“There is much wrong with the world, and great trouble brewing in the United States. But if there is anyone who will save it, who will offer humanity and our fading planet some respite…it will be the ikce wicasa, the common person, who leads the charge for change.”
—Ruth H. Burns
The transition from Pride Month to July 4 is always jarring. This year, it feels particularly pronounced given this administration’s campaign against the LGBTQIA community, following a month in which shop windows were eerily empty of their usual supportive rainbow fanfare, replaced by an ever-present specter of rights that might soon vanish. But this Independence Day rings with a deeper existentialism amid the backdrop of a rise in authoritarianism, extreme polarization, and the passing of President Trump’s budget bill. At the heart of all of this is a question for America: Who do we want to be as a people?
When I came out as a trans woman, many people in my life were supportive, but not everyone. Some were skeptical. There’s something remarkable I learned about transition, though: It’s not only you who changes. The people around you do, too. I didn’t win over the doubters through ideological arguments or trying to force them to accept me. What changed them was watching me come alive and become a flourishing and contributing member of society—no longer drowning in depression, thanks to my having access to life-saving medical care. What changed them was getting to know who I am.
Approximately 1.6% of adults in the United States are transgender or nonbinary, according to a 2022 Pew Research Center survey. The majority of Republicans behind this political strategy to deprive us of our rights and access to health care do not even know a trans person—in fact, the majority of Americans don’t. Perhaps because of that fact, the campaign has been successful: 52% of American adults approve of how President Trump is handling transgender issues, according to a May AP-NORC poll. And while I won’t deny that willful cruelty exists, I ground myself in the understanding that many of these people don’t know me or anyone like me.
If they did know me, they would know I’m not so different from the other people who surround them. Most days, my life isn’t about my identity as a trans woman anymore, largely thanks to the medical care that I have had access to. I walk my dog down my street and greet my neighbors. I’m dating a man whom I like and have loving friends and family around me. I work a job that challenges and fulfills me, and spend most of my time thinking about how I can make this world a better place. I fumble and fail, I learn and grow. I’m a human being.
Don’t mistake me, there are days when all I want to do is pick up my sword; it’s probably some natural instinct of all animals to try to defend ourselves when under attack. And there is a time and place for that. But largely, I know that loosing another ideological arrow in the culture wars will not save me, or any of us. Because the real enemy we face in America today is not a single political party: It’s dehumanization. And the way we fight that is by embracing our humanity.
I’m not advocating for Democratic centricism here. I believe it’s possible to hold true to progressive values while also speaking to the issues that impact the majority of working class Americans; mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani’s sweeping victory during the Democratic primaries in New York City was proof of that. Protecting individual freedoms is a foundational tenet of liberalism, and that means sharing space with those who don’t necessarily share our views. We have to practice what we preach and work on building broad coalitions—not compromising our values, but expanding who feels spoken to by them.
And we need those broad coalitions now more than ever. This week, Congress passed President Trump’s “big beautiful bill” that will largely benefit the wealthiest Americans at the expense of the poorest. It will make cuts to food stamp benefits and medicaid, robbing 12 million Americans of healthcare, rollback critical clean energy policies and tax credits, drastically increase funding to ICE, and add $3.3 trillion to federal debt. But this bill was met with resistance on both sides of the aisle, and the majority of Americans disapprove of it. The fact that it passed was a betrayal to all people in this country; rather than letting it divide us further, we must stand united.
The goal of the Oceti Sakowin, or Sioux Nation, is to become ikce wicasa, or “common people.” As Ruth H. Burns writes: “There are millions of Americans who are ikce wicasa and they don’t even know it. These people get up every day to do the necessary work to keep society functioning: Provide for their families, love their children, look out for a neighbor. They hope, pray, and sacrifice for the greater good, and do right in private because of who they are. These people are the silent majority. They are everywhere, but you may not see them out front. They are busy, being ikce wicasa. Real, common, decent human beings, thinking with their hearts.”
This Independence Day, I’m placing my faith in these common people—in a politics of character, more so than identity. I’m choosing to believe that outside of our echo chambers, there are more of us who are willing to set aside our assumptions, listen before judging, and see one another as human beings first. I won’t ask you to change your beliefs for me, only that we treat each other with mutual respect. In the end, all I want is to be afforded the same promise allegedly offered to all Americans: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
Biome
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