Posted June 4, 2025, revised June 10, 2025

TLDR:

Dear America,

It’s me, Hope. Remember me? A lot of you haven’t been feeling much hope lately, but don’t worry; I’m still here. Admittedly, I’m a person named Hope and not the abstract concept, but I’ll have to do. I consider myself an expert on hope, because, given my name, I’ve spent my whole life thinking about it and searching for reasons to be hopeful. 

Hope can be found in many places, but I have concluded that one of the most important sources of hope is stories. That’s why I got a PhD in English and became an English teacher. Stories allow us to imagine that things can be different, that seemingly impossible tasks can be achieved, and that dreams can come true. And if we can imagine these things, then we can make them real, shaping and improving our lives and the world around us.

However, the story our country is telling now is not headed for a happy ending. People on both sides of the political spectrum are being driven by fear and hatred, and I have heard many saying that they feel like they are living in a dystopian novel or even the Apocalypse. Around the world, we can hear the hoofbeats of the four horsemen: Conquest, War, Famine, and Death. 

I’ve never been a big fan of dystopian novels. They’re depressing, warning us of the consequences of failing to embrace our common humanity. I definitely don’t want to live in one. So I’ve been racking my brains for a better story, a template for defeating the darkness threatening our nation without succumbing to division and violence. And I have an idea: let’s party.

I grew up reading The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. In Prince Caspian, an oppressive king has usurped the throne and forced many Narnians–including the talking animals and others who are magical and different–into hiding. A resistance forms, and Narnia comes to the brink of civil war, with armies lined up on the battlefield, ready for slaughter. But then something unexpected happens. The lion Aslan (the Christ figure) appears, and he brings friends: Bacchus (the Roman god of wine and revelry) and his party crew. Together, they start a festival that attracts more and more Narnians, including an old woman on her deathbed whom Aslan heals. Lewis writes,

And so at last, with leaping and dancing and singing, with music and laughter and roaring and barking and neighing, they all came to the place where Miraz’s army stood flinging down their swords and holding up their hands, and Peter’s army, still holding their weapons and breathing hard, stood round them with stern and glad faces. And the first thing that happened was that the old woman slipped off Aslan’s back and ran across to Caspian and they embraced one another; for she was his old nurse.

With this embrace, the battle is over. It’s a weird ending, one that didn’t make it into the 2008 movie, but I love it. Here’s why: victory in battle can only be achieved through violence. Though one side may have better, nobler reasons to fight, on the battlefield the two sides are indistinguishable, killing and maiming their opponents, whose common humanity they are forced to ignore. Everyone loses, because everyone has blood on their hands. Lewis’s novel imagines an alternative to violent confrontation, one in which conflict is resolved by its antithesis: a party. Faced with the spirit of community, joy, and love that parties foster, the battle simply ends, its rationale forgotten. Who would rather fight than party? Who would choose hatred and death over communal rejoicing?

It has come to my attention that June 14th is the President’s birthday, as well as the Army’s 250th. I know he’s excited about it, because he’s throwing a big parade. However, a lot of people are feeling afraid, because the procession will celebrate America’s military might, rolling tanks and artillery through the streets of the Capitol. “No Kings” protests are being planned across the country, and conflict seems likely to break out. 

I think that we should take a page out of C.S. Lewis’s book and turn June 14th into a day of celebration. Let’s throw each other a proper party, because we, the people, are the reason there’s hope for America. I’m imagining local celebrations happening around the country in community parks, neighborhoods, and people’s homes.

Will throwing a party magically make everything better? Maybe not. Our country will still have a lot of problems. But I believe that a party–or a lot of parties–can change the spirit in which we tackle those problems, reminding us that we can face them together and that we still have so much and so many people to celebrate, even in these dark times. Stories have taught me that our greatest danger, the biggest obstacle to a happy ending, is giving up. Throwing a party for a country in crisis may be a crazy plan, one that only an English teacher would come up with, but it is a plan. And I’m in.

So this letter is my invitation to everyone: choose fun over fear, and party with me on June 14th! 

Sincerely, Hope