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I have a catalogue of entries that I try to choose from when I update this column, and this idea has been sitting in my catalogue since January–since Saturday, Jan. 24, to be exact. I was in the car with my family on the way to take my little cousins home after my youngest brother’s birthday party, and I had barely missed the notification–an Apple News headline. I could only make out the words “man shot” and “ICE.” 

Barely audible, I announced, “somebody else was killed by ICE,” but my announcement would go unheard, and that was that in the moment. I remember thinking how much of a tragedy it was and I felt a small flare of a feeling I’ve been noticing more and more over the years–a deep-rooted pang of guilt on behalf of all Americans–myself included. 

I’ve found that time gives perspective unlike any other.

I remember feeling conflicted amidst the onslaught of polarizing events that were happening back then, and so I made the decision to do what I always did when I felt conflicted about something: take time to understand the affliction. 

This started with watching the video. On Jan. 24, 37-year-old Alex Pretti was shot several times in the back at the hands of federal law enforcement.

This was the second documented shooting of an American citizen at the hands of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Earlier that month, on Jan. 7, Renee Good was shot in her car by an ICE agent. The shooting was recorded by several others. I remember one weekend, I watched the available footage of both shootings, and my heart dropped. 

At first, I remember there being noise–sentiments along the lines of: ”Did that really happen? I can’t believe that happened. I’m not surprised that it happened. When is enough enough?”

 That clashed with even more noise–more sentiments that essentially said: “It was justified. It was self defense. Domestic terrorism–it was warranted. These things are necessary sometimes.” 

This is not the first time that law enforcement has killed a person, and although disturbing, that isn’t really what stuck with me. The thing that stuck with me long-term was: “I wonder what the rest of the world thinks.” Not about the shooting, but about my country.  

Alex was murdered. Renee was murdered. Those were only two events in a long list of chaos that has ensued in the past year. 

Two people died. At the hands of law enforcement. 

It is not the first time. 

But media coverage blew these two instances up, and they spread like wildfire. 

And all of a sudden, all over again–since politics started becoming something that alienated others and divided the general population–my country felt like it was cracking. 

Again. I felt a familiar sense of shame.

I first remember recognizing this feeling when watching a debate between two leaders–our president and someone else.The details are fuzzy, but it didn’t matter who it was or what it was about. What mattered was the image of two grown men–both leaders of nations–putting each other down instead of trying to find solutions to whatever problem they had.  

I felt guilty and a little ashamed because I live in America. I am American, and there are times where it feels like America is viewed as the bad egg. So when it looks like American law enforcement is killing Americans, when it looks like America’s leader is in a shouting match with other world leaders, when America withdraws from certain international groups for whatever reason, when America makes any “morally questionable” geopolitical moves or when America is announced to have been excluded from international affairs…I feel a little pang of guilt. 

 If I had to source where most of my guilt is coming from, I would have to attribute it to polarization. It is becoming more and more difficult for two people to see eye-to-eye. The moment two people disagree on something, alienation and personal attacks are the first response. I just feel ashamed for living in a country that has become so polarized. 

I’m not saying that it is only America. I am certain that polarization is prevalent wherever people go, and we have no control over where we come from, but we do have agency over the types of people we become. And we are human before we are anything else.  

I love my country. I think one of the things that makes America great is that it is the land of opportunity. I like how we have geopolitical and cultural influence. I laugh at the lighthearted things: how we are supposedly called out for the “American lean” and how apparently one American stereotype is that we just like to take up a lot of space and make small talk with others. We take a lot for granted, living here and I will never not feel grateful for the fact that I am able to sit here and share my opinions on things because of the fact that we have federally-funded public school systems and First Amendment protections. 

I am not saying that I dislike America, or the American government, but I am acknowledging that sometimes I feel a little conflicted because sometimes I feel a little guilty and prideful at the same time. Guilty of the opportunities I have, guilty when America is framed as the “bad egg” and those claims are hard to defend against. I don’t know the full story, and I don’t think I ever truly can “step into” anyone else’s shoes to completely see the other side, but I can try to understand. One thing that I have learned from just observing the world is that perspective is a superpower, and being able to bend my own perspective, to temporarily suspend my biases just to hear someone else out, has been one of my strongest abilities.

So, yeah, I am guilty for being an American because, gosh, those headlines sound awful. Sometimes my country feels broken.

But I was born here. Nationalism is a real thing, and for that, I am proud.  

I can sit from my desk and continue being a keyboard warrior, sitting upon my God-given American superiority complex (I am joking)–

Or I can stand up, with the rest of the world, and just try to be a better human, regardless of where I was born and what climate I am growing in.

And you can, too. 

Your call.