Fourteen days in America. The scene at the US Capital fourteen days prior was vastly different from the scene at that same location on Wednesday. One reflected an America consumed with rage, a country being ripped apart at the seams, rupturing with hatred. The other, an America filled with hope, a land of inspiration, the people united in its promise. Yet somehow, both of those images are real. As I watched the latter, I could still hear the echoes of the previous. America. Bruised. Battered. Beautiful.
On January 6th, I witnessed something I never thought I would see in my lifetime. Americans attacking America. My mind struggled to comprehend what my eyes were seeing. And with each pane of glass, my heart broke. Tears, from somewhere so deep inside, I didn’t know that place existed, started to flow uncontrolled. “This can’t be happening”, I thought as I began reciting over and over, “I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
On January 20th, I watched something I’ve seen so many times before. The most beautiful display of American democracy, the peaceful transfer of power. And despite the events just two weeks prior, America put on a good show. It seemed almost normal. Almost. Were it not for the echoes from two weeks prior.
Lady Gaga stared down Mike Pence with the most condescending look possible as he handed her the microphone. I listened as a genuine American icon belted the most exuberant version of our National Anthem I’ve ever heard.
“Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light. What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?”
“We will never give up; we will never concede. We’re going to walk down to the Capital. You will never take back our country with weakness.”
As Kamala Harris stepped forward, that glass ceiling shattered into a million, tiny, little pieces. The first woman, the first Black, the first South Asian Vice President of the United States. “I, Kamala Davie Harris, do solemnly swear…” Yet the echoes continued.
“Stop the Steal! Stop the Steal!”
“that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States, against all enemies, foreign and domestic…”
“Protestors have penetrated the building!”
A legend in her own time. She approached the stage with the elegance of a goddess and took the microphone with reverence. Jennifer Lopez, a strong and proud Latino-American woman, and on this day she possessed the voice of an angel.
“This land is your land. This land is my land. From California. To the New York Island. From the redwood forests to the Gulf Stream waters. This land was made for you and me.” I believed every word she sang, but in my head, I still could hear,
“Hang Mike Pence! Hang Mike Pence!”
She stood at the microphone, taking in the moment. With her small frame, she looked like a china doll. Tiny. Fragile. Breakable. Then she spoke and her tiny frame commanded the world like the voice of a giant. “When a skinny black girl, descended from slaves and raised by a single mother, can dream of becoming President, only to find herself reciting for one.” But the strength of that voice, the purity of that vision wasn’t enough.
“Heads on Pikes! Heads on Pikes!”
“I Joseph Robinette Biden, Jr. do solemnly swear……”
“We just stormed the Capital. It was one of the best days of my life.”
“…that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States….”
“Everybody stay down! Get down! “(Shots fired)
“…And will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend, the Constitution of the United States…”
“Help!....Help!....” screams from a Capital Police Officer trapped, his body pinned between two doors.
“…So, help me, God.”
I went outside. I could see the flag flying at the Post Office down the street. I watched as it blew in the breeze. Red. White. Blue. Thirteen stripes. Fifty stars. As I stood there, the echoes faded from my mind.
I placed my hand over my heart, but those words that calmed me the day the unthinkable happened, were not the words I heard come from my lips.
“Never again.”
For when bruising and battering continue unchecked, eventually beauty dies. So may it echo.
“Never again.”