by: Myia Hall

George Washington—thank you for crossing the Delaware. It’s one of the coolest images ever. Benjamin Franklin—what can I say? That kite changed our lives. And now that I’ve said that: fuck both of you, teeth-stealing, serial-killing weirdos. All my respect and service goes to the average American.

I respect and admire the Founding Fathers and their contributions to building this amazing country. But they are also partly the reason why it’s doomed. They knew better than to trust each other enough to make room for amendments but they were too power-hungry to stay out of the American Revolution until it benefited them.

The duality of man. The duality of America. A melting pot of contradictions where two things can be true at once.

I know it may seem harsh to say something so inflammatory, but let me explain where this comes from. I spent my twenties sacrificing for a movement I deeply believed in. My brief dive into politics gave me more of an existential crisis than I had before I tried to become an engaged citizen. Even joining the outcasts is still just another clique.

I worked in the third-party space. I helped start a political party in North Carolina. I joined a group of fed-up people pissed off about our two options: Republican or Democrat. We didn’t agree on everything, but we agreed that the average American wasn’t being represented.

I thought this was my chance to join something bigger than myself. Finally, people could work together. Maybe Huey Newton wasn’t delusional with his Rainbow Coalition. For the first time, I saw guys who’d been on Shark Tank working with farmers. I saw deeply Christian Southern men collaborating with gay men and Black lesbians.

Now, with Trump president again, I can’t help but feel jaded.

I didn’t account for the pride that third-party leaders would still have. Somehow every little third-party group thinks my party is going to be the one to break down the doors. They don’t realize all of us are still standing outside.

The longer I was part of this clique, the more I realized some of these guys were just mad that their original party didn’t want them. They got kicked out for being different, for not falling in line. Then they saw the average American’s anger and thought: this is my chance to finally be popular. Finally I’ll be king.

And I can’t help but think of our Founding Fathers after all this. American independence started with the average and the desperate. You might be surprised to know it was really Irish and Black people who helped create this beautiful, fucked-up place.

British troops stationed here took local jobs—whaling, labor jobs reserved for the poor. Those jobs went to Irish Catholics (a hated group back then) and Black communities. The Boston Massacre happened partly because of fights over those jobs. And after that shooting, one of our own Founding Fathers—John Adams—defended the British soldiers in court.

Every time we get close to working together—poor with poor of different colors and creeds—our rage gets bottled up, put on a shelf, handled and managed. One king for another.

All these contradictions bother me. Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of contradiction if we were actually free in the midst of it. We’re always so close, but so far. I find myself hopeful yet frustrated. Grateful yet disappointed, to the point of despair.

I wish there was a way to trust each other without needing to agree. But in America, if you can control what people believe, you control them. Everyone wants to be in charge. Everyone wants the world in their hand.

In the words of Mike Tyson: “Everyone that you fight isn’t an enemy and everyone that helps you isn’t a friend.” I’m still trying to figure out who is which. One thing I do know for certain: there should be no more kings.

I’ve met some amazing and incredibly fucked-up individuals along the way. To the determined and angry, to the power-hungry and opportunistic. To the powerful and the powerless: thank you—and fuck you.