As we approach the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, a sense of dissonance hangs in the air, making traditional celebrations feel hollow. It is becoming increasingly difficult to participate in the charade of national unity while witnessing systemic violence and authoritarianism that contradict the very ideals this nation was designed to uphold. The founding documents promised equality and unalienable rights, yet for the vast majority of our history, those promises were exclusive to a small subset of the population. While I am naturally an optimist who believes in the potential of our democratic experiment, I find it impossible to celebrate without first confronting the reality that the progress made by women and people of color is currently being systematically rolled back. Authenticity, in this moment, demands that we resist the temptation to whitewash our history in favor of a comfortable, yet dishonest, patriotism.
To understand the current state of our national fracture, one only needs to look at the reactions to high-profile events earlier this year. When congressional leaders boycotted the State of the Union, they were not merely being difficult; they were refusing to lend legitimacy to an administration that they felt had abandoned the rule of law. Conversely, when Bad Bunny performed at the Super Bowl, his celebration of Puerto Rican culture—the language, the heritage, and the inclusive spirit of a modern America—was met with vitriol by those who believe that true “Americanism” must be synonymous with whiteness. These two events highlight a fundamental tension: we are trapped between two different versions of what a “united” nation looks like. One version demands assimilation and the exclusion of “the other,” while the other version insists that the country cannot truly be together if it does not first acknowledge its own diversity and injustice.
This dilemma is not entirely new; it mirrors a crisis faced by St. Augustine in the early church. He famously grappled with the Donatists, a sect that weaponized religious purity to exclude those they deemed inferior. Augustine argued that when a group uses “unity” as a cudgel to enforce compliance or justify the oppression of neighbors, they are actually working against the very spirit of unity. He warned against the “false oneness” of cliques and private agendas that shatter the broader human family. This is precisely what we see today: a political movement that frames unity as the preservation of white, traditionalist dominance. When leaders define the “survival of civilization” by the exclusion of migrants or the clinging to “blood and soil” ideologies, they are prioritizing a narrow, exclusionary identity over the common good, ultimately fostering a “fictional liberty” that serves few and harms many.
Distinguishing between genuine unity and a performative, exclusionary facade requires us to be more critical of our national discourse. I encourage myself—and others—to ask difficult questions before joining in collective applause: Does this event broaden my moral vision, or does it narrow it? Does it foster life for all, or does it center my own comfort at the expense of someone else’s dignity? We must be particularly weary of state-sponsored efforts to curate history, such as the Freedom 250 Task Force, which seeks to sanitize our past and promote a version of Christianity that aligns with a white, patriarchal agenda. When we allow our history to be airbrushed to protect national pride, we lose the ability to learn from our mistakes, and we betray the very people who fought to expand the meaning of American equality.
Rather than participating in events that prioritize the erasure of our struggles, we should look for ways to engage that honor the full, complex narrative of our nation. Personally, I am choosing to mark the 250th anniversary by supporting efforts like the People’s Action Organizing Revival, initiatives that recognize that a pluralistic, multi-racial democracy requires hard, ground-level work rather than simple, empty pageantry. For those who still choose to participate in official commemorations, bring that critical spirit with you. Whether it is through subtle protest, intentional conversation, or the refusal to accept nationalist rhetoric in our churches and community centers, we can find ways to advocate for a more inclusive future without losing sight of the work that remains.
Ultimately, the quest for a more perfect union is a moral and spiritual imperative. If we believe that we are created in the image of a God who thrives in the dynamism of diversity, then our call is to move beyond performative platitudes and embrace a “unity-in-diversity” that is grounded in active, embodied care for every neighbor. Refusing to legitimize authoritarianism or historical revisionism is not an act of cynicism; it is an act of deep, profound hope. It is the work of liberation. By acknowledging the long, painful, and beautiful labor of our ancestors, we can move forward with a more honest, inclusive, and durable form of unity—one that is worth celebrating because it is finally, authentically, for everyone.