Happy Birthday, America! I cannot take America away from my life. My eldest son lives there. My sister is married to a Rolling Stones loving guy, who believes I am “awesome.” I need to visit my favorite uncle annually. My aunt who gave me my first chemistry set which started me off on a life soaked in science and technology is there, and so are all my cool cousins. Among my friends who are based in the East and West coasts are doctors, nurses, professors and one ICE agent. I cannot take you out of my calendar, dear America because since 2016, you have welcomed me with open arms. Until lately. As write this from the Philippines, a nation that knows the weight of your shadow, I move from a single person to a collective. A collective of thoughts shared by many. We remember the years you occupied our islands, the wars that scarred our soil, and the long, complex dance of a former colony learning to stand on its own. But we also remember the lessons you taught us: the rhythm of democracy, the value of a free press, and the ideal that all men are created equal. You taught us to love the American dream, to sing your songs, and to believe in your story. That is alright. We know who we are. We know our history, our resilience, and our own voice. We do not need your permission to be who we are. But today, as you celebrate your 250th, the dissonance in your own house is deafening. I stand before the Reflecting Pool in Washington, D.C., from my large screen TV. As I look at the water, I do not see the majestic Lincoln Memorial or the soaring Washington Monument. Instead, I see a distorted mirror. I see a nation that once taught the world how to dream, now struggling to remember the dream itself. January 6 is an insurrection You speak of liberty, yet you have pardoned the insurrectionists who stormed your Capitol on January 6th. You have welcomed back the men who tried to steal your democracy, the men who screamed “Stop the Steal” while your Constitution lay bleeding on the floor. And now, you light your fireworks to celebrate the very freedom they sought to destroy. How do you reconcile the blood of January 6 with the joy of July 4? How do you celebrate a revolution that fought for the right to govern yourself, when you have now chosen to forgive those who tried to end that right? We understand you because we have lived it. You allow your leader to steal from you. We did that for twenty years. We watched the father of our current president, Ferdinand Marcos Sr., turn a nation into a personal bank account. He stole billions. He hid wealth in Swiss banks while our people starved. He built monuments to himself while our schools crumbled. We tolerated it. We were told it was “stability.” We were told it was “progress.” But we got fed up It wasn’t just the grand theft. It was the gas prices that doubled overnight, leaving our jeepneys stranded and our fishermen unable to sail. It was the cost of eggs that skyrocketed, making breakfast a luxury for the rich while our children went hungry. It was the rice prices that pushed families to the brink, the electricity bills that consumed half our wages, the medicine prices that kept the sick in pain. We watched the rich get richer while the poor were told to tighten their belts. We saw the corruption not as an exception, but as the system itself. And now, the cycle repeats. Our current president, the son of the dictator, is also embroiled in corruption. He is innocent until proven guilty. It seems to work the other way with your president. The same patterns emerge: the pork barrel funds that vanish into thin air, the infrastructure projects that are ghost roads and empty bridges, the land grabs that displace the poor for the benefit of the elite. We are learning too much from you. We are learning that democracy is not a guarantee; it is a fragile thing, easily broken by greed. Sounds the same right? Crypto funding projects? Destroyed East Wing? Golden arch ala’ d’ Triumphe? Airplanes from Saudi princes? Using taxpayers money to fund a militia? Back to the unclean And then there is the silence of the clean energy future. For decades, we watched you lead the way. We saw the solar panels you helped install on our rooftops in the Visayas, the wind turbines you championed on the jagged cliffs of Ilocos. We believed that the future was clean, that the energy of the sun and the sea was the only path forward for a planet burning under the weight of carbon. We believed in you because you believed in the science. Then, in 2025, the lights went out. As you dismantled your global aid, you didn’t just cut funding; you abandoned the future. You turned away from the solar and electric vehicles (EVs) that were finally becoming a reality for our developing nations. Instead, you turned your back on the clean energy revolution to chase the ghosts of the past. You championed “clean coal”—a phrase that feels like an oxymoron to us, who have watched our own coastlines choke on the dust of your old industries. You poured billions back into the oil and gas empires that you once claimed to be leaving behind. It is a bitter irony to watch you, the nation that once led the world in innovation, now stumbling backward. While we in the Philippines struggled to keep our lights on during the typhoon season, we saw your administration cancel the grants that would have brought solar microgrids to our most remote islands. We saw the EV charging stations you once promised to build in our partner nations vanish from the blueprints. You traded the promise of a green dawn for the “comfort” of a blackened night. We remember Al Gore We remember when Al Gore stood before the