Hispanic Fanatic

Iraq isn’t our problem anymore. Who cares. Good riddance.

—Internet commentator

USA! USA! USA!

—The same guy, nine years ago.

Future generations will never confuse it with VJ Day. This time, there were no jubilant crowds in Times Square or iconic photographs of sailors kissing nurses or a cross-continental outpouring of relief and exuberance.

Instead, there was a collective shrug as a military convoy rolled through the Iraq desert. The war that began with Shock and Awe ended with Confusion and Indifference.

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I’ve avoided saying too much about the midterm elections, mostly because the results are depressing, infuriating, and mystifying. Also, I don’t think the internet needs one more shrill voice proclaiming how Republicans are going to rape the environment just for the hell of it, burn gay people at the stake, and allow corporate CEOs to legally hunt us for sport.

Still, I have to address one side issue of this grueling election season. Perhaps its just semantics, but I have officially run out of patience. I don’t want to hear one more social conservative bellow, “I want my country back!”

There are 300 million of us living here. This is not your country. Neither is it mine, his, or hers.

It is ours.

As cheesy as it sounds, we have to find a way to live together. And exclaiming (threatening?) that you are going to claim this nation for yourself — and the minority of Americans who happen to align with your political and/or religious beliefs —  is not just selfish; it’s foolish.

After all, if you took the country, where would you keep it?

Of course, those insisting that this is “their” country are furious that so many people look different from them, or speak something other than English, or praise some other deity. This was never an issue back in those fabled good old days when everyone was straight, white, and Christian.

But the times are not a-changing. They have a-changed.

And insisting that there is some way to make it all go away, electorally or otherwise, is just a waste of time. So you can stop now — thanks.

I can still recite the Boy Scout Oath.

Those words, along with various patriotic slogans and wilderness-survival tips, were instilled in me during my early teens, when I was part of a scout troop at my local church.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the troop was an attempt by community leaders to nurture “at-risk youth,” that euphemistic term for minority and/or low-income kids.

Indeed, most of my fellow scouts were Latinos with brothers in gangs, or parents on welfare. They were sinewy pre-adolescents with insouciant attitudes and a willingness to start a brawl.

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I’ve never been comfortable proclaiming that America is the greatest country in the world. It’s not that I don’t love the USA, or that I’m dismissive of the life and opportunities that I have here. It’s that I haven’t lived anywhere else, and so, it seems like a stretch to make this assertion.

It doesn’t stop other Americans, however, and I sometimes envy their certainty. But the logical problem is that any boast that we’re “the greatest” rests on comparisons to other nations.

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