It was the kind of day in Detroit, late in the course of a temperate summer, when the heat rebounds and the humidity returns with a vengeance.
A country is not for this or that. A country is not a chess club or a craft brewery; it is not for playing chess, brewing beer or making money.
When I was growing up in an otherwise uneventful and impoverished neighborhood in Guadalajara, there was an event that never failed to excite us—the return of the barrio’s prodigal sons.
Every athletic event at the University of North Carolina ends the same way. The band strikes up “Hark the Sound” and we throw our arms around each other.
Americans supposedly agree on certain truths. Timeless, universal and famously self-evident, they are the dearest tenets of what the sociologist Robert Bellah called “civil religion in America.”
America is not—as put forth by good-guy John Edwards, recently revived by renowned race-pedagogue David Simon—“two Americas,” but if it were, both of them would be Christian.
In America I was set free.
In 1953, the historian Daniel Boorstin testified before the House Un-American Activities Committee.