God Bless America

 

 Two powerful images are in my mind this morning.

When I was growing up in Long Beach, California, there was a rather disreputable amusement park near the harbour, called The Pike. At The Pike, there towered a wooden roller coaster; local lore credited it with being the tallest and the oldest such ride in the world. It was called the Cyclone Racer.

As you chugged up the twists and undulations of track towards the dizzying height of this terrifying ride, your view of the Pacific Ocean, the suburban sprawl, and the inland mountains expanded. If you were cool-headed enough to be able to appreciate the beautiful vista. Mostly, your attention was focused on reaching that top-most point, where the car hesitated momentarily, as did your heart, as your sweaty hands gripped the hand-holds tighter. Then the car plunged into the abyss and the screaming started.

All in the name of fun.

I woke up to the morning news on the radio. I listened to the jaw-dropping report that Mr Trump has developed a narrative of what happened in Wisconsin which suggests that the young man who shot two people dead was under some sort of threat from a violent mob and was in danger himself. No word to the young man who lies paralysed in hospital, having been shot by police seven times in the back while trying to get into his car. A black and white issue.

We are on the brink. We have wound our way to the top of the roller coaster and are teetering on the edge, in that moment of hesitation before we plunge ever downwards. How’s your heart?

Also this morning, I was emailed a story and pictures from Australia. A man near Brisbane was shocked when the ceiling in his kitchen suddenly gave way beneath the weight of two python snakes, each over two metres long, who were apparently fighting over a female python.

Two snakes in the attic. Wrangling. Wrestling. Fighting. Eventually crashing through into full view.

Black Lives Matter vs No They Don’t. There is a fault line in America which is historic, deep and ugly as sin. It started with slavery and the concomitant assumption that whites are superior to blacks.

The issue has defined so much of our history, but it has been largely obscured. Misrepresented. Hidden away in the attic.

Until now. The snakes are on the kitchen floor, engaged in a fight to the death.

I am a heartbroken expat who has lived in Scotland for forty-five years, having left my country because I fell in love with a Scot. I still love my country. My parents were US Marines in the Second World War. My dad fought in the blood-soaked invasion of Saipan. He carried those memories all his life, wrestling with them during his final days.

The first tune they taught my sister and I to play on recorders was the Marine Corps Hymn. They were proud of their country and they fought to protect it. Every morning in primary school, we started the day facing the Stars and Stripes, hands over hearts, pledging allegiance to our country, ‘one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all’.

Now I watch from afar. I am appalled to discover that there has never been liberty and justice for all there. That what I believed was true, what my parents fought to defend because they believed it was true, has never been true. That everyone in America was equal. That there was liberty and justice for all. The American Dream.

Well, it’s past time to wake up. The alarm is ringing, loud and clear.

This November’s election is the most critical election in the history of the United States. Its outcome is far from predictable, nor the fallout from that outcome. Anyone who has a vote there, needs to exercise it wisely. There is no excuse not to vote.

This morning, with tears in my eyes and tears streaking my cheeks, I pray, ‘God bless America, land that I love, stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with the light from above. From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam: God bless America, my home, sweet, home. God bless America, my home, sweet, home.’