It is hard to imagine a better look at what it means to be Black in America and Black in DC.

The terror of being occupied.

The farce of those who despise your way of life.

The struggle of simply trying to exist.

It is even harder to accept that this is what “progress” looks like after 250 years. No longer relegated to the back of the car, yet surrounded on all sides by familiar white hoods. Masked figures ditching their cross and horse for our flag and subway.

It is hardest to celebrate. How does one celebrate when under siege? What songs do we sing to the soundtrack of bombers overhead? What toasts can we make with troops at our doorstep? Do we raise our glasses to 250 more years…of this?

Instead of birthday cake, maybe today deserves a sobriety chip. A symbol that marks how far we’ve come, while reminding us of how easy it is to fall back into our worst selves. Celebrating what we’ve achieved while accepting who we are. That’s a party I’d like to go to…with no masks needed…or allowed.