Westside Gazette Feature
It has now been 249 years since the United States declared its independence from the British Empire. The lofty ideals etched into the parchment of the Declaration of Independence— “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…”—continue to ring through the American conscience. But this July 4th, as I stood in the heart of the Royal Palm neighborhood in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, those words felt both present and painfully distant.
The Fourth of July in South Florida has always been about community. It’s a time for family reunions, backyard barbecues, sun-drenched beach outings, and the anticipated burst of fireworks once the sun slips below the horizon. It’s Americana with a Miami bass beat. But this year, something felt different. For the first time, I witnessed a local-level display of fireworks in Royal Palm that rivaled any city-sponsored spectacle. The night sky erupted with vibrant blues, reds, and golds lighting up the palm-lined streets as far as the eye could see.
From block to block, each family seemed to be trying to out do the next in a friendly, explosive contest. “Royal Palm is showing they got money!” one neighbor laughed across the street as another round of mortar shells thundered into the air. There was joy. There was pride. There was power in that moment. But also, for me, there were questions—many questions.
In the same America where our neighborhoods glow with $100 fireworks, the government is cutting Medicare and Medicaid. In the same country where we claim liberty for all, our past President is publicly musing about dictatorship as he eyes a return to power as the 47th President. What does this celebration mean to the children of the African diaspora? When the founding fathers wrote their declaration, they were not speaking for us. We were shadows in their great experiment, counted as 3/5 of a man, yet shouldering 100% of its burdens.
And yet, here we are. Still rising. Still adapting. Still overcoming.
As the smoke from those fireworks lingered in the humid July air, I found myself wondering: is the noise we make on Independence Day a distraction, or a declaration of our own? Has the celebration evolved to fit our truth, or are we still trying to fit into a celebration that was never truly meant for us?
Our ancestors were excluded from the original vision of American freedom. But today, in neighborhoods like Royal Palm, we redefine what that freedom looks like. Our joy is a protest. Our gatherings are resistance. And those fireworks? Perhaps they are not just for show—but symbolic of our undying hope, our unyielding brilliance, and the light we continue to cast even in the darkest corners of this nation’s contradictions.
So, as we enter the 250th year of America’s independence, may we not only remember the words written in 1776—but write our own.
A new declaration.
A shared freedom.
An America that sees all of her children—finally—as equal.
— Lt. Ken Roland
Royal Palm, Fort Lauderdale
July 4, 2025