Perhaps it's a sign from Mother Nature that the two flagship events of the Philadelphia's Wawa Welcome America Festival for the semiquincentennial were derailed by weather. Maybe she was telling us to stop this embarrassing exhibition of unbridled nationalism and look inward. But if she thought that she could succeed in getting Americans to self-reflect, even by replicating the conditions of the depths of hell where our leaders will surely burn, she was sorely mistaken. How naive! Clearly she has never truly contended with the levels of blinding patriotism of the average American, or the masochistic tenacity of a Defector intern who will sacrifice anything to get the story.
Despite the temperature reaching nearly 100 degrees in the middle of the day, I embarked on my expedition. The closer I got to Philadelphia's Old City, the deeper I ventured into a different version of the United States than the one I was used to. This version looked like the mind of Uncle Sam suffering from post-concussion syndrome. The air was filled with the smell of fried dough, port-a-potties, and the dissolution of the EPA. Scattered "U-S-A" chants carried across the neighborhood, just in case anyone forgot what country we lived in. Street vendors and Christian proselytizers stood side by side on the pavement, in a heartwarming testament to the American spirit and the Protestant ethic. Sunburnt and khaki-clad families walked around while wearing garish AI-generated shirts that featured uncomfortably ripped George Washingtons, or said things like "I can't hear you over the sound of my freedom." Even a food delivery robot trucked along with a little American flag.
I began my adventure behind Independence Hall, where lines of waiting visitors stretched across the park. Barricades were decked in American flag bunting. Park rangers with ukuleles assuaged the impatient children with impromptu song sessions. They cycled through the greatest hits of the American songbook: "America the Beautiful," "This Land Is Your Land," "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," and "Happy Birthday." I listened as a tour guide blew some damn minds when he told a group of kids that the Declaration of Independence wasn't actually signed on July 4. I watched those children contend with that fact, and the subsequent realization that this country is and has always been run by liars who care more about their own mythos than reality. Good thing we're teaching them young!
As the crowds at Independence Hall jumped into another tonally challenged version of "This Land Is Your Land," a People's March circled on the street behind them. Some tourists looked on in fascination or disapproval, despite the fact that the protestors largely chanted the same words that appeared on the T-shirts for sale: freedom, liberty, justice. But those in the street recognized that these ideals were not reality just because the Declaration of Independence declared them to be. The rest turned a blind eye. Perhaps, like their shirts professed, their "freedom" was just too loud to hear the protest, or the President declaring his intention to limit voting rights. Or the militarized police forces in the streets. Or families torn apart. Or American bombs dropping to terrorize the Middle East. Instead, the crowds kept on waving their American flags as if it would get them into heaven.
Over at the Constitution Center, two blocks away from a group of veterans protesting United States military action, a group of Continental Army reenactors marched in the grass—not to mimic any battle, but to pose for photos. I will not bemoan the historical inaccuracy of the costumes, largely because far more egregious false claims were taking place all around me. At this point, I began to wonder if maybe these are the nation's true heroes: not Benjamin Franklin, but the man dressed as him in 100-degree weather. Or perhaps the underpaid people working at these historic sites in blistering heat, being forced to answer the same dumb questions and listen to the same dad jokes over and over again. The whole square mile of Old City was dotted with people in colonial garb, patriotic costumes, and a man dressed up as the Declaration of Independence as if he had just walked off the set of Schoolhouse Rock.
Over at the Quaker meeting house, chalkboards encouraged passersby to think about how they will change the world. These boards projected a variety of visions for the next 250 years, including "I will support police officers," "I will share Jesus with the world," and "I will end the U.S. empire." In handwriting that I can only assume belonged to a child of middle-school age, someone wrote, "I will build an insane robot that talks to people and uses bad language when it's upset." I can't help but smile at the image of this child finding out their dream already exists.
At the President's House, I came across two elderly women reading out panels which had been removed at the behest of the Trump administration, because they did things like reflect on George Washington's legacy as a slave-holder. Taped up around the site were articles and explanations about the history of the site and slavery in the United States.
Just behind this protest exhibition, in the field in front of Independence Hall, Fox Sports was hosting a live pregame World Cup show. It may have been the only setting where I have ever thought that it was fitting for Alexi Lalas to be here. He serves the same purpose: to put an American spin on a global sport in ways that are both ignorant and agitating. In true Revolutionary War-era fashion, the picture was complete with a few Frenchmen who happened upon the spectacle on their way to a World Cup match. Unlike Lafayette, they were all confused and dressed in Mbappe kits.
At a certain point, walking amidst the red, white, and blue, I lost track of where I ended and where the American flag began, signaling that it was time to go home. Sweaty, exhausted, and disgusted by the ignorance and gaudy nationalism on display, I made my journey while contemplating the illuminative version of America presented before me. But then I thought about the child who dreamt only of chaos and profane robots, and I felt a bit better.
