Why I celebrate America's 250th anniversary

Sunday, 5 July 2026

Ted Zorn, originally from the USA and with dual New Zealand-American citizenship, is a professor of organisational studies at Massey University.

OPINION: As a political progressive, I have frequently criticised American presidents, none more than the current one, as well as many aspects of United States policy. As a result, I have sometimes been accused of hating America. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Today, the 4th of July in the United States, that country celebrates Independence Day, and this year marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Despite everything happening in the country now, I celebrate it.

I do not celebrate with the jingoistic notion that America is uniquely virtuous, or that its history is an uncomplicated story of freedom and progress. Nor do I pretend that the ideals proclaimed in 1776 were extended to everyone. I celebrate because those ideals remain among humanity’s boldest political aspirations—and because generations of Americans have struggled to make them real.

My own relationship with the United States has been fraught. I was born there, educated there and profoundly shaped by its culture, institutions and political traditions. But I moved to New Zealand 30 years ago—not initially intending to stay, and not because I had rejected America or wanted to leave it behind.

And although I have returned often, I have mostly watched the US from abroad as it has changed.

At times, that has been painful. The George W. Bush years were hard. In particular, I watched an administration gin up a rationale for invading Iraq, with terrible consequences for Iraqis, American service members and families, and America’s standing in the world.

And there have been unsavoury acts under both Democratic and Republican administrations: wars prolonged, dictators supported, civil liberties violated, racial injustice tolerated and lofty principles abandoned when they became inconvenient.

But criticism of these things is not hatred. It is a demand that America live up to the standards it has proclaimed for itself.

That distinction seems especially important now. The two Trump administrations have run roughshod over constitutional principles, treated democratic norms as inconveniences, alienated allies, cosied up to dictators and weakened the rules-based international order that the United States did so much to establish. Masked agents are deployed to intimidate immigrants and citizens. Corruption, cruelty and contempt for truth have become normalised in public life.

I have watched my country slide gradually from democracy towards authoritarianism through the steady erosion of the institutions and expectations on which democracy depends: respect for law, acceptance of electoral defeat, an independent judiciary, a non-political civil service, a free press and recognition that political opponents remain fellow citizens rather than enemies to be destroyed.

Yet it is precisely at such a moment that America’s founding ideals are worth celebrating.

The Declaration of Independence remains an extraordinary political document. Its claim that “all men are created equal” expressed a soaring moral vision, even while its enactment reflected breathtaking hypocrisy. Many of the men who endorsed it were slave owners.

Women were denied the vote. Indigenous peoples were dispossessed. Equality proclaimed was not equality practised.

But the Declaration’s words, like those of the Constitution, outlived the limitations of their authors. They became a promise later generations could hold up to challenge the exclusions built into the nation’s foundations. Abolitionists, suffragists, civil rights campaigners, labour organisers, feminists, gay and trans rights activists, immigrants and many others have invoked America’s founding principles to demand a country more equal and free.

Recently, I read Ron Chernow’s biographies of Alexander Hamilton (the book that inspired the musical) and George Washington. Both capture what I admire about America without asking us to sanctify its founders.

Washington and Hamilton were not perfect heroes. They were ambitious and flawed men.

Washington enslaved people and contributed to the dispossession of Native American lands and sovereignty. Hamilton could be reckless and combative, and his vision of government was elitist. But both devoted themselves to creating something larger than themselves: a republic based not on monarchy or inherited privilege, but on law, institutions, political debate and the difficult possibility of self-government.

They understood that the new republic was fragile. They feared demagogues, corruption, factionalism and the abuse of power. They knew that republics could fail. And now, their warnings feel painfully contemporary.

The America I celebrate on its 250th anniversary is therefore not the America of exceptionalist slogans. It is not the America that imagines itself already perfect, already just or uniquely blessed.

It is the America that has continually argued with itself about the meaning of its own promises.

It is the America of Susan B. Anthony and Ruth Bader Ginsburg demanding equality for women, of Martin Luther King Jr. insisting that the country honour the promise written into its founding documents, and of John McCain reminding his own supporters that a political opponent is not an enemy.

And it is the America of today’s citizens who are resisting authoritarianism: lawyers defending due process, journalists refusing intimidation, teachers telling the truth about history, officials safeguarding elections, neighbours protecting immigrants and ordinary people organising, marching, voting and speaking out.

It remains uncertain which America will prevail: the America of resentment, domination and fear, or the America of pluralism, freedom, hope, and democratic equality. But I am not prepared to surrender patriotism to the people doing the greatest damage to the country.

To love America is not to excuse its mistakes. It is not to deny its failings or silence its critics.

At its best, patriotism means loyalty to a country’s deepest principles—and the courage to confront it when it betrays them.

There is a lesson here for New Zealand as well. The American story shows both how democratic principles can be betrayed and how they can equip citizens to resist that betrayal. Living here has made me grateful for New Zealand’s democratic culture, but also conscious that no democracy remains healthy through complacency. Its values must be renewed, defended and extended by each generation.

So yes, I celebrate America’s 250th.

I celebrate neither an innocent past nor a flawless present, but an unfinished democratic experiment. I celebrate a promise repeatedly broken, yet never abandoned. And, to paraphrase Dr King, I continue to place my faith in the long arc of history bending towards justice—not because it bends by itself, but because courageous people keep bending it.