Trump embarrassed our whole country today

At 7:39 AM this morning, the President of the United States decided to attack an American Olympian on social media. While world leaders across the globe are sending well-wishes to their athletes and cheering them on, our president is calling our athletes losers.

These athletes have sacrificed for decades. Their families have put everything on the line so their loved ones could represent their countries on the world stage. They’ve paid the price, personally, financially, and physically, just to get here. Most world leaders recognize that. They show up with gratitude. They honor the moment. They lift these young people up as examples of what’s best about their countries. But ours didn’t.

Here’s what Donald Trump posted on Truth Social:

Now here’s what it looks like when a real world leader, one who actually loves his country and respects its people, speaks to his team:

Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney said this:

“You’re wearing the maple leaf with pride in the Winter Olympics. Thank you for inspiring us and for demonstrating to Canadians, and to the world, the very best of Canada. Your country is with you. Canadians are with you. This is your moment, and it’s our celebration of what makes you and Canada great.”

That’s where we are as a country now. The President of the United States, calling a young American Olympian a “loser” on the world stage, not because he did something wrong, or because he betrayed the country, but because he told the truth.

Because he answered a reporter’s question honestly, sharing how complicated it feels to compete for a country that doesn’t feel like it’s living up to its promises right now. And because he used his First Amendment right to speak from the heart. Hunter Hess didn’t attack anyone or disrespect the team. He didn’t say anything cruel or divisive. He said something vulnerable and patriotic.

“It brings up mixed emotions to represent the U.S. right now,” Hess said. “It’s a little hard. There’s obviously a lot going on that I’m not the biggest fan of and I think a lot of people aren’t,” he explained, continuing with “I think for me it’s more I’m representing my friends and family back home and the people that represented before me and all the things that I believe are good about the U.S.,” Later he added, “Just ‘cuz I’m wearing the flag doesn’t mean I represent everything that’s going on in the U.S. I just kind of want to do it for my friends and my family and the people that supported me getting here.”

That kind of answer takes courage. It’s the kind of thing so many of us have been feeling, but haven’t known how to say. Because this country doesn’t feel the same anymore. And the Olympics feel different this year, too.

It’s not that we’re not proud of the athletes; we are. We have some of the best competitors in the world out there wearing red, white, and blue. But it’s hard to cheer without that sinking feeling in your stomach. Because the same flag that’s flying behind the podium is being used here at home to silence the truth, and to justify cruelty. It used to represent freedom. Now it feels like it’s being used as a weapon.

And this isn’t just about one post. It’s part of something bigger. This is how authoritarian messaging works. You pick someone out of the crowd and make an example of them. You twist their words, question their loyalty, and smear them as un-American. You don’t have to jail them or silence them directly, because once the message is sent, your followers take it from there. Trump knows exactly what he’s doing. This wasn’t just a tantrum about one skier. It was a warning shot to every other athlete, artist, journalist, or public figure who might be thinking about speaking up. He wants us all to stay in line, keep our heads down, and smile for the camera. Don’t question what the flag stands for, just wear it and pretend everything is fine. That’s how regimes hold power.

And the far-right media machine kicked in like clockwork. Within hours of Trump’s post, the quote had spread across every MAGA echo chamber online. The talking points dropped fast: he shouldn’t have tried out if he didn’t want to represent the country, he should be pulled from the team, and he should be grateful. The same people who defend ICE raids and voter suppression, while making excuses for people named in trafficking rings, are now targeting a 27-year-old Olympian because he expressed doubt about the direction of his own government.

And even with all of that, I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time today. A twinge of patriotism. Not the kind wrapped in red hats and cruelty, nor the kind that tries to pass off fear and control as strength, but something real. Something that reminded me of how the Olympics used to feel before Trump. I’ve never believed this country was perfect, because it never has been. Not for Native communities, not for Black and Brown Americans, not for the people who’ve always been left out or pushed aside. But the Olympics still used to mean something to me. It used to be something I looked forward to for months. Because even in a fractured country, the Games created a sense of unity. A chance to feel proud of effort, not propaganda. To root for something bigger than a party or a president. To see possibility through the faces of people who worked their whole lives to get there. There was always this idea, even if imperfect, that we were building toward something better. That maybe this really could be a land of opportunity. A home for the brave. A place that tried to tell the truth, even if it didn’t always succeed. And somewhere along the way, that hope got stolen. Now when I see the flag, I don’t feel pride. I feel grief. I feel like I’m watching something that once had meaning get twisted into something cold and violent. You don’t stop loving your country when it turns on you. But it does break your heart. And it hurts.

And then, just for a moment today, something shifted. It happened while Brandi Carlile was performing at the Super Bowl, accompanied by SistaStrings. It didn’t feel like just a song being played; it felt like a blessing. Like a quiet prayer for better days. Her voice, and their strings behind her, were soft and powerful and emotional, and as I listened, I felt that old spark of something I hadn’t felt in so long. With each lyric of “America the Beautiful,” it didn’t sound like a patriotic anthem in the way we’ve come to expect. It felt like something deeper. A moment of reverence, a plea, and a promise at the same time. Her voice, steady, emotional, full of weight, cracked something open in me. Because even if we’ve lost so much and it feels like it’s been taken hostage by people who want to burn it all down, there are still voices calling us back to what it could be. And there are still reminders of the version of this country that’s worth fighting for.

