I love this country. I just want to feel as patriotic as I am again.
But lately, it’s hard. Because what’s happening here isn’t freedom. It’s cruelty.
Trump’s so-called “Big, Beautiful Bill” (or what I’ve been calling the MAGA Murder Bill) just passed—and it's being celebrated by the people who will never have to live with its consequences.
Here’s what that bill actually does:
17 million people will lose their health care.
$1.1 trillion will be cut from Medicaid—the largest cut in history.
Food assistance will be slashed for at least 3 million Americans.
Over 18 million kids will lose access to school meals.
Hundreds of rural hospitals could shut their doors. One already has, in Nebraska, before the bill has even passed the House.
Clean energy jobs? Gone.
Energy costs? Up 18 percent.
ICE’s budget? Exploding—bigger than most militaries.
And despite all that suffering, it still adds $3.3 trillion to the deficit.
All of this to make billionaires richer and corporations more powerful, while taking basic survival away from people who are already struggling.
You can love something that’s broken.
You can love a country and still fight like hell to fix it.
That’s what patriotism means to me.
It’s not blind loyalty to the powerful.
It’s love that shows up, even when your heart is breaking.
And on this Fourth of July, I’m reminded of one of the greatest speeches in American history: Frederick Douglass’s “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?”
In 1852, Douglass—formerly enslaved—stood in Corinthian Hall in Rochester, New York, and laid bare the hypocrisy of a nation celebrating freedom while millions were in chains. He said:
“What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim.”
Douglass wasn’t rejecting America. He was demanding that it live up to its ideals. He was speaking out because he believed that real patriotism means confronting injustice with truth.
And that’s still true today.
I’m not here for the fireworks and flag-waving.
I’m here for the people.
Let this radicalize you.
Let it call you to action.
That’s how we reclaim patriotism from the people using it to justify harm.
Because if you’re heartbroken, angry, or exhausted—you’re not alone.
I’m right here with you.
With love and solidarity,
Eliza
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