On July 4, 2026, the United States will mark its sestercentennial—250 years of a complex, evolving national experiment. While many citizens remain unaware of the approaching milestone, a congressionally chartered bipartisan commission has spent nearly a decade orchestrating a massive national commemoration. Global powerhouses like Amazon, Coca-Cola, and Walmart have already pledged their sponsorship, while municipalities across the country are drafting calendars filled with grand parades, historical exhibitions, and televised extravaganzas.
While much of this planning began with apolitical intentions, the landscape shifted early in the current administration. Through an executive order, President Donald Trump established “Task Force 250,” a White House initiative designed to steer the celebration toward a specific, “approved” historical narrative. Now operating under the banner “Freedom 250,” the proposed festivities range from solemn prayer gatherings on the National Mall to high-octane UFC bouts hosted on the White House lawn.
As the anniversary nears, a fundamental question emerges: Who is entitled to define the American story? Will the occasion become a sanitized, corporate-sponsored relic of political policing, or is there space for a more expansive narrative—one capable of balancing profound pride with honest critique?
The resolution to this tension won’t be found in a government boardroom or a corporate office. It will emerge from our culture. In America, culture has always been pioneered by artists, with musicians leading the vanguard.
Throughout my career, I have witnessed this dynamic firsthand. When I co-founded HeadCount in 2004, a music-centric voter registration initiative, my motivation wasn’t purely political—it was rooted in the concept of communal belonging. A live concert remains one of the few arenas where thousands of strangers congregate for a unified experience, allowing social divides to dissolve in the face of collective resonance.
Following my tenure at HeadCount, I collaborated on a project that surveyed nearly 5,000 Americans regarding their national identity. Partnering with the Think Big Alliance, we sought to look past superficial slogans to uncover the deeper story people are yearning to tell. The results revealed a consistent internal conflict: Americans are fatigued by extreme partisanship and the hollowness of performative patriotism. They reject blind nationalism, yet they deeply desire the freedom to celebrate the genuine values they hold dear. Roughly 70% of respondents expressed pride in their American identity, while an equal number emphasized the necessity of discussing the nation’s failures alongside its triumphs.
Our research suggests that the core of American identity is the conviction that everyday citizens possess both the power and the obligation to push the country toward its unrealized potential. It is the “US” in U.S.—the literal embodiment of “We the People.”
This is why the 250th anniversary is both a daunting challenge and a rare opportunity. It is tempting to dismiss the event as a manufactured, sponsor-heavy holiday, particularly as many question if the nation still honors its founding promises. However, the alternative—surrendering the milestone to the loudest ideological voices and corporate interests—is far more detrimental.
Musicians possess a singular talent for infusing such moments with emotional honesty. By utilizing their stages, lyrics, visual aesthetics, and digital platforms, they can broaden the definition of what “America 250” represents. Artists should view this anniversary not as a vehicle for propaganda, but as raw material: messy, unresolved, and worthy of exploration.
History shows that artists have always reclaimed American iconography to make it more human and transparent. We hear it in Jimi Hendrix’s electric, distorted rendition of the national anthem. We feel it in the blue-collar ache of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.,” a track that has been misunderstood and reclaimed for decades. We see it in Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter or Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl performance, where the flag is transformed from a symbol of jingoism into an emblem of resistance and cultural reclamation.
Significant anniversaries act as mirrors, reflecting our current state and our future trajectory. If artists take the lead, the narrative can shift back to the citizenry—away from politicians and sponsors, and toward the voices in the back rows and the general admission pits.
To me, this represents the most authentic form of patriotism: a chaotic, beautiful, and diverse chorus declaring that this country belongs to all of us, and the final verse has yet to be written.
Andy Bernstein is the founder and former executive director of HeadCount. He is currently a consultant for various nonprofit organizations and serves as the board president for the Divided Sky Foundation, established by Trey Anastasio.
