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Land of the Free
When I see that flag-- its red and white alternating in hypnotic parallels originating from a blue box of geometric stars-- I think of death, destruction, heartache.
Not the tragedy of a crumbling, burning building, but the five hundred years of systematic killing-- eliminating and exterminating without care for age, gender, status-- because they’re not people, just savages who revere the Earth, Life, and live with Nature, uncivilized.
When I see that flag-- representing a glorious nation built on the sweat of black slaves, the blood of this land’s first inhabitants, tears--
I feel ashamed to be white, American, and I can’t place my hand over my pounding heart to sing of the “land of the free”--
because we’ve never been free, never been brave,
never been able to look beyond ourselves to understand what they see-- arrogance of broken treaties and stolen land, hypocrisy of slavery despite our revolution against unjust rule, greed, vanity, shallowness.
Yet you want us to stand tall, shed tears, praise that flag and bless that country, when all I can say is what is so worthy of blessing?
© 2001-2002 Ann Lesley Hamvas
