Essay On The Pledge Of Allegiance
I am living the American dream. No, I do not aspire to live in an oversized house, protected by a white-picket fence. But I am living the American dream. See, the American dream is not, and never was, about economic prosperity; rather, the American dream is to dream- to imagine a world better than our’s. Similarly, it is the American spirit of resilience, ingenuity and community that drives us to actualize our dreams. It is my observation that students at LHS and beyond share a dream: Genuine equality for all, acknowledged by the law, law enforcement and society. Sitting during the Pledge of Allegiance is our way of moving towards this lofty, complex and necessary goal. Let me be clear, the Pledge is not the problem; we are. What follows is not meant to diminish the value of
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The deaths of black men simply don’t affect me. But it does. Inhumanity is not a black problem; inhumanity is a human problem. And I am human. So, I sit. The effect of sitting isn’t in the action itself, but in the eyes of the people who see me sit. They see dissent from unspoken rules, bold yet quiet. They see mature poise directed into a concentrated message: Stop killing black men. Unfortunately, they also see a lack of gratitude. My grandfather enlisted at the age of 17. He recently died at the age of 67 from disease associated with his service; still, he considered himself one of the lucky ones. His brother, my father’s and my namesake, died in Vietnam. He was 22. Yet, my actions are often perceived as disrespect or a lack of appreciation for my countrymen and countrywomen that fought for me. This is not my intention. Rather, I sit to ensure our soldiers didn’t die in vain; it is my responsibility to use the liberties that my great-uncle died for- the right to dream and actualize dreams. It is my inheritance to fight, on a significantly less perilous level, as my grandfather and his brother
The deaths of black men simply don’t affect me. But it does. Inhumanity is not a black problem; inhumanity is a human problem. And I am human. So, I sit. The effect of sitting isn’t in the action itself, but in the eyes of the people who see me sit. They see dissent from unspoken rules, bold yet quiet. They see mature poise directed into a concentrated message: Stop killing black men. Unfortunately, they also see a lack of gratitude. My grandfather enlisted at the age of 17. He recently died at the age of 67 from disease associated with his service; still, he considered himself one of the lucky ones. His brother, my father’s and my namesake, died in Vietnam. He was 22. Yet, my actions are often perceived as disrespect or a lack of appreciation for my countrymen and countrywomen that fought for me. This is not my intention. Rather, I sit to ensure our soldiers didn’t die in vain; it is my responsibility to use the liberties that my great-uncle died for- the right to dream and actualize dreams. It is my inheritance to fight, on a significantly less perilous level, as my grandfather and his brother