To my American friends. I know I’m not supposed to care this much. I’m Canadian. I should turn off the news, shrug my shoulders, and tell myself it’s not my fight. I should roll my eyes at your politics, scoff at the fireworks, and say, “If you’re really going to hand it all over to one man, then you’re on your own.”
But I can’t. Because what happens to you doesn’t stay within your borders. Because every tremor in Washington sends aftershocks across the world. And because, whether I like it or not, your country is still tethered to mine, economically, culturally, diplomatically. When America sneezes, Canada gets pneumonia. And right now, it feels like you’ve got a full-blown democratic hemorrhage.
So when I see you gearing up for another Fourth of July, red, white and blue streamers, hot dogs, parades, and speeches about liberty, I can’t help but feel the world tilt a little more off its axis.
So what exactly are you celebrating? Freedom? Independence? From what? From facts? From institutions? From your own damn Constitution?
I grew up admiring the United States. The scale of it. The confidence. The belief in ideas bigger than one person. But somewhere along the way, something got hollowed out. The flag is still flying, sure, but it’s covering something dark, and decaying fast.
This past week was proof. A giant, flashing billboard that read: ‘We’re not even pretending anymore.’ I watched members of Congress and Senate, elected to serve the people, fold like cheap lawn chairs under the weight of one man’s threats. I saw backroom deals crafted not in the interest of Americans, but to secure loyalty, silence dissent, and grease the machinery of a government increasingly run by fear, not policy.
That wasn’t compromise. That wasn’t negotiation. That was hostage-taking. And then the bill passed. A bill that carved out billions, not for schools or healthcare or housing, but to help faciliate immigration detention and other tools of control. You tell me: who did that bill serve? Did it serve a single mother in Ohio? A veteran in Arizona? A teacher in Georgia? No. It served power. Consolidated, corrosive power.
And now, as the smoke clears from the Capitol, you light up the sky with fireworks in celebration. The contrast is staggering.
You don’t need to hear this from me, but maybe it matters more because I’m not American. I’m watching from across the border trying to process how the country that prides itself on freedom of speech is silencing journalists. How the country that fights wars in the name of democracy is dismantling its own. How the country that invented the phrase checks and balances now seems to believe that loyalty to one man outweighs the rule of law.
It’s like watching someone burn down their own house and throw a block party in the front yard while the roof collapses behind them.
After Nov 6th I took a break. I had to. From the headlines. From the outrage fatigue. I turned it off. Stopped watching the cable carnage and disappeared into a haze of documentaries and crime series, because those felt less disturbing than reality.
But when our Canadian federal election kicked into gear, I plugged back in. And what I saw this past week snapped me out of every last shred of numbness. Because you can only tell yourself it can’t get worse so many times before you realize, it already has.
And so, I ask: What exactly is the Fourth of July this year? A celebration of what’s been preserved? Or a distraction from what’s been destroyed? Maybe patriotism isn’t what I thought it was. In Canada, we’ve often looked at American pride and felt like we lacked something. We don’t pledge allegiance. We don’t sing our national anthem in every school. We’re quieter. Less performative. But now I think maybe I’ve misunderstood it. Maybe patriotism isn’t about pageantry. Maybe it’s about protecting what matters even when it’s not convenient. Maybe it’s about asking hard questions, even when the answers are ugly.
Because let me tell you something uncomfortable: tyrants don’t destroy democracies alone. They need help. They need people to stay silent. They need people to rationalize. So no, I won’t be celebrating with you. But I won’t look away either. Because deep down, I still want to believe that enough of you are wide awake. That you see it. That you feel the fire under your feet. That you know the difference between real freedom and manufactured consent.
And if you don’t? Then this isn’t a holiday. It’s a funeral with fireworks.
Nancy's Notes 