As an immigrant and later a citizen, more than 50 Fourths of July have taught me to love the day’s exuberance — backyard barbecues, tailgate parties, and outings like sailing out on a small boat to join thousands on a sunlit lake. Parades and fireworks added flourish, but what I remember most was the communal revelry: neighbors and strangers laughing, sharing stories, sharing food, and marking the day together. Bright shirts and breezy shorts in flag colors offered a casual nod to the occasion. But rarely was there any talk of “freedom” or “liberty,” much less the Declaration of Independence. Over time I came to understand that those founding republican principles had been turned into living rituals that bonded the community over shared values.
There was no single authority dictating how the day was to be observed; each town, borough, and city had its own traditions. In the 1970s, as a reporter for a small New Jersey paper, I attended countless town meetings where mayors and planning boards deliberated on local affairs. In reporting my stories, I was struck by the vast local variations in the celebrations. Some honored veterans or local heroes with formal speeches; others celebrated with block parties or picnics; still others centered the day on fairs or municipal displays. Those with the means staged fireworks and live music. Each community, in its own way, embodied the character of the American republic — independent yet united in celebration.
It seems this has been the way for at least two centuries. The French observer of America, Alexis de Tocqueville, witnessing a Fourth of July celebration in 1831 in Albany, New York, recorded in his notebook how simple and sincere the event was, and noted: “No police, no authority anywhere.”
This year, that sense of communal unity feels at risk. President Donald Trump is shaping the national spirit for celebration by declaring that he will be the main attraction as “the Greatest President in History.” He will appear on commemorative gold coins described by the Treasury as “the enduring spirit of our country and democracy.” There will be a celebration on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., with military bands and flyovers and musical performances.
What should be a unifying national commemoration of this special milestone is shaping up to be partisan pageantry celebrating the president’s power and personality. The spectacle ignores what truly makes America exceptional at this quarter‑millennial moment: breakthroughs in biomedicine that save lives; advances in chip design and connectivity that are reshaping work and daily life; a richly funded higher education system that fosters independent inquiry and attracts global talent; and a financial‑capital ecosystem and entrepreneurial culture that turn bold ideas into products, businesses, and even civilian space ventures. The values that made all this possible should take center stage so as not to distract from the communal spirit that truly marks the day.
The leader of the nation has been known to set the tone and messaging on America’s birthday. A study of other presidents’ Fourth of July speeches shows a consistent theme that encouraged national unity. Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, and Barack Obama all supported family‑oriented festivities mixing music, military honors, and calls for civic unity. Abraham Lincoln used public rhetoric on unity and national purpose; Franklin D. Roosevelt linked celebrations to broader policy and morale during the Depression and WWII; Dwight Eisenhower highlighted veterans, national institutions, and centrist unity; John F. Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson combined inspirational rhetoric about civic duty and civil‑rights era themes.
The Fourth of July that was of much significance to me was the 100th anniversary of the Statue of Liberty in 1986. That was the day I became American. It was presided over by then‑President Ronald Reagan. He was also a polarizing figure, for his dislike for affirmative action, his civil‑rights enforcement, his heavy‑handed labor management, and his covert arms deals with Iran that led to charges of abuse of executive power had deeply divided the nation.
But the pageantry to commemorate Lady Liberty centered on welcome and common purpose. “Believe me,” Reagan told the nation, “if there’s one impression I carry with me after the privilege of holding for five and a half years the office held by Adams and Jefferson and Lincoln, it is this: that the things that unite us — America’s past of which we’re so proud, our hopes and aspirations for the future of the world and this much‑loved country — these things far outweigh what little divides us.”
True to the spirit of the occasion, America organized ceremonies around the country at which thousands of migrants took the oath to become American; 300 were ferried to Ellis Island to swear allegiance under the watchful eyes of the Statue of Liberty, an immigrant herself. Lest any state of the union feel left out from her altar, each sent a representative to Ellis Island. I was among them, a citizen of India, representing the state of Michigan. We walked through cheering crowds, five and six rows deep, to an even bigger welcoming party: tall ships, U.S. frigates and carriers, and thousands of small pleasure boats packed in the harbor. Chief Justice Warren Burger administered the oath, and just as we finished our pledge the harbor erupted in cheers, foghorns, and fireworks.
There was not a dry eye around. I tearfully waved the little American flag I had clutched during the pledge of allegiance at the vast armada of humanity on the harbor — not simply because I had become American but because I was awed by America’s capacity for generosity in welcoming us, many from war‑torn countries like Vietnam, Iraq, and Iran.
That day feels like a fleeting dream today. America is no longer the same; her generosity is frayed. Terror attacks at home and abroad have hardened public attitudes toward migrants. It hasn’t helped that those who became Americans have remained silent or haven’t raised their voices loudly enough to denounce terrorism exported from their old countries. At the same time, cultural change in America — debates over language, history, and memorials — has produced resentments. Some see sanitizing textbooks, removing statues, or elevating other languages as eroding a shared identity. Economic dislocation and political disconnection have only worsened the divisiveness over politics, race, culture, gender, immigration, and inequality — all wound tightly together.
Trump has promised to remake America, and he has been systematically dismantling existing norms and institutions.
Supporters see his actions, though heavy‑handed, as necessary disruption. There is a temptation to cast such disruption in mythic terms. In Hindu mythology, the cosmos is governed by a triumvirate of three gods: Shiva, the destroyer; Brahma, the creator; and Vishnu, the maintainer. Shiva dances with a ring of flames and flattens the cosmos — with shared purpose — for Brahma to step in and create something better and hand over to Vishnu to maintain its balanced and harmonious state. To remake America, if disruptive change is to lead to constructive renewal, we must preserve the communal spirit that truly marks our July 4 each year.
Amal Naj is a former reporter for The Wall Street Journal and the author of Pandastic Times, an allegorical novel about the Covid-19 pandemic.
