Today (On July 4, 2025) the United States of America turns 250. It is a monumental anniversary—marking not merely the passage of time, but the endurance of a radical experiment in democracy that began in rebellion and matured into global supremacy. Fireworks, parades, and patriotic choruses will fill the skies and stadiums, but behind the celebration lies a deeper impulse: the need to confront contradictions that have marked America’s evolution from colony to superpower.
When the Declaration of Independence was adopted in 1776, it did more than sever colonial ties with Britain. It introduced an idea so revolutionary that it would outlive empires: that all men are created equal and endowed with unalienable rights. These words lit the torch of representative democracy, but they also cast a long shadow of exclusion, for at the heart of America’s founding lay the simultaneous reality of liberty for some and bondage for others.
From those turbulent beginnings, the United States became the world’s oldest continuous democratic republic. The Constitution, ratified in 1788, and the Bill of Rights that followed in 1791, gave enduring shape to freedoms of speech, religion, assembly, and due process. Yet the nation was born in paradox: it spoke of liberty while maintaining slavery, upheld equality while practicing segregation, and expanded prosperity while marginalising entire populations.
The Civil War, America’s great internal reckoning, sought to resolve the tension between union and secession, slavery and freedom.
Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address promised a “government of the people, by the people, for the people,” asserting a vision that would inspire generations.
In its aftermath, the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments abolished slavery and enshrined citizenship and voting rights. But legal equality did not translate into lived justice.
That gap summoned forth leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X—men who differed in strategy but converged in purpose: to challenge America’s conscience and redefine the bounds of freedom and dignity.
In the 20th century, America’s moral vision fused with geopolitical ambition.
Its victory in World War II paved the way for a new international order. At Bretton Woods in 1944, it led the creation of the International Monetary Fund and World Bank.
A year later, the United Nations was born with Washington’s backing, signalling America’s central role in shaping a multilateral system to prevent future global conflict.
Liberal internationalism became the face of American diplomacy, promoting democracy and markets across a war-weary world. New York emerged as the diplomatic nerve centre, Hollywood its cultural emissary. But the liberal veneer often masked darker truths: covert interventions, proxy wars, and a persistent sense of American exceptionalism that veered into imperial overreach. From Vietnam to Iraq, Afghanistan to Libya, U.S. foreign policy frequently claimed the banner of freedom while leaving destruction in its wake.
Domestically, the American presidency served as both barometer and battlefield.
George Washington’s voluntary relinquishment of power cemented the republic’s anti-monarchical ethos.
Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal expanded the social contract, creating a safety net in the Great Depression’s shadow.
Dwight Eisenhower warned of the military-industrial complex’s growing power. John F. Kennedy inspired with idealism, while Richard Nixon’s Watergate scandal revealed the depths of political cynicism.
The arc continued into the 21st century. Barack Obama’s election was hailed as a milestone in racial progress, while Donald Trump’s rise exposed the fault lines of nationalism, economic resentment, and cultural anxiety. His “America First” doctrine marked a retreat from globalism, redefining foreign policy around transactionalism rather than ideals. Trump’s unapologetic populism—wrapped in the nostalgia of a past many remember differently—polarised the republic like few before him.
Trump’s tenure also underscored the growing power of non-elected institutions. Lobbies such as the National Rifle Association (NRA), pro-Israel pressure groups, pharmaceutical giants, and defence contractors wield immense influence in policy-making.
The NRA, in particular, has consistently thwarted gun control efforts despite escalating gun violence.
Think tanks like the RAND Corporation, Brookings Institution, and Carnegie Endowment shape foreign policy discourse, often backed by donors with strategic interests, muddying the line between scholarship and lobbying.
At the same time, American innovation has remained unmatched. From the Apollo 11 moon landing to the digital revolution driven by Silicon Valley, the United States has led technological and scientific transformation. Companies like Google, Facebook, Apple, Amazon, and Netflix dominate the global digital economy, while elite universities continue to attract global talent.
However, this innovation is increasingly entangled with ethical quandaries—surveillance capitalism, misinformation, monopolistic control, job automation, and the exacerbation of economic inequality.
The military-industrial complex, once a Cold War legacy, persists with renewed momentum. Post-9/11 militarisation under the Bush Doctrine led to prolonged wars and a surveillance state. The idea of America as the “indispensable nation” morphed into a burden, fuelling anti-American sentiment abroad and eroding domestic consensus over its global role.
On the home front, American society remains deeply fractured. The Capitol riot on January 6, 2021, served as a brutal wake-up call—revealing the fragility of democratic norms in the face of misinformation, partisanship, and political violence.
Debates over immigration, climate change, racial justice, and reproductive rights have turned toxic, often pitting neighbour against neighbour. The erosion of trust in institutions—from the Supreme Court to the media—has widened the civic chasm.
Yet, in this age of disillusionment, patriotism persists—often refracted through competing lenses. Some wave the flag in reverence; others kneel before it in protest.
The struggle to define what America means—to whom it belongs, and how its history should be remembered—plays out in debates over Confederate statues, school curricula, reparations, and police reform.
The semiquincentennial has inspired new national projects, such as the Garden of American Heroes and exhibitions on dissent and democracy, highlighting the tension between myth and memory.
On the world stage, America faces unprecedented challenges. The rise of China and India, the resurgence of Russia, and the consolidation of the European Union present a multipolar order. The pressing issues of the 21st century—climate change, artificial intelligence, pandemics, and mass migration—demand collective action. Yet American foreign policy still wrestles with reconciling unilateralism and international cooperation. As Kissinger once noted with biting irony, “It may be dangerous to be America’s enemy, but to be America’s friend is fatal.”
What, then, does it mean for America to turn 250? It is not merely a celebration of longevity but an invitation to reckon with the enduring contradiction between ideals and practice. It is a chance to ask whether a nation born in revolution can continue to evolve without betraying its founding promises. In a time of political polarisation, economic inequality, and geopolitical flux, the United States must rediscover what binds it—not just what divides it.
The soul of America lies not in its monuments, its military, or even its markets, but in its capacity for reinvention. Its greatest strength has always been its openness to critique, its ability to learn, unlearn, and try again. As it steps into its next quarter millennium, that self-correcting instinct may be its only real hope—for remaining not just powerful, but purposeful. In its 250th year, America stands not at the end of history but at the edge of a new chapter—one that will test whether the republic can endure not only in law but in spirit.
Dipak Kurmi
(the writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)
Friday, July 4, 2025