I think it was sometime around 2006 or 2007—I can’t recall the exact year. I remember picking up a Superman comic from my school’s bookstore, a single issue titled “What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice, and the American Way?” published in 2001. It was a response by the writer, Joe Kelly, to a debate about traditional superheroes like Superman. Were they too ineffective compared to the gritty, morally gray heroes like The Authority?
This issue became one of the most celebrated Superman stories in recent memory. Through quintessential dialogue, it repositions Superman as a figure of unshakeable moral clarity, navigating a world that’s anything but simple. Superman’s vision for a perfect, just world might be far off, yet he’s committed to fighting for it, no matter the odds.
“Dreams save us. Dreams lift us up and transform us. And on my soul, I swear… until my dream of a world where dignity, honor, and justice becomes the reality we all share—I’ll never stop fighting.”
When I first read this, I didn’t really grasp the depth of that sentiment. But years later, around 2009, as I dove deeper into comics, the significance of this story started to hit home. After working through Marvel’s vast roster, I turned to DC, where Superman eventually made sense to me. I read The Authority, too, and understood why Superman’s stance mattered so much.
By 2017, my life was unraveling. Not literally, but it sure felt that way. I had never been particularly religious, but I think I’d always considered myself God-fearing. But over time, I felt pushed away by people who identified as God-fearing themselves—people who chose to judge rather than understand. This, along with other experiences, gradually distanced me from religion.
One restless evening in Bangladesh, pacing around my study, I spotted a Superman figure on my desk. What would Superman do?
It was easy to believe in Superman because he wasn’t real; he could embody the best of us without flaw. And that was a comfort.
Why Democrats Need to Take Off the Rose-Tinted Glasses
I’ll be honest. I didn’t want to come to the United States when I moved here in 2018. Leaving my friends, my life behind, and starting anew wasn’t exactly appealing. But that’s how things turned out. Over the months and years that followed, I began to see the promise of America as an extension of the ideals embodied by Superman. This country wasn’t perfect, but people here fought for what mattered to them. Wins were hard-earned, losses a little easier to bear.
Donald Trump had already been president for over a year when I arrived. His election marked a key moment when I understood the gap between the idealized version of America portrayed in media and the reality of the people living here. Sure, many were racist, intolerant, and far from ashamed.
But they were still people. And those of us on the left, liberals and progressives alike, are people, too. We’re capable of hypocrisy, of looking the other way on the small injustices we might contribute to.
I didn’t pay much attention to this election cycle; I was having too good of a time to look closely at the cracks. But now, it’s obvious we’re on track to get millions of fewer Democratic votes than in 2020, while Trump has held his ground and even made gains across nearly every demographic.
I think many of us living in multicultural blue cities, especially places like New York, can’t grasp how different rural voters are or why they feel that way. We have to share a country with them, so talking down or making abstract appeals to save democracy won’t reach them. Words and big ideas don’t resonate with everyone. It’s critical to understand their concerns and speak to them meaningfully, while still upholding the values of our platform.
Did people vote for someone who incited a failed coup and faces 91 felony charges? Yes, because these things don’t matter to everyone. Many Democrats live in a bubble, shocked that people could support such actions. But to pretend issues like transgender rights or even abortion are paramount for people who may never encounter them is misguided. Most men, in particular, won’t think twice about unwanted pregnancies—some simply don’t care.
The myth of America’s decency obscures the truth that it’s always flirted with problematic elements. Humanity hasn’t changed; the constraints of civilization merely suppress our base instincts. Just because we once elected a Black man doesn’t mean we’re now a beacon of enlightenment. We have work to do, and it’s work that starts in the trenches, not in our urban echo chambers.
Why I Choose to Stay Here
There’s a part of me frustrated with those who cheered Kamala Harris’s loss because of Joe Biden’s stance on Gaza. Trump’s approach would be even more extreme, giving Israel more leeway for actions like resettling Gaza entirely. Why the excitement at the prospect of American decline? As flawed as we are, the world under US influence is still preferable to one led by China, Russia, or even India. These nations, as global hegemons, would bring their own problems.
Some people don’t hate the US so much as they harbor an instinctual urge to hate the dominant power. It’s the same urge that likely motivated neighbors of the Roman Empire to root for its downfall. But was Europe better off after Rome? Hardly.
Is America worth saving, despite its corruption and internal divides? Then again, is Bangladesh worth saving, given its own fractures? Bangladesh may not wield the power of the US, but any nation in a superpower role would face similar challenges and temptations.
Maybe we shouldn’t have empires at all, but I don’t see how we can avoid them. As flawed as it was, I’m glad the Roman Empire existed. It left a legacy that outshone countless ancient kingdoms. I’d rather have lived in the Rome of the 4th century than as a farmer in Nubia. Now, I’m grateful to live in America, despite its potential slide toward authoritarianism, rather than in a quieter, less impactful nation.
Rome could have fallen a hundred times before it did in the 5th century. Good men—and sometimes even bad men—fought to restore it. America might not be as lucky. But hopefully, there will be people who fight the good fight when its time comes.
I still hold onto the hope that one day humanity might overcome its flaws and realize its true potential. As Jor-El says in The Man of Steel (a line originally penned by Grant Morrison in All-Star Superman), maybe someday we can “join Superman in the sun.”
It’s a long shot, but those of us who believe in it have to fight like hell to make it real.
That’s the promise of America as I see it. Long after we’re gone, even if the US itself becomes a historical relic, I hope that future generations will acknowledge that we tried. And maybe, they will too.
That’s what I hold onto, despite everything. America, for all its flaws, remains America.
