Debut Issue on the Fourth of July
I am a big believer in serendipity and the significance of timing. At the time of this magazine's inception, I thought that it would be released during Pride Month. As I said to the incredibly talented contributors: "both time and I have escaped one another." By accident it was that this issue arrived on the Fourth of July. Being as it may, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on the neo-liberal political project of the United States of America and the ahistorical claim that "all men" was intended to mean everyone. Patriotism is not something that I'm interested in. Well, it is of interest in the senset that I am prying at the overlapping edges of Fascism and Religious Cults, teasing out the meaning behind these two phenomena. As someone who was raised in a religious cult, I can state without a shadow of a doubt that the sociological and psychological similarities between Fascism and Religious Cults are identical. I think that Patriotism fits into the fanatic similarities of the two in that one identifies with the Nation and/or Cult, that their very sense of self is so tightly woven together to the extent that one would feel threatened by any external opposition to its Nation and/or Cult. Defensive and existentially disturbed. How do we confront such fanaticism? How do we pull one another out of the lulling stooper of Patriotism?
The Fourth of July is known as Independence Day in the United States, celebrating the ratification of the Declaration of Independence by the Second Continental Congress on July 4, 1776. Let us acknowledge first that the original thirteen colonies were declairing themselves independent of "a Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant." What was the act of tyranny that led these "free people" towards violent revolution and declaring independence? There are many nuances to this subject, but one that stands out to me is this perceived exploitation of the colonies, specifically the exploitation of these so-called "free people." I say perceived exploitation because there's an irony to what the colonists were arguing against and for, an irony in their demand that "all men are created equal." Which people were they referring to, which men precisely? Which people were creating the wealth of the colonies and which were haording the spoils? The irony lies in the fact that the freedom they demanded only applied to themselves, not the enslaved Africans whose labor was exploited to create the wealth of the colonies and certainly not the disenfranchised home-makers whose domestic labor was devalued by patriarchal society. "All men" did not intend to mean everyone and neither did "free people." The promise of "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness" was only writ for those men who signed the Declaration of Independence; not the Indigenous People of the Americas, not the enslaved Africans, and not their wives nor daughters. "The Right of the People to alter or abolish" the tyrannical government was reserved solely for the declaration signers, their conspirators and footsoldiers, and other white male compatriots.
Those who look to America in this current moment (on its two-hundred-fourty-ninth birthday, during the first six months of the fourty-seventh presidential term) and say, "America was meant to be better," or similar sentiments pointed towards "liberty and justice for all," I wonder if they've lost the plot, so to speak. Which is to say, I wonder if they realize how ahistorical it is to think that this nation was anything else but a Get-Rich-Quick Scheme for Tax-Evading, Slave-Owning White Males. Some people argue that racism, sexism, genocide, slavery, and exploitation are "stains" on American history. I argue that they're not mere stains, but threads of an intential pattern woven together by those who founded and created this nation. Can America exist without slavery? We see how it doesn't, how slavery has shifted away from the out-right ownership of another person towards the carceral system, in which the state owns the labor and livelihood of a condemned criminal. Can America exist without genocide? A brief overview of American-involved wars since its inception as a nation would point otherwise. We are walking atop the burial grounds of the Indigenous tribes of this land. We are watching this nation fund the demolition and displacement of Palestinean people, and have been for nearly eighty years. Can America exist without capitalism? Back to the point about how the "free people" were amassing wealth atop the backs of enslaved Africans and domesticated wives, this nation was built for the White Man to exploit others. Capitalism isn't a concequence of this nation, this nation is a consequence of capitalism.
I refuse patriotism. I refuse to celebrate the birth of this nation. I refuse to accept the ahistorical argument that there ever was "liberty and justice for all," that there ever will be. We must acknowledge what it means to be an American, what it means to exist within the heart of the modern imperial empire, and what it means to oppose its foundational ideologies. While the fight for equality and progress has been noble and worth celebrating, I argue that the problem with earning rights is that they can be taken away. The fascist promise of "restoring the past" and "returning to tradition" is the path toward losing what was hard won. Instead of compromising with fascists, my hope is that we can tap into some revolutionary spirit that challenges the foundations of America, that can cut through the very fabric of this nation. Today, as well as every day, I encourge us to think about the ways in which we can ignite such a spirit in our communities, neighborhoods, work places, and social spaces. I encourage us to imagine a better world for every person everywhere and to not stop at imagining, to scaffold what that world might look like, might feel like, might sound like.
Though this first issue lacks an explicit central theme, the poems within point towards a better world. They call out hypocracy, greed, and fascism, while calling in intimacy, connection, and abundance. I am proud of the work of these poets and comrades, and even more proud to present them in this online issue. I extend my sincerest gratitude to the beautiful, evocative, and profound work that I had the honor reading and selecting. And I extend my gratitude to you, reader. We did this for you. We did this for all. Thank you for being here. Solidarity forever.
Binx
Poet, activist, and Editor-in-Chief of The Pill Magazine.