Two Americas

Preserving the Promise of America for Future Generations

In these days after the election, there’s a heavy feeling in the air. For some, it’s a reckoning—a sense that America, once moving toward justice, is now slipping backward. Kamala Harris’s loss is more than a political defeat; it feels like a message, an echo of an America that many of us thought we’d left behind, one that still decides who belongs and who doesn’t.

This moment brings to mind the stories of those who came before me: my mother, my aunt, my father-in-law, and my uncle. They left their homelands, became citizens, and worked hard to make it in America. They believed in the promise of this country—not because it was easy, but because it was a place where anyone willing to work, to study, to give their best, could belong. They faced obstacles, moments of doubt, times when the dream of America didn’t feel quite real, yet they pressed on, making their lives in this new land.

Yet here we are, facing two Americas once more. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen the nation divided, torn between competing visions. We’ve been here before—during the struggles for abolition, for women’s suffrage, for civil rights. Each time, there were those who sought to expand America’s promise, and those who clung to an imagined past where only a few voices mattered. It feels as if we’re stuck in that cycle again, drawn back to a version of America that leaves too many of us out.

Some who follow this vision of “restoring” America don’t see the cost of going back. They talk about safety, tradition, and control, but history reminds us that these ideals have often been used to exclude. Progress isn’t about erasing tradition; it’s about expanding who gets to share in its benefits. America can’t return to a time when only certain voices held sway—not without erasing the hard-won rights and freedoms that so many sacrificed for. And even if some believe they’re creating a safer future for themselves, history warns us that suppressing one part of society has a way of backfiring, of breeding division that eventually harms everyone.

We can’t place ourselves in a bubble and skip over this struggle, hoping to warp ahead to some future where it’s all resolved. The reality is, the choices we make now will shape not just our lives, but those of generations to come. They will feel the weight of decisions made today in their schools, workplaces, and communities. They will inherit the laws, the prejudices, and the possibilities we either choose to foster or let wither. And so, I wonder: what kind of America are we handing to them?

I think of my family and the sacrifices they made because they believed in the America that was still finding its way—a place of promise, not perfection, a place where they could work and contribute, where their children might know a better life. They were under no illusion that this country was perfect, but they believed in its potential, in the values of justice, freedom, and inclusion. And now, I look at my daughter and ask: will she grow up in an America that holds all of us, or one that drifts further apart, divided by fear?

This election has left many of us asking questions. How can we continue to live in a place that says it’s for all, yet acts as though there’s only room for some? What kind of future awaits us in an America that doesn’t see value in our lives, our work, our dreams?

I see friends and family now divided, strained by arguments that feel heavier than mere political disagreements. Some are convinced that turning back the clock will somehow make America safer, stronger, better. Yet I wonder how they can place faith in a leader who speaks without care, without compassion, and whose promises seem only to stir up anger and fear. Those who are following this vision, who are convinced that their lives will be better because of it, may one day see that the man they follow does not stand with them—not truly.

It’s hard to see the progress of years—on issues like racial equality, gender rights, and immigration reform—placed at risk by forces that call themselves “patriotic.” But I think about my family, about all the sacrifices they made, and I remember that America’s promise doesn’t lie in its leaders alone. It’s in the people who choose to love, to respect, to keep working for a better country even when it seems out of reach.

And here is where my faith comes in. Jesus taught us to love one another—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard, when it asks something of us. It’s that kind of love, that belief in each other, that can keep America whole, even when we disagree. True patriotism is about caring enough for our country to make sure all its people can flourish, not just those who look, speak, or think like we do.

In the days to come, I know we’ll need to lean on these beliefs more than ever. This path won’t be easy, and there will be those who think they’ve won something lasting. But if history has shown us anything, it’s that voices calling for freedom and justice are not so easily silenced. And as the reality of their choice unfolds, even those who thought they were protecting themselves may come to see the cost.

For those who still believe in an America that welcomes all who seek its promise, our work isn’t done. Let’s carry on for those who came before us—my mother, my aunt, my father-in-law, my uncle—and for those who come after, who deserve a country that values all its people. Let us be strong enough to keep pushing forward, and brave enough to keep hoping, for America may yet find its way if we don’t lose ours within it.

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