world, a man who had lost his own presidency but found his voice in the truth. He warned us of the melting ice, of the rising seas, of the storms that would come. He told us that the choice was not between economy and environment, but between survival and extinction. He was the prophet of the solar age, the voice that said, “The truth is, the climate is changing, and we must act.” But where is that voice now? In 2025, the warnings of Al Gore are met with silence, or worse, with mockery. His message of urgency is drowned out by the rhetoric of “clean coal” and the denial of the very science he spent his life promoting. You have forgotten the man who tried to save you. You have forgotten the warning. And in doing so, you have forgotten the future. And yet, you speak of “strength” while breaking your own heart. A nation of immigrants You have turned your back on the very people who built your nation: the immigrants. My whole family are immigrants. We came with nothing but hope, carrying the values you taught us. We wanted to belong. But now, we watch in horror as you tear families apart, as you build walls where you once built bridges. You say you want to “remove the abusive ones.” We agree. No one wants criminals on their soil. But where is the due process? Where is the justice? You are sweeping up everyone—fathers, mothers, children, elders—into a net that catches the innocent along with the guilty. You are treating human beings like statistics, like obstacles to be removed. You are forgetting that every person you deport has a story, a family, a contribution to make. You are forgetting that the “abusive” few do not define the millions of hardworking souls who are trying to live the American Dream. The bent of Hormuz And then there is the tragedy of Iran. You once sought to engage, to negotiate, to find peace. Now, you speak only of threats, of sanctions, of isolation. You have forgotten the diplomacy that once brought the world to the table. You have forgotten that the people of Iran are not your enemy; they are a people, just like us, who deserve to live in peace and prosperity. Your anger is not strength; it is a failure of imagination. You cannot solve the world’s problems by turning your back on half of it. You say you are saving money. But what is the cost of a dead coral reef? What is the price of a village swallowed by a storm surge? What is the cost of a family torn apart by a border policy that has no mercy? You are not just cutting budgets; you are cutting the lifeline of our survival. You are telling the world that the future is too expensive, that the planet is not worth saving if it costs a dollar more than the oil well, that the immigrants are not worth the trouble of justice. The insecurity with China And then there is the irony of your friendship with China. You once called him a “great man,” a leader to be respected. Now, you scream of threats and rivals. But while you argue, the world moves on. As you dismantled your aid missions and abandoned the green energy transition, we saw the Chinese flags rising where the American ones fell. We see the solar farms they build, the wind turbines they install, the high-speed rail networks they lay down. You say you are angry at them, but your actions say you are absent. You cannot fight for a world you have chosen to leave. You cannot lead a green revolution when you have turned your back on the very technology that makes it possible. We in the Philippines remember the days when your presence was a promise of stability, of a future built on shared values. We remember the schools you built, the roads you paved, the lives you saved. We remember the hope that the sun would rise on a cleaner, brighter world. But today, as we watch you turn inward, as we see your wealth soar while your people suffer and your global footprint shrinks, we are left with a difficult truth. The America we loved is not the one we see today You are not just celebrating a birthday; you are celebrating a ghost. The ghost of the nation that used to believe that helping others was the highest form of patriotism. The ghost of the nation that understood that freedom is not just for the strong, but for the weak, the poor, and the forgotten. The ghost of the nation that knew that the sun and the wind were not just resources to be exploited, but gifts to be cherished. The ghost of the nation that knew that immigrants were the lifeblood of its soul. So, Happy Birthday, America. May you find your way back. May you remember that your strength was never in your walls, but in your open hand. May you remember that the world does not need your anger; it needs your hope. We need you to turn the lights back on, to let the wind blow through our turbines again, to let the sun power our homes. We need you to remember that due process is the bedrock of justice, and that every immigrant is a potential hero. We are still here, watching. We still remember the promises you made. And we still hope that one day, you will keep them. Mabuhay ang Amerika! (Long live America!) Mabuhay ang Pilipinas! (Long live the Philippines!) — written on a plane ride from Cebu back to Manila sitting beside an American couple who visited their son married to a Filipina attending the baptism of their first grandchild. As we were swapping stories I realized, even they, Republicans from Alabama, realize that their America is not the country they grew up in. By the way today, July 4 is also known as the Philippine-American Friendship Day. Decades ago we celebrated our independence day with America–by force–even when our actual independence day was first declared on June 12, 1898.
+18 others
