Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. Hurricane Ian in Florida. The war in Ukraine. The terrorist attacks of Sept. 11. The war in Syria. The refugee crisis in Greece and Turkey and Poland and Jordan and Bangladesh. Homelessness. Childhood cancer. Suicide. COVID. These are just few of the catastrophes that have brought families, communities and sometimes the world to its knees. They also are a few of the crises that have brought out the best in Americans. I can’t tell you how many times over the past 40 years I’ve written stories about regular people — teachers, firefighters, restaurateurs, moms, dads, school kids, shop owners, church groups — pulling together to help people in distress. Whether their neighbor needed a hot meal or someone halfway around the world needed a warm coat or someone in a country they’d never heard of needed a reminder that America cares, we the people have embraced the opportunity to rise up with love and show who we are. Again and again, I’ve interviewed individuals, sat down with groups, toured collection centers and even accompanied volunteers to areas of despair so that I could confirm and report back that Americans are indeed compassionate, caring and giving. This past Sept. 11, a social media friend posted that she missed Sept. 12, 2001, because that’s the day we all put down our differences and wrapped our arms around each other to mourn our losses, dry each other’s tears and become a united front against terror. I’ve written stories about working class people devoting time, talent and sometimes their last dime to the less fortunate. I’ve followed whole communities as they blanketed a suffering child in infinite support. And, at times, I’ve been turned away from potential stories because the people immersed in helping others didn’t want recognition. In 2012, I went to Haiti because of this compassion. I followed the wave of donations of cash, educational materials, medical supplies and burial palls from the Chicago suburbs all the way to Port au Prince. I don’t know if the donors were Republicans, Democrats, undecideds or indifferent. But I do know they all had a big heart. Long before Haitian immigrants were falsely accused of despicable things, there was an outpouring of love for the Western hemisphere’s poorest nation. I wanted to make sure that the donations gathered in the aftermath of the 2010 hurricane were actually getting to the people who needed them. At a children’s hospital, I saw Chicago area donations of cleansers being used to fight cholera and medicines being stocked to fight infection and bandages being applied to wounds. I helped deliver school supplies gathered by kids in local districts to an orphanage for special needs children, some of the least fortunate humans on Earth. I was there when locally donated guitars were delivered to a music school in Cite Soleil, one of the world’s toughest inner-city slums. And I accompanied a priest to a local cemetery where unnamed and unclaimed bodies were given a proper burial. Palls decorated with love by suburban Chicago church groups were placed atop each of the deceased, a little bit of love to acknowledge that this person mattered. The experience was so humbling, I left behind everything I could — shoes, a purse, a piece of luggage and the extra jars of peanut butter I’d brought along. More than being kind, a Haitian man said, “You are lucky to be able to do that.” He was right beyond measure. Americans often don’t realize how very lucky we are. When I returned to the United States, I reported my findings in a special section for the newspaper. It was an ode to America’s compassion for the less fortunate. That is the America I pledge allegiance to. That is the America I praise and promote and thank my lucky stars I get to be a citizen of. I know everyone’s sick of politics. But even more than that, I’m sick of the cruelty, the lies, the taunts, the threats, the misdirection and the ugly realization that some would have America’s greeting to the world not be a hand up to those in need but rather a raised middle finger. I cling to the America that I know is good, the America I know is kind, the America I know is beautiful. I’ve witnessed its humanity. And I refuse to believe it is no longer there. We are strong, we are blessed, we are believers in brotherhood and mercy. And we are capable of great acts of kindness. We can lean on each other, we can silence the bullies, we can speak for those who have no voice, we can stop the maligners, the haters, the immature and irresponsible self-servers from smothering our goodness and turning us into a country of mercenaries and despots. America, of thee I sing, let’s remember what made us, let’s remember how much we care, let’s rekindle our humanity and let’s rise above the fray so loudly that it drowns out the grotesque. America, let’s prevail. Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at [email protected].