And that took me somewhere I wasn’t expecting, back to a mountaintop in Colorado, when I was writing a travel story about the area. Because when I think about this country, I think about the view from Pikes Peak. Which happens to be what inspired “America the Beautiful.” The author, Katharine Lee Bates, was a professor. She first published the poem version of the song on July 4, 1895, after standing on that summit and feeling the same thing I did that day: awe at the depth of beauty in the diversity of our country. It was a profound moment for my family and me, too. We took the drive to the top one November, stopping at the small store at the peak. As I got out of the car to take in the view, I felt weak and dizzy from the altitude. I was grateful that the store was staffed by EMTs. And I remember the extreme lightheadedness, struggling to catch my breath, and a kind EMT telling me my oxygen levels were low and to take it easy, not to stay too long. But I didn’t go straight back to the car. I went to the edge. I stood there anyway. And I looked out, touched by all I could see.

One of my favorite things about traveling is how different this country feels from place to place, and that was all I could think about. I thought of the forests in Flagstaff, the beaches in the Outer Banks, the contrast of wood and water at Boston Harbor, the cold wind at my back on Pikes Peak. The cities, the plains, the coastlines. The people. All of it so different, yet somehow still the same country. That’s the America I see when I hear this song:

“O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!”

The theme of that song was chosen well to be played today. It’s about natural beauty. About sacrifice. About unity, and hope, and improvement. It was meant to be a prayer, not a boast. Of course, looking back, we know it wasn’t complete. Our country’s first communities were Native American. They weren’t mentioned. That erasure matters. But even so, what Bates captured was the deeper truth, that this country is worth fighting for not because it’s always been good, but because it’s always had the potential to be.

And then came Green Day and their unapologetic, defiant performance. It was the kind of set you don’t forget, raw, intentional, and perfectly timed. On the biggest televised stage in the country, they played “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life),” “Holiday,” “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” and closed with “American Idiot.” And as they played, some of the best NFL players of our lifetime were introduced. That was a message. A band that’s been calling out corruption for decades, now sharing a stage with American sports icons while singing lyrics that directly challenge political apathy and authoritarian power. It wasn’t loud or in-your-face, it was resistance through presence, through song choice, and through symbolism.

And it brought me right back to the show I saw a few months ago, when I saw Green Day in concert. As I’ve been sharing, I’ve been trying to be more intentional about how I spend my money and who I support. And Green Day has been outspoken about what’s happening in this country. Every show, Billie Joe Armstrong reminds people: this isn’t normal. This isn’t okay. We’re living under a corrupt president and a government that is actively attacking our rights. They were the perfect choice for this moment. Even though they toned down their usual rhetoric and skipped some of the lines they normally shout during their live shows, the message still came through loud and clear. Everyone who needed to hear it did.

And when I think about that view, and that song, and that moment at the Super Bowl, I remember what that twinge of patriotism felt like. I didn’t expect it. I almost didn’t recognize it. But it was there. And I’m holding onto it.

Today was an example of what the best version of America looks like. And that’s what I saw on the stage at the Super Bowl, too, in who they chose to sing. Brandi Carlile, an openly lesbian artist, wasn’t there as a token. She was there as a voice of hope. Green Day. Bad Bunny, born in Puerto Rico and an American citizen by birthright. Ricky Martin. Lady Gaga. Charlie Puth. Diverse Americans. Real people with real voices. Not propaganda. Not the flag-draped pageantry of MAGA rallies. But something honest, human, and patriotic. “Bad Bunny expressed it perfectly when he held up a football, turned it with care, and made sure the camera caught what it said: ‘Together we are America.’”

And this show of connection, of pride without performance, enraged President Trump, who posted:

And his rant, ending with a demand to reverse the NFL’s kickoff rule, says everything. It shows how small his vision for this country really is. That even on a night when millions of Americans are united, cheering, celebrating, and singing, he can only see threats and spew disgust. His version of patriotism is a loyalty test, and if you fail it, even by singing in Spanish or dancing in joy, you become an enemy.

What the NFL did today with the Super Bowl is quietly radical and profoundly hopeful. It was a statement about inclusion, about art, about rejecting censorship and standing up for culture that reflects all of us. It was a noted resistance to authoritarianism. They were voting with their dollars. Just like I’ve been trying to do. Just like all of us should be doing. Every time you buy a ticket, every time you stream a song, every time you share a post, you’re sending a message. You’re choosing what kind of world you want to live in. And if you get a chance to support someone who’s speaking out, please do. Please keep doing it. That’s how we build a movement. That’s how we right this ship.

Donald Trump had multiple moments today to lead, lift, and unify. Instead, he attacked. From his comments about our amazing Olympians to the halftime show, we are seeing him for exactly who he is, a bitter and declining man. He doesn’t offer solutions. He offers resentment. He brings hatred, perverts patriotism, and mocks the brave while cheering the cruel. He is the face of a movement that has lost all moral grounding. But he is declining rapidly, and his cruelty won’t last forever.

And the generations rising behind him? They’re not falling for it. The young athletes speaking out at the Olympics, in between runs and jumps and press conferences, are our future. They’re the next power voters. They’re the ones who will decide what kind of country this becomes. And they’re already doing what so many adults are too afraid to do: they’re telling the truth, risking backlash, and being brave.

So if you’re looking for hope tonight, look to them. Look to the athletes who speak for us. The artists who sing for us. The fans who cheer for truth even when it’s uncomfortable. The people using their voices while we still have the freedom to use them. They are why I still have hope for America. And you should, too.

I’ll see you tomorrow,
Heather

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This commentary represents my personal opinions and analysis of matters of public concern, informed by publicly available information. Any references to individuals constitute opinion and commentary protected under the First Amendment.