In 1782, just at the end of the War of Independence, J. Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur, a French writer living in the British colonies of North America, published Letters from an American Farmer, a text that probably contains the most influential phrases ever written about American identity. "What, then, is the American, this new man?", he wondered. His thesis, deeply revolutionary before the French Revolution, was that being American did not depend on blood, ethnicity, or origin, but on a political and social transformation. The American was a new man, a product of Europeans from all backgrounds leaving behind the persecutions, hierarchies, limitations, and hatred of an entrenched Old World to become free citizens in the New. "It is an American who, leaving behind their old prejudices and customs, acquires new ones thanks to the way of life they have embraced, the new government they obey, and the new position they hold. Here, individuals from all nations merge into a new race of men...".
Crèvecoeur, perhaps inspired by John Winthrop's famous sermon in 1630 aboard the Arbella, when a group of Puritans was heading to found a colony in Massachusetts Bay ("We shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us"), launched that powerful idea that the United States is a beacon nation, defined more by the appeal of an inclusive project and an ideal than by surnames or the sins of parents or grandparents. An aspiration that has marked much of subsequent thought, inspiring the Founding Fathers, the sacred texts of republican liturgy, paving the way for Tocqueville, goading 19th-century philosophers, 20th-century presidents. An idea, sustained on optimism and exceptionalism, that has defined the first quarter of a millennium but is now facing challenges.
The question of what an American is has absolute relevance as the U.S. reaches its 250th anniversary engulfed in a crisis of self-esteem, identity, and irreconcilable visions. The commemoration of the Declaration of Independence finds the country today divided on the meaning of its own history and with little enthusiasm. Unlike the Bicentennial in 1976, which served as a sort of collective expiation after the trauma of Vietnam, the assassination of Kennedy, and the Watergate scandal, the semiquincentennial unfolds in a climate of political polarization, cultural and digital wars, the memory of the Capitol riot, and growing distrust.
"As the nation approaches its 250th anniversary, the mood of the American public is somber, although some signs of optimism persist," notes a recent study by the Pew Research Center. "Most Americans believe that the country's best days are behind it. In recent decades, Americans have also lost confidence in each other and in institutions, including the federal government, the two major political parties, traditional media, and universities. Compared to populations in other countries, a larger number of Americans express pessimistic views about the functioning of their democracy and doubts about the morality of their fellow citizens. And when asked about how things will evolve by 2050, more than half of American adults say they believe the economy will be weaker, the U.S. will be less important in the world, the country will be more politically divided, and the U.S. government system will work worse than it does now."
A look at the past of the USA
The disputes revolve around the future, the present Union, but also the past. Slavery, the legacy of the Founding Fathers, the role of racism, or the teaching of history and its explanation in museums have become the main battlegrounds. More than a shared celebration, the anniversary has turned into a perpetual discussion with irreconcilable positions. And in that context, Donald Trump, who does not tolerate dissent, has done everything possible and even a little more to turn the anniversary into another tool of his agenda.
The White House has promoted a narrative focused on patriotism, American exceptionalism, its economic and military power, and denouncing what the president considers an anti-American reinterpretation of national history. In 2020, from Mount Rushmore, he lashed out against the Black Lives Matter movement calling them "angry mobs" and criticized a "left-wing cultural revolution... designed to overthrow the American Revolution and destroy the very civilization of the United States," "a ruthless campaign to erase our history, defame our heroes, eliminate our values, and indoctrinate our children."
His decision to now organize a large, "very long" personal rally on July 4th at the National Mall, coinciding with the official celebrations, goes in the same direction and symbolizes that attempt to appropriate the anniversary and identify the legacy of independence with his own political program. A move that comes after a grand evangelical ceremony on the Mall, after pharaonic works to the aesthetic taste of the leader throughout the capital, after turning the White House into a venue for a mixed martial arts fight among his friends, after a 'states fair' that has been a partisan fiasco with concert cancellations. Just as he did in 2025 with a military parade in the capital on his birthday, just as he wants to make that day a federal holiday, just as he has put his name on buildings and tried to do so with stations, airports, or triumphal arches.
The irony of history, however, has wanted everything to come when the biggest cracks in Trump's program and plan are starting to show. With devastating polls, drops in popularity, defeats in Congress and in the courts, embarrassments in handpicked projects, and even when the Supreme Court, with a conservative majority, has just ruled on a central issue: whether the children of immigrants, with or without papers but born on U.S. soil, are Americans, as stipulated by the Constitution. The answer, to Trump's astonishment and fury, is yes. That asylum land that began to be forged in the late 18th century must continue to be so. An American is what they are, not what the White House says.
On July 3, 1776, future President John Adams wrote to his wife Abigail expressing his hope that future generations of Americans would celebrate the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence "with pomp and parades, shows, games, sports, cannon salutes, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of the continent to the other, from this time forward and forever." It has often been so, the first July 4th celebrations in the U.S. "brought with them the stage with the American flag, contributing to creating a sense of national unity where it did not exist before, not because Americans agreed on the meaning of the anniversary, but because they expressed it publicly, loudly, and with fireworks," notes historian Jill Lepore.
Historically, Americans have celebrated the Declaration of Independence thinking of James Madison and the need for checks and balances, because "if men were angels, no government would be necessary." They have honored Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, who both died within a few hours of each other on July 4th. They have also bowed their heads remembering the words of former slave Frederick Douglass: "this 4th of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn." But the national holiday, especially on its round anniversaries, has always been "an indicator to measure Americans' fidelity or betrayal to the foundational principles of the nation, the progress or moral decline of its people, the growth or decline of its economy, and the strength or weakness of civil society, democracy, freedom, and equality," Lepore points out.
Donald Trump's July 4th
This July 4th there will be fireworks, there will be some pomp and spectacle, bonfires and illuminations from one end of the continent to the other. But the test of fidelity to the foundational principles will be difficult to pass with the White House's attempt to monopolize attention, to absorb the celebration, its symbols, and symbolism. Donald Trump, who turns every act, every intervention, into a vengeful rally and an opportunity to settle scores, divide, and attack his rivals, has already promised a long speech.
Half a century ago, on the bicentennial, the country was also in turmoil. Inflation and gas prices were skyrocketing, an unpopular president was clashing with Congress, and the culture war was raging. There are many parallels: Nixon and Trump, Vietnam and Iran, Watergate, and Vice President J.D. Vance scoffing these days at the idea that something as trivial to him as White House-ordered spying could topple a government. "If the Watergate scandal broke tomorrow, it would be news for barely 12 hours. The idea that something like that could bring down a presidency is insane," he aptly said. Today, no scandal seems to be enough.
Now, as in 1976, as in 1926, the country celebrates an anniversary amidst a crisis of confidence and a debate about values. With a very high level of polarization, political violence, and a worrying lack of faith in institutions, in democracy, and in elections. With a president who increased his fortune by more than $2.2 billion thanks to his office, and with the spurious use of state mechanisms to persecute enemies, subdue rivals, and punish the opposition. "The parallels are disturbing: international conflict, internal conflicts, political turmoil, partisan division, and economic instability," wrote historian Marc Stein.
A century ago, when the nation celebrated its 150th anniversary, the editors of America magazine warned amidst the festivities that the American project was an "unfinished work," urging all Americans to undertake "the still unfinished task of building a more just nation." Lincoln said it more beautifully at Gettysburg: "It is up to us, the living, to take up the unfinished work which those who fought here have carried on so nobly thus far."