Liberty — Philadelphia, PA

In the spirit of feeling older and wiser, I knew that this summer I needed to plan to pursue something that has been missing from my life: honest history. I’ve always craved a deep knowledge of the past (and especially my past,) but I’ve never been any good at remembering names or dates. I’m closely familiar with myself as a visual and kinesthetic learner and so I curated a personal itinerary of tours and museums that would give me a hands-on experience of African-American history. I planned to begin with the new African-American history museum in Washington D.C. but before I descended the East Coast to begin my journey, I made a stop in Philadelphia. I wanted to see the Liberty Bell, Independence Square and most importantly, to indulge in an authentic Philly cheesesteak.

The crowd of tourists at the Bell caught me off guard, I didn’t consider that Philadelphia attracts a uniquely “prideful” type of American, and was somewhat startled to see Trump’s face plastered across gadgets, gear and apparel. Children shaded by MAGA hats and babies buttoned into matching onesies gave me chills, even though my forehead was hot and sticky from the blinding sun above. I waited behind a family donned head-to-toe in outfits celebrating their leader. At one point they squeezed another family in front of me with them, also covered in Trump paraphernalia, shooting me a smirky smile before carrying on with their boisterous conversation. When we arrived at the security entrance, every single one of the guards was a person of color and no more than a few years older than me. As I stood quietly still behind the hyped-up crowd ahead, trying not to create an impression of any kind, I made eye-contact with the man directing visitors through the metal detector. He softly smiled at me and I felt a wave of relief through his silent sympathy. And then,

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step over here please.” He waved one of the men directly in front of me over to the side with his security wand. The next three minutes were fantastic. The rowdiest of the crew was patted down from his MAGA hat down to his Trump 2020 socks. When he was asked to lift his “Make liberals cry again! 2020″ shirt, exposing his stomach as proof that he was not a bomb-wielding terrorist, I nearly lost it. When the ordeal was finished, I watched him sheepishly slink off towards his family who was eagerly waiting for him to take a group picture with The Bell.

“Where are you from?” My hero waved me through the metal detector and handed me my purse.

“California.”

“Cool, I have family in California. I want to move to LA.” I smiled at him, absolutely dying to thank him for his service.

“You should! California is beautiful.”

“I think I will. Hope you enjoy Philly!”

“Thanks,” I leaned closer to look at his name tag, “Khalil?”

“Yup, and you are?”

“Elana Joy!” Khalil chuckled at the tone of excitement I tend to get in my voice when I introduce myself.

“Okay, well you have fun Ms. Joy.”

On my way out of what was ultimately a pretty anti-climactic tourist attraction (with the exception of the excitement at its entrance,) I found another security guard and asked him where to get the most authentic cheesesteak in town. He directed me to a place in South Philly called Gooey Louie’s and I made my final and most delicious stop before carrying on with my itinerary.

As I drove away, I wondered if I was wrong for my pettiness at the Liberty Bell. In the moment it had felt like resistance and a tiny win. Especially in knowing that there was an unspoken alliance between me Khalil— in a way, he had stood up for me in humbling the wild man. I decided to temporarily put it behind me and make an effort to fully emerge myself in the learning experiences I’d laid out for the next week. If there’s one thing I’ve learned to honor on this trip, it is the importance and value of moving forward. Rather than think about whether or not it was right for that man to be made a mockery of, I can focus on understanding the many ways oppressed people have chosen to rise up against hate and prejudice in the past so that next time, I’ll know better. History is notorious for its repetition.

For now, I won’t be ashamed in saying that it was hilarious.

**Photo taken at The Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, PA