I’m not big on most holidays.  I’m too ornery for the social ones, too pessimistic for the hopeful ones, too cheap for the commercial ones, and too well adjusted for the stupid ones (Lee’s National Denim Day on Oct. 2nd).  As holidays go, the 4th of July is one of the best, despite the fact that the Declaration of Independence was officially approved—making the sentiment law—two days earlier.  It’s a chance to get together with family and friends—or not—out in the sunlight—or not—for a barbecue that, in most cases, is really just amateur grilling—or not.  The or nots are a very important component, because or notting some holidays is just too heinous even for me.  Really, who can sluff off Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter without coming off as a bit of a prick.  Ditch the 4th and you might be viewed as unpatriotic, but this new post-modernist trend of not expressing patriotism being patriotic makes this whole area fuzzy, so you’ll be okay.

As I’ve said, I’m not a big practitioner of holiday events, especially the larger varieties.  But I was just invited to a 4th of July party that literally means more to me than any other party invitation ever.  I’ve been invited to a Sudanese cultural celebration being held here in Salt Lake on the 4th.  Immigrants, many refugees, from many states are gathering for a long evening of cultural celebration, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the Declaration of Independence and all it stands for than celebrating these Sudanese people.  For those who don’t know, Sudan is the nation in which Darfur is located.  Some of the most hellish atrocities on this planet are happening in the homeland of these people, and they are more than witnesses.  Many of them have been victims, and just as many heroes resisting evils that we in the states can’t imagine.  That such an event happens here is the ultimate celebration of American culture’s best attributes.   

A student and friend of mine named Achual is doing a lot to arrange the event.  Many of the leading figures in the Sudanese community are located here in Utah, as we’ve taken a prominent role in offering refugee status and welcome to those fleeing the Sudanese civil war and Janjuweed genocide.  I’ve had the privilege of helping a number of pivotal Sudanese student leaders with their writing, and Achual is as smart, diligent, and industrious as they come.  He brought in the last invitation for this event for a final once over and, when the session ended, asked if I wanted to attend.  I was speechless.  Having met a number of these students, I’ve accepted that the awe-bordering respect I feel for them will never dissipate.  That’s as it should be.  Great courage and spirit should always strike us as profound.  But to have a chance to celebrate this culture under threat with hundreds of people who have survived the worst this world has to offer, and still lift their heads to celebrate….  

Whatever your religion or lack of such, I tell you that some things in life are sacred.  For me, this is one of them.