Special Olympics, pride, Independence Day and birthright citizenship

Inquisitive as ever, my 4-year-old asked three dozen questions about why people were running down the middle of the street holding fire surrounded by police.

The Special Olympics Torch Run is an annual event leading up to the Summer Games where law enforcement officers and Special Olympics athletes carry the symbolic Flame of Hope to the Opening Ceremony of the Northern California Summer Games — this year at Santa Clara University on June 27. At the time of writing, the Torch Run raised just over $350,000 to support Special Olympics Northern California in providing a diverse range of free programming to children and adults with intellectual disabilities both on and off the field.

The Flame of Hope reminds us that strength doesn’t always look the way you expect it, and that inclusion must be chosen and carried forward, intentionally. In a world that often overlooks those who move differently, think differently or communicate in unconventional ways, the torch burns for dignity, recognition and joy.

Pride celebrations have taken place across the Bay Area all month, with San Francisco’s “Queer Joy is Resistance” celebration over the weekend bringing in over 1 million people to celebrate a vibrant mix of political and community activism and celebration. It is a proclamation of visibility and nonerasure in a world that has too often tried to silence and erase. Pride reminds us that core American values of liberty and the pursuit of happiness only matter if they apply to all, as written.

Independence Day, once the loudest (literally) symbol of all, is really a moment of stability through ritual. But the words we celebrate were not reflections of an existing nation. Instead, inked into history is our proclamation of what we must wake up every day to work toward. Our founding fathers asserted that freedom and rights were inherent and universal, even if those ideas were far from reality at the time. Each generation since has had to wrestle with what it takes to bring those ideals to life in their current time.

I would be remiss to exclude Friday’s U.S. Supreme Court ruling that brought birthright citizenship back into national focus. The decision, which narrowed the power of federal judges to place injunctions on executive orders nationwide (and in this case, block immigration policies nationwide), opened the door for new legal challenges and confusion around who is entitled to citizenship by birth in this country and how something could be reasonably implemented.

For families living in that gray space, the impact is not theoretical.

It’s immediate and deeply personal and while the legal arguments may center around jurisdiction and precedent, for the people at the heart of it, the stakes are about something more human: identity, belonging and whether the only country they’ve ever known considers them its own.

What is citizenship if it is not a declaration of one’s home?

If someone is born and grows up entirely in one country, is that not their home? This is the tension we’re living in. And when you stand it up against the symbols of this week — the torch, the rainbow, the flag — it becomes harder to look away. Because all of these moments, all of these declarations and displays, aren’t just celebrations but a reminder that citizenship is more than paperwork. At the heart of it, citizenship is about being rooted. Being seen. Being claimed.

The torch, the rainbow, the flag — they can inspire us, but they should never blind us. These symbols cannot replace the hard work of policy, law and community care. Today, our symbols become even more important because they continue to demand clarity. For if America truly believes in life, liberty and justice for all, we must take a hard look at what

“for all” means.

That, for me, was the moment that marked the end of June, and it landed heavier than the rest. It was the realization that the lights filling the sky this coming Friday night — drones, fireworks, probably illegal sparklers (sorry, PD) — are not just entertainment. They are a drumbeat reminder that the promise of this country is not yet fully delivered, but the path forward is lit with hope and energy. They raise more questions than they answer. And if we’re listening, they ask us not to look away. The lights remind us that belonging is not passive, but rather something we build, protect, and pass on — just like the flame that traversed our cities last week.

Annie Tsai is chief operating officer at Interact (tryinteract.com), early stage investor and advisor with The House Fund (thehouse.fund), and a member of the San Mateo County Housing and Community Development Committee. Find Annie on Twitter @meannie.