Unless one counts the “Ultimate Fighting Championship Freedom 250” fracas on the White House lawn as the pinnacle of civic celebration, one might conclude that the federal government has phoned in the nation’s semiquincentennial celebration.
This is giving real every-other-weekend bad-dad-forgot-your-birthday energy. This is some gas-station bouquet, silver-anniversary-level crap. This is “I thought your mom was handling the cake” finger-pointing. This is showing up to the party late with a half-inflated Mylar balloon that says “Congrats Grad” because it was the only one left at CVS. This is the republic’s milestone birthday being celebrated with a sad sheet cake, a spork and the whiff of propane. This is a nation founded on a rocket’s red glare waving a dead glowstick from the junk drawer.
I mean, you had two and half centuries to plan this. We did a Bicentennial dry run 50 years ago and went all out. In 1989, the French had their Bastille Day bicentennial and even made little edible guillotines, and that still was in better taste than a green reflecting pool. ’70s America had Watergate, Vietnam and the energy crisis, and they still got the damn colors right.
The best it can seem to muster is a bipartisan fundraising initiative called “Giving 4th,” which is, according to its website, “a movement to establish July 4 as a new national day of charitable giving” for organizations that the government used to fund. There is something uniquely dispiriting about commemorating 250 years of self-government by passing the tricorn hat.
And look, I am not asking for a national bacchanal of tasteful excess. I don’t need laser eagles. I don’t need the cast of Hamilton rapping the Federalist Papers whilst riding a drone swarm (though that, admittedly, would be cool). But give us something. A little pageantry. A little coherence. Maybe even a little responsible governance. Is the Smashing Pumpkins playing an America’s Block Party gig in Los Angeles the best we can do? Seriously, this is real—tickets are still available for just $17.76.
Because at 250, America is no longer young, scrappy and hungry—it’s old enough to know better—and do better.
Daedalus Howell is editor of this paper, the writer-director of the feature film ‘Werewolf Serenade,’ author of the novel ‘Quantum Deadline’ and host of ‘The Drive,’ weekdays on 95.5 FM.
