What the Fourth of July No Longer Means to Me

Every day, another “mystic chord of memory” snaps within my soul.

With each new wave of degradation, repression, and censorship that flows from DC, the once-powerful binds of duty, patriotism, and loyalty that fastened me to the current American political order slacken and fall away.

The COVID lockdowns, vaccine mandate, and stolen 2020 election put me over the edge. The last three years have further sharpened that sense of betrayal.

The onslaught of politically motivated prosecutions against Donald Trump, John Eastman, the J6 protestors, Douglass Mackey, and Daniel Penny—to name but a few—puts the lie to any idea that we live in a nation of equal justice and the rule of law. Communist paramilitaries, criminals from privileged racial groups, and corrupt politicians (and their progeny) meanwhile roam free.

Twitter still censors my work. The Department of Defense celebrates abortion and transgenderism. Billions of my tax dollars flow toward inflaming a brutal European war in which we have no business taking part.

I remember the first time I ever saluted the American flag. It was at Officer Candidates School in the summer of 2015. One morning, our drill instructors took my training company out to the flag pole and put us into formation. Within moments, the star spangled banner unfurled in the wind and we officer candidates snapped to attention and raised a salute as a team of Marines hoisted our standard up the flag pole. The notes of Reveille faded away, we dropped our salutes, and one of our drill instructors moved to the center of the formation.

He gave a speech, the specific words of which I have forgotten. But I remember the spirit. He told us that we were soon going to be part of a brotherhood that had sacrificed for that flag. It was an honor to be in the company of the men who had fought at Fallujah, Iwo Jima, and Belleau Wood. It was moving.

But times change.

What once stirred me to sacrifice now fills me with cynicism. Since the Trump presidency, the DC uniparty ruling caste has gone full mask off in venting its vicious resentment on the American people. No regime on the planet hates me more than the one in DC. China and Russia didn’t lock me in my home because of a cold, Xi Jinping didn’t order that I get a vaccine to keep my job, Vladamir Putin didn’t unilaterally change Michigan election law to benefit the Democratic Party, and the Ayatollah Khamenei wasn’t the one who flooded my country with millions of third world migrants.

The truth is unavoidable: America is an occupied country and we are a conquered people. Our rulers treat us as serfs, who exist only to fund the planetary spread of gay rights, feminism, and DEI.

What can the Fourth of July then mean to me? What “freedom,” exactly, am I celebrating? Certainly not my own.

Our rulers are the scum of the earth. In a decent country, Joe Biden, Diane Feinstein, and Kamala Harris would be engaged in socially productive labor befitting their true natural talents. They would be janitors, dishwashers, and, perhaps, if they really worked hard, seamstresses and grocers.

Instead, we see these individuals who naturally belong on the lowest rung of political, economic, and social life ruling it from the top. This inversion is unnatural and indecent.

I feel no loyalty to the cretins who hollowed out my country and now wear its institutions like a skin suit. I owe nothing to them.

Instead I direct my allegiance to my family, friends, and real countrymen. I still love the old America. That was my country. In my heart, it still is. That order may have passed away but the spirit that animated it still lives on, if only as a memory.

I want it back and I’m going to get it.

This Fourth of July I look not to the past but forward—to a new declaration of independence that liberates us from from the global rule of scum.