America’s many sins make the Fourth of July a complicated holiday. But we can find hope and freedom in our kingdom citizenship.
By Given Tanri
Iremember the first time I saw the star-spangled banner in person. My father was at the US embassy in Jakarta, Indonesia, applying for an F-1 student visa to study abroad during a pastoral sabbatical. Overcoming the initial language and cultural barriers took me a grueling semester at a middle school in suburbia, but I did not need even a week to notice that Americans love their flags. Churches and fast-food restaurants are frequently adorned by the stars and stripes.
America is a dream for Chinese Indonesians, a refuge for a community that experienced brutal rapes and massacres some twenty years ago. The resentment against Indonesians of Chinese descent can be traced to Dutch colonialism with its divide et impera tactics, giving Chinese Indonesians preferential treatment under their oppressive system. Our Chinese identity was also systematically erased by the government.
As a result, my generation of Chinese Indonesians does not speak any Chinese languages fluently. We are not fully accepted as Indonesian by many pribumi (Native Indonesians, comprised of 600+ recognized ethnic groups that make up 95 percent of the population). And when we speak up, we are often accused of disloyalty.
After attending predominantly white institutions in the Chicago suburbs, I assimilated. After all, assimilation promised me a more successful path. Nobody asked about my Chinese Indonesian identity, but many pointed to my accent. To be accepted, I hid my Asian otherness, insisting on being treated more like an American than an international student. But full acceptance never came.
Neither has acceptance come for millions of Americans. Today, I lament how white supremacy still reigns, spouting Yellow Peril and denying that Black lives matter, dividing us on the issue. How should I celebrate today when, 244 years ago, they decided that only white male property owners could vote, when Frederick Douglass asked, “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?”
Can I celebrate the Fourth of July as a 1.25-generation Chinese Indonesian American, when Asian Americans are still considered perpetual foreigners, and the government does not want me to stay after my student visa expires? Can I join my DACA friends in saying “Home is here”? How can I celebrate democracy and freedom, when the Kingdom of Hawaii was forcibly annexed, when Puerto Rico and the Pacific Islands are hidden within the American Empire, when Japanese American WWII soldiers were denied hard-earned benefits and respect, and when my loyalty can be questioned by Americans and Indonesians alike?
After feeling excluded in many spaces in Indonesia and America, I finally found belonging in a multicultural house church. In the past four years, Asian American Christians have patiently shown me that the complexity of my cultural and ethnic identities are God’s gifts, not a source of shame. Black Christians I know have patiently taught me how to lament and hope in the midst of suffering and injustices. Individual white Christians have shown me how to counter my anti-Black biases and use my privilege. Catholic and Orthodox friends have helped me worship God more profoundly. American church leaders and thinkers have equipped me to discover the beauty of my journey.
Because of them, today I remember that, despite my tenuous status in the United States, I can rest assured of my citizenship in heaven (Philippians 3:20). My loyalty to the kingdom of God has called me to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn (Romans 12:15) on the Fourth of July, the Seventeenth of August (Indonesia’s Independence Day), and every day.
When we advocate for justice, powers and principalities have tried to silence the least of us. Many Christians oppose us. Our divine citizenship gives us the courage to hold our earthly authorities accountable more. Loving this country includes speaking against its evils and remedying its brokenness. Our patriotism is to speak against racism. We march, as in the #AACmarch for Black Lives and Dignity, taking brave steps toward true solidarity, justice, and peace in Christ. I am inspired by Christian leaders who proclaim the gospel through social activism, even when our loyalty to the kingdom of God is seen as disloyalty to our nation.
This costly, kingdom-oriented action is what it looks like to live in the home of the brave. This is what it looks like to celebrate the freedoms and opportunities of the United States.
Today I pray for this temporary home of the brave ambassadors of Christ. I pray that all of us can put our hope in Christ instead of the promises of this world.
This is my first Fourth of July without Sousa’s marching music, fireworks’ red glare, and sizzling burgers and hot dogs. But this is also the first First of July when, despite struggling with my American identity, I am finally starting to understand how to honor it as a kingdom citizen.
The journey toward liberty and justice for all will take millions of steps; the arc of the moral universe is long indeed. Let us march on until victory is won.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
Given Tanri is the AACC social media coordinator and an international student from Indonesia. His passions for Christian discipleship, church music, social equity in STEM, and technology have developed because of his experiences growing up in a Chinese Indonesian pastor’s family in the suburbs of Chicago. His free time is filled by imperfect attempts to learn jazz piano and Mandarin, and he knows enough to pretend that he has learned computational chemistry, applied linguistics, or ethnomusicology. After graduating with a BS in chemistry from Wheaton College, he is now looking for a chemistry-related job anywhere in the United States. Follow him on Twitter, Instagram, or LinkedIn.