“What does Patriotism mean to you?” A loaded question, posed by a philosophy professor to a 100-level ethics class largely comprised of freshman. The kind of statement, realized in adulthood, designed to prompt enough debate that a college educator could take a time out, regroup, and phone in an easy day. It was one of my first, most-vivid memories of arriving in this country.

“Loving your country and supporting it, no matter what” a young business student replied, with a confidence that channeled the sensible, white-collar haircut he received from an old-school, white, North Carolina barbershop — one he’d likely been going to with his father for years. The professor nodded slightly, neither showing agreement, nor challenging his statement. Sheepishly raising my hand I attempted to answer, “Loving the ideal of your nation, and wanting it to try and meet that ideal — even if it means disagreeing with the government.” It was 2003, a tumultuous time in the United States. In a post 9/11 world, the United States was firmly in the grips of Operation Iraqi Freedom, a mission, we were told, designed to take weapons of mass destruction from the hands of Saddam Hussein, who we were told would use them against our citizens if given the chance.

“You wouldn’t understand,” haircut MBA student replied brusquely, “you’re a foreigner.” He was correct. I was born in Australia, to an Australian mother and a father from Long Island, New York. A dual citizen, I existed between two nations — with a deep love for both, and neither simultaneously. I loved what both nations could be, however — especially the United States. The grand experiment, the cultural melting pot, a place where anyone had the opportunity to enter and forge a new life in freedom, without fear of reprisal for their gender, race, religion, sexual identity, or any of the multitude of categories which divide us. That’s the ideal, anyway — even if we so often fall short.

It was an awkward time in the U.S. France wasn’t willing to be bullied into participation in our military action in Iraq. It wasn’t long before French Fries were pulled from menus, replaced by the cringe-inducing “Freedom Fries.” French wine was boycotted, French Toast became “Texas Toast” on menus — even though it was a misnomer — and country music pivoted from a rebellious “fight the man” aesthetic, to one that rallied behind the military to “kick some brown people ass”.

France was right. Over two decades later the ends of Operation Iraqi Freedom never justified its means. Iraq had no WMDs; deposing Saddam Hussein, as horrible as he was, was not worth the 4,418 deaths of U.S. soldiers and over 100,000 Iraqis to bring “freedom” to a country now operating as the most corrupt and broken “democracy” in the Middle East. We achieved nothing, except wasting the lives of the brave men and women who defend our freedom, the innocents caught in the crossfire, and almost $2 trillion dollars, much of which got re-routed into the bank accounts of hawks pulling the strings.

These are all the things which were swirling in my mind when Victor Wembanyama brushed aside pleas from PR to remain silent, instead taking a brave stance to condemn actions being taken in Minneapolis by ICE.

“PR has tried, but I’m not going to sit here and be politically correct, you know? Every day I wake up and see the news, and you know, I’m horrified. I think it’s crazy that some people might make it sound like the murder of civilians is acceptable. I read the news, and sometimes I’m asking very deep questions about my own life — but I’m conscious also that saying everything that’s on my mind would have a cost that’s too great for me right now.”

As powerful as it is to speak out, Wemby’s message is counterbalanced by the sobering tone in talking about the cost of speaking his mind. A pervasive, innate fear of the reprisal which comes from saying something so benign as “civilians shouldn’t be murdered,” underscoring that we’re living in a time where nothing makes sense. It might have seemed like Wembanyama was overreacting, but hours later Minnesota Rep. Ilhan Omar was sprayed in the face with an unidentified liquid when a man rushed her during a town hall meeting, presumably spurred to commit the violent act due to rising anti-immigrant, anti-Somali sentiment promulgated by our own government.

Resist: Get shot. Speak out: We’ll try to silence you. This is the modus operandi by which the nation works now.

Wembanyama isn’t the only NBA star to speak out, but he’s the biggest. Donovan Mitchell of the Cavaliers spoke about the normalization of violence in Minnesota, Guerschon Yabusele of the Knicks has done similar. Perhaps the strongest public stance has done from Larry Nance Jr, with the Cavs forward posting on social media, and wearing shirts to areas in protest of the actions.

NBA players like Wemby, Yabu, Mitchell, and Nance remain in the minority. Much of the league is choosing to be quiet, either too focused on the season to care enough — or pressured into silence for fear of rocking the boat. LeBron James was infamously told to “shut up and dribble” by Laura Ingraham of Fox News when he spoke about police brutality being perpetrated against black citizens in 2018. Those attacks from almost a decade ago have seemingly worked, with the majority of players now silent.

We live in a time where nothing makes sense. Many of the same people who decried the 1993 Waco Siege as government overreach by law enforcement, are now saying citizens should shut up and comply in the streets. A world where the need for the second amendment is applied selectively. Where anyone who isn’t willing to kiss the ring is branded a “domestic terrorist.” A country where Renee Good and Alex Pretti have become household names.

Some of the NBA’s brightest stars arrived here from abroad, bringing their talents to the United States and improving basketball in the process. A microcosm of what America offers. Now those same players are voicing the loudest concerns over what their new nation is becoming, because the essence of patriotism isn’t fear, it’s not blindly following a political party down a terrifying path because they say they are “America First.” It’s going back to the roots of this nation, seeing the ideal that was laid before us, and criticizing how we’ve strayed from the path.

Victor Wembanyama is bringing a fresh set of eyes to our nation. Let this 22-year-old’s bravery be a beacon for other athletes who are afraid to speak out against injustice. We need cultural icons to join the millions in resisting this new, terrifying vision of the United States — because that’s what America is all about.