultural output. For all the negative things people in other countries might say about America, very many of them watch American TV shows and movies, listen to American music, wear American clothes, eat American food…I remember someone saying about 25 years ago that everyone on the planet who was not actually an American was effectively a Canadian, in the sense that they are effectively Americans who pretend not to be. An overstatement, to be sure, but with a significant element of truth.
There are countless American cultural products I could have picked as things I love about the country — the (early) films of Eddie Murphy, the music of Bob Dylan, the books of Raymond Chandler, the TV show Cheers — all of which fascinated me about the place as a kid, but none of them meant as much to me as John Wayne meant to my dad.
He could never bring himself to watch The Cowboys, where Wayne is killed. “But you don’t mind watching Sands of Iwo Jima,” I pointed out, “and he gets killed in that.”
“Yes, but that’s not John Wayne getting killed.”
There was a sense in which certain of Wayne’s characters — the Ringo Kid, Sheriff John T. Chance, or Wil Andersen — were manifestations of the man himself in a way that Sgt. John M. Stryker wasn’t. Watching that father figure die was too much.
What united these characters was that they stepped up and stuck around. In Stagecoach, the first great John Wayne movie, the Ringo Kid, on the run from the law, has a chance to flee the coach and its passengers for freedom but, when he sees smoke signals heralding danger, he decides to stay and protect them. In Rio Bravo, it is Sheriff John T. Chance who rallies a motley band to ensure that a killer is brough to justice. Here, it is Dude, played by Dean Martin, who is set to flee until he hears the bad guys singing “The Cutthroat Song,” realizes that they will show no mercy to Chance and the rest, and decides to stick it out. Dude was inspired by Wayne to do what Wayne had done in Stagecoach.
Its a turbulent world, always has been, always will be, but John Wayne would always be there, holding it together. He would never walk out on you and he would inspire others by his example. What a marvelous role model for a young boy. It made for a great father, and I love America for giving me that.
John Phelan, Economist
A more perfect union
America hasn’t always gotten it right. There’s a long list of growing pains, some bad, some still unfinished, some we’re only now willing to admit were ugly at all. I don’t think loving this country means looking away from that.
I think the Constitution anticipated this from the start. The phrase “a more perfect union” reads to me like an admission and a promise in the same breath. Not a perfect union. A more perfect one. And I love watching people live that out in their small, quiet ways.
My neighbor hoists his flag every morning before work and takes it down every night and folds it. Nobody’s making him do that. Half the street probably wouldn’t even notice if he stopped. He just does it because it matters to him.
A handful of ladies from my home church work the polling booth at the town hall every election. It’s not exciting, but they show up anyway, because somebody has to.
Then there’s my dad. Every few months he writes a letter to the local paper. (I used to wonder who this “editor” guy was that he kept writing to.) He’s not shouting into a comment section where he could say anything under a fake name and never have to answer for it. He’s also not writing to Congress. He’s writing to people he will run into at the grocery store, people who actually run the town. I think staying in that conversation matters just as much as casting a ballot every election.
None of this makes the news. But I think that’s actually how a union gets a little more perfect. Not through one big fix, just people who keep showing up.
This 250th anniversary is worth celebrating how far we’ve come. We’re not done, and I don’t think we’re supposed to be. When striving toward a more perfect union, the work doesn’t end. And somehow, despite everything, people keep doing it anyway. That’s the country I love being part of.
Catrin Wigfall, Education Policy Fellow
The interstate system
Like most Americans, I enjoy a good road trip. Over the years, I’ve traversed almost all of the I-10, which stretches from Santa Monica, CA to Jacksonville, FL and I-35, reaching from Laredo, TX to Duluth, MN. I’ve enjoyed Route 66, I-5, I-40, and I-80 (but certainly did not enjoy driving on I-495, the D.C. Beltway).
The interstate system has taken me from small prairie farms in Oklahoma, where the grass is dry and brown in the summer and the sky seems endless, to the colorful rocky vistas of New Mexico and Arizona. Just off the I-10, I’ve danced to Cajun French tunes during Mardis Gras in New Orleans, surrounded by spinning dancers flinging beads and high school brass bands.
I-35 took me to cookouts full of hospitable people (speaking the same French) in Minnesota. Here the French impulse is tempered by the Nordic personalities, who believe that a cold plunge is quite good fun and would rather knit an intricate blanket for hours than purchase cheap goods. Make the drive from MN to LA in February, and you’ll flit immediately from blizzard to hurricane watches within 48 hours.
Each interstate brings new culinary delights. In Texas Buc-ee’s makes life worthwhile; in Wisconsin Culver’s takes the edge off. A San Diego ice cream cone (Asian fusion; served with soybean in a fish-shaped waffle cone) has to be enjoyed after a visit to a Michelin-star taco truck. Virginia is coffee country; Pennsylvania makes a mean cheesesteak. I’ve never been able to properly recreate Kansas City barbecue or California burritos.
There’s always more to see with an interstate. If you’re tired of the glitz and glam in Vegas, hop on an interstate for a few hours. Take a day to sit in awe of the Utah hoodoos populating Bryce Canyon, or try the Joshua Trees in California. Or if the endless Arizona landscape feels empty, drive over to San Antonio for truly Texas culture: half Mexico, half America, all Texas.
On all these drives, the road signs say the most about where you’ve found yourself. Other countries never quite managed to populate billboards the way we have. Whether it’s that JESUS IS LORD, BISCUITS ARE $5, TACKLE IS BOGO, THE PRESIDENT IS A DESPOT, or THE PRESIDENT IS A SAVIOR, our billboards show us at our most brash, direct, and talkative. It’s evidence of a certain kind of cultural freedom. I’ll say my piece, you say yours, and then we’ll settle down and have a beer.
It takes some time to putter about on the interstates and discover all the best parts of your home country. It’s worth it. There’s so much natural beauty in the Land of the Free.
But my favorite part of wandering by car is the human beauty in our country. Everyone lives a bit differently, thinks a bit differently, talks a bit differently, but we’re united in our hospitality, creativity, and courage. No matter where you go in America, you’re going to find someone who’s willing to help you, smile at you, or feed you, even if you’re a bit confused as to how or why. Go out on the interstate this summer and meet your neighbor. See why we’re rightly called the Home of the Brave.
Josiah Padley, Education Policy Fellow
Our fighting spirit
Americans have an incredible spirit of striving and struggle in their blood.
Our predecessors fought hard for this life. They crossed oceans and trudged through wilderness because they knew they were struggling toward something worthwhile — they wanted a better life for themselves and their families, and America was the place to get it. Then whenever that life was threatened, they fought hard to protect and preserve it, often to the point of giving their lives.
I’m proud to be part of that country they worked so hard for. I’m proud to be descended from such spirited people. And I’m proud to continue in their steps, fighting to find, protect, and preserve that “good life” here in America.
God bless them.
Grace Keating, Director of Marketing