July 4th is complicated for my Kenyan, American, black, brown and white family. First, it’s my birthday and my kids seem to think grownups don’t have birthdays – there’s an interesting discussion. Second, I’m conflicted about July 4th. While I relish annually marking another year of life and love, commemorating the birth of freedom for our country on the same day, when we don’t share freedom very well in this country, is a struggle. The meaning for the country-wide merrymaking feels glib.

But, complex as celebrating July 4th may be, when we talk about freedom one thing is plain – no one is free until all are free. Our freedom is bound up together. On July 4, 1766 when a collection of wealthy, white men declared US independence, not all were free. Still today, not all are free.

We find ourselves in a country that ambitiously proclaims all people share the same idyllic and generous freedom, but in practice offers this freedom only to some. When it comes to race, my family lives a reality of idealized freedom for one and promised yet unattainable freedom for the rest. I’m sure lots of families in the US know varying degrees of freedom among their members.

We live in contradiction. This collective incongruence – a misalignment of lived truth and declared values – greatly impacts my family. We struggle to be independent of an unexecuted all-encompassing freedom that is beautiful in concept and true only in word. We come up against paradoxical freedom as we teach our children that freedom for some is not freedom at all. We work to grow appreciation for how words about freedom should match everyone’s experience of freedom.

We talk about how we’ve heard that the US is the “land of the free” and how this place believes itself to be about “liberty and justice for all.” We also talk about how our lived experience demonstrates that their brown skinned freedom – and their dad’s black skinned freedom – is very different from my white skinned freedom. I have to believe that this contradiction drives many struggles in our social environment. It causes continuous worry and distress to our family.

I also see the way we white women feel free to show up publicly – shrieking in fear with wide panic-filled eyes, gun pointing, threatening, demanding… a seeming need to fight for freedom, rights or a way of being that feels infringed upon. There appears to be a deep fear that freedom will be lost. My kids are taking notice too. 

My first reaction is to judge, shame and distance myself from this sort of white lady acting out. But I know these are not lone cases or outliers – it’s a culture. It’s how I was taught to be. My white feminine heritage showed me that I can go about daily life free from the fear of being singled out and unencumbered by others assuming my intentions are nefarious.

I learned that I’m free to be in spaces without my presence questioned and that I’m free to question the presence of other non-white bodies. I came to understand that when my way of doing or being is challenged, I receive the benefit of the doubt and am free to lash out, take up the role of victim, demand of and command others, question those who might call me out and center myself when I feel my rights are violated.

Each year on the 4th I feel a pull to put aside the truths I know of freedom in the US and wholeheartedly join the gaiety. After all, it’s my birthday and I’ll party if I want to, right? It’s frightening too how easy it is to daily accept inconsistent and exclusive freedom as true freedom. It happens to me – even as I know it does not make me genuinely free; even as I understand the truth that freedom must be shared and does not occur in isolation; even as I work to free myself from a disjointed existence of declaring freedom for all and living with more freedom than many.

My kids see my whiteness, they know that whiteness means access to freedom they do not share. My heart aches and I look for answers. What do I do with these two realities of freedom? I cannot simply sit with this truth and continue to live into this particular version of white freedom. I’m learning a new way to engage with freedom.

The freedom I’ve enjoyed has made my life easier and I identify with the fear of losing it. But I also know that there is plenty of freedom to go around and that freedom is meant to be shared. And I’m learning that – when we live in ways where our declared values and lived truth are aligned – then freedom for all becomes possible.