Fifty years ago I was a college sophomore majoring in journalism and covering my expenses with a work-study job that paid $2.30 an hour. I’m not sure any of those things exist any longer except for college sophomores and, well, me. It was America’s Bicentennial, 1976, and we were, if not celebrating, at least recognizing our shared history. Streets filled, flags waved, bands marched, fireworks exploded. The war had ended and Nixon was gone. We had come through a terrible darkness. We couldn’t imagine how terrible a darkness could be.

I don’t believe that at age 20 I felt either pride or patriotism in my country. Those feelings would have been forced. What I felt was belonging. I had a place here, and I believed I would always have a place, a promise, a home and a future.

There are things we don’t need to say about who we no longer are.

But I will say them anyway. There may be many causes, many factors, and many failures that have led to this staggering point, but a single man embodies them all. A lone assassin, an enemy within, whose obscene greed and gluttony reveal his contrary purposes: to both possess and destroy everything. What was once home feels hollowed, hollowed of history, starved of promise, empty of decency and devoid of people. Very bad TV.

The irony, of course, is that he never felt he belonged. And in his rampage to take, and name, and own for himself what was once ours to share, he has guaranteed that he will never belong among us, he will never be free, he will never be brave. He will be a ghost, a shadow, a stain, a scratch on the marble, mold on the shower curtain, algae in the pool once built to reflect our better angels.

Photo credit: Reuters