Two Views of America

This week I attended two nights of fireworks. I also witnessed two very different views of what our nation is and should be.

They call Ohio a swing state and even though it’s swung red for the last number of years, it’s probably still accurate to refer to it as swinging between the red and the blue. A purple state, of sorts. Even if it’s been a bit redder of late than some purple states out there. It’s citizenry, a fairly balanced mix of compassionate and conservative, with some foolishness tossed in there at both ends of the political spectrum to keep the debate from getting stale. It’s a good hearted state and I always see it as trying its best to work out the flaws of representative democracy, in spite of the claims of some who would put the X on Ohio as ground zero in the battle for America’s mortal soul. Then again, maybe it is, and maybe that’s because Ohioans are still struggling to find the best balance between being the America we were, and the America that some feel we need to become now that we’ve entered the “Post 9/11” era in human history. Even as it pains me to witness the struggle, I feel grateful that there is still a struggle going on. This week, I had a rare moment to experience that struggle on a fairly grand scale. One that involved some great music and lots of explosions.

Fairfield, Ohio has their fireworks on July 3rd. They do it that way every year. I’ve been told by my mother-in-law, who lives in Fairfield, that they do that as a compromise between themselves and the city of Hamilton, Ohio. They’re located next to each other and I guess the areas designated for their respective displays are too close to one another to allow for both cities to blow them off simultaneously, although, I would love to see something like that, myself. Maybe something along the lines of a dueling fireworks display, or even a full 20 minutes of complete mayhem with both cities fighting to outdo each other, with the crowd being the only winner in the battle. Of course, that will never happen, so a compromise has been struck between the two of them and Hamilton must have won the coin toss, getting to celebrate the 4th on the 4th.

Now, as I mentioned, my in-laws live in Fairfield, so it makes perfect sense that I would attend the Fairfield fireworks. It also makes perfect sense that I’d be there since they happen on the 3rd, which gives me a chance to see two nights of fireworks instead of the traditional one night of fireworks. Two, being better than one in most cases, I naturally choose two, and as a result I found myself with my wife and her family on July 3rd in a pleasant sub-division about 1000 yards from the designated fireworks viewing area, with a small group of Ohioans, equipped with a radio, folding chairs and either a small flag or decorative piece of clothing displaying their level of patriotism. It was very sweet, and I felt like I was in the middle of one of those McDonald’s commercials from the 80s. The ones that branded McDonald’s as America’s fast food pit stop for an entire generation. It was very wholesome and relaxing. That was, until the fireworks display began.

Now, I know that someone, somewhere, usually some radio station programmer, selects and arranges the music for the display and hands the CD to the fireworks company who then arranges the display to correspond to the music track. All I can say is that from the moment the music started, and the first rocket left the pad, there was no mistaking the vision that was being shared by the music programmer of America and her place in the annals of human history.

The first movement was a classical dirge that was propelled for a good ten minutes by a military snare, while building in heroic intensity the whole time. It was hypnotic and even though I have no knowledge of classical composers, it reminded me of what I’ve read about Wagner’s effect on the German people of the 30s. It was insidious in its ability to evoke the myth of glorious war. You could feel it as it built. It was relentless and insistent. There was no relief from the drone of militarism as the rockets and bombs added to the psychological environment being crafted before us. It was overwhelming. Then, as it came to a peak, it crested with a particularly spectacular volley, utterly orgasmic in nature, where you could almost feel the bullets ripping through your flesh, lifting you to the heaven of fallen heroes, sacrificed and glorified forever as having given your all for your God and country. Immortalized for eternity and raised beyond the muddled reality of a 9 – 5 life of raising kids and paying bills, as a true icon of heroic America, saving the human race in service to the glory of freedom and the righteous will of God.

What followed was pure red state Americana. John Phillip Sousa cheerfully broke the tension created by the previous 10 minutes of raw visceral mass psychology, the flutes lifting the fog of war momentarily and transporting all of us back to the peaceful backyard that we’d originally situated ourselves. The lively patriotic march was then replaced by country’s ode to America’s war on terror, “God Bless the USA”, followed then by another length of that ominous militaristic piece that kicked off the event. At least, I think it was. It had the building orchestra, the relentless Drum Corp rhythm section, the “this is your legacy after dying in our defense” dramatic aural celebration. If it wasn’t the same number, it was written by someone who would have gotten along really well with the guy that wrote the other one. As that went on, my wife turned to me and asked “Do you feel like invading a small country, too?”. I had to admit that there was a notion beginning to stir within me that Madagascar has been a smug little island, sneering at us from behind Africa’s skirt for far too long and something needs to be done about it once and for all. Not saying that it had to be me that had to fix that little rock’s wagon, but clearly things couldn’t go on forever as they were, and there are plenty of young men and women whose job it is to handle that kind of thing while I do my part and cheer them on. Like I said, the effect was insidious. The finale was wonderful and was presented as Whitney Houston belted out her famous “Star Spangled Banner” from the 1981 Super Bowl as our troops launched into the 1st Gulf War, and our entire nation held its collective breath in a rare mixture of shared pride and apprehension. In the end, I felt like I needed to either kill something or take a shower, and I wasn’t really sure which urge was stronger.

The next night, we kept it local and attended the Blue Ash fireworks display. Blue Ash is a bit “bluer” that Fairfield. In fact, Blue Ash is famous for being one of very few communities that decided, a long time ago, to dedicate a section of the city to the promotion of true middleclass racial diversity during a time when the rest of the country was anything but embracing this noble ideal. It’s a well heeled city, with an impressive corporate tax base and every 4th, they do it up all the way with a huge free concert festival, featuring national acts and a large fireworks display to cap the day off in traditional style. This year was no different and as the time grew near, and as it became clear that the fireworks would not be rained out as forecasted, we hopped into the van and headed to a nearby parking lot to tune in the simulcast and watch the show. What followed struck me as a really fascinating departure from what I’d witnessed the night before, and yet, just as appropriate a use of music and rockets as what Fairfield had accomplished.

The music programmer launched into the program with a few nods to Toto, the visiting band that had just left the festival’s concert stage. I knew this would be the case, as I’d been to these fireworks before and this is what they always do. You kind of excuse the snippets of these songs in the same way that you’d overlook your uncle’s falling asleep and his letting his dentures wander around his open mouth as he sits unconscious in the EZ-Boy after Thanksgiving dinner. It’s just something you get past and move on from. The next 30 minutes were selections of popular songs that showcase the normal day-to-day lives of Americans of all kinds. Songs about love, commitment, loneliness, and even one about the immigrant dream of coming to America. Ray Charles sang America the Beautiful in his own inimitable fashion, and the finale crested over a medley of John Williams orchestral splendor as Blue Ash celebrated what it means to live in America in its tribute to her birthday.

I thought about these two views of our nation as I drove home last night and wondered how we would emerge from this battle that is raging over whether we will be remain the “pre-9/11” country of open arms and faith in the goodness of humanity or continue our march toward becoming the very different “post-9/11” nation that many believe we need to become, embracing the vision of America the glorious warrior for democracy, destined to change the world or fall in a spectacular and triumphant death to be hailed forever as the last best hope for a doomed mankind. Both visions have merit and both are very compelling, but as a citizen of this nation, I’m pulling for the former. I guess it remains to be seen whether I’m in the majority or not, and whether this is a momentary glitch or the beginning of a new chapter in the history of mankind on planet earth.