Red, White, and Reclaimed: How Gen-Z is Redefining July 4th

Is America worth celebrating? That question keeps finding me: in my head, in group chats, on my feed. 

I used to love the Fourth of July. The watermelon-sticky fingers, the chaos of sparklers, the feeling of collective pause when the fireworks crackled overhead. For a moment everything felt still. Whole. Simple. Secure. But lately, I feel numb to it all. 

Last week, scrolling on Instagram, I saw a Reel that’s been stuck in my brain. It said, “What if instead of fireworks this year, we saw missiles in the sky? What if July 4th looked more like WWIII?” It was all meant to be a joke, but it didn’t feel like one. It stuck with me for a reason: it felt possible. 

And that’s the thing about Gen-Z humor, it’s not really all humor. It’s dread dressed in lowercase letters and audio snippets. It's the fear we can’t say aloud, so we meme it. That video made me laugh at first, but then it made me pause. And I haven’t looked at July 4th the same since. 

Gen-Z grew up being told that America is the land of freedom, while watching people murdered on the evening news. We listened to history teachers talk about the past coming to a close now, but all we see is a redundant pattern of havoc. We pledged allegiance to a flag in classrooms that had lockdown drills. We were told to vote, to trust the system, and then watched abortion rights be overturned, climate disasters multiply, and leaders ignore the voices of young people. 

According to CBS Austin, only 18% of young adults in the US are “extremely proud” to be American. Maybe it’s not surprising that “patriotism” doesn’t mean to us what it means to our parents. Because how can you feel proud of something that has harmed so many people you love?

When I ask my friends what they’re doing for the Fourth, most of them say nothing. There’s no shame in opting out. For many of us, it’s a quiet resistance. An act of preservation. There’s no urge to celebrate. Because when the country feels like it’s burning, when reproductive rights are being stripped, when the government feels more like a performance than protection, when rent is unpayable and the future is unlivable, what exactly are we celebrating? 

A recent survey by WeArePion, revealed something surprising: despite political unrest and economic struggles, Gen-Z is still spending big on the Fourth of July. We’re buying fireworks, snacks, and party gear, but maybe not out of patriotism. For many, it’s about connection, ritual, and carving out moments of joy amid chaos. 

Still, it’s not just disinterest. It’s direction.

More and more of us are using the day to do something different. To reflect, to protest, to reclaim. According to a BBC article, Gen-Z protests are growing across the world, fueled by digital platforms and large-scale demonstrations. TikTok creators like Khalil Greene, also known as the “Gen-Z Historian,” are reshaping how young people view the Fourth of July. In one video, he explains how, “ the discriminatory ideas of the founding fathers are being used to uphold oppressive systems today.” Instead of celebrating the country as it is, many of us are choosing to push for what it should be. This means taking action whether it be organizing mutual aid drives, hosting community dinners, or showing up for one another. According to USA Today journalist Lori Comstock, this 4th of July, Gen-Z activists will take part in protests like "Free America" and "No Kings 2.0" across the United States, turning the day into something reflective and active.

Of course, some people will still have their cookouts and fireworks. But even those rituals feel different now. A  YouGov poll shows that only 23% of those celebrating with classic fireworks and cookouts say they are doing it to honor the meaning of Independence Day. For many of us, it is no longer about the flag; it’s about the people we love, the strength we share, and the freedom we are still fighting for.

There’s something beautiful in that. Something hopeful, because we’re not disengaged. We’re intentional. 

A recent Teen Vogue article perfectly captures this shift. It describes how many young people now see patriotism as a call to justice, not just waving flags. For us, loving this country means holding it accountable, demanding it live up to its ideals. We deserve to celebrate our strength, that’s what makes the country, not the government. 

Around Pasadena, California, I see Gen-Z doing its job. Redefining the future. At a recent No Kings protest here in Pasadena, I saw a poster which read: This Is My Independence Day. 

On a late-night walk, I passed a handmade sign in South Pasadena that stopped me in my tracks. It read: “Join us for our Fourth of July parade! We’ll be holding up the Declaration of Independence, to mark the times we’re in, as we rise against the country’s tyrant.”

I stood there for a while, rereading it. It hit me: we’re not revering America this 4th of July. We’re revering the strength of its people, those who dare to speak up, to redirect tradition toward justice. This wasn’t blind patriotism. This was reclamation. A reminder that what we honor on July 4th isn’t the system, it’s the spirit of resistance. The people doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. That’s what we should be proud of.

As the Men's Journal article put it, “The American spirit isn't gone, but in 2025, it looks more mindful, measured…” Gen-Z still cares about the idea of America, but now we’re more thoughtful and intentional about how we show it. It's not loud flag-waving or blind pride anymore; it's reflection followed by activism.

And that feels true. Because this year, this summer, doesn’t feel like any other.

The Supreme Court is hearing landmark cases on reproductive rights and presidential power. The effects of the 2024 election are still unfolding. Climate records are being shattered worldwide. Book bans and attacks on LGBTQ+ rights are spreading across schools and legislatures. Student debt relief remains stalled for millions. Rent is rising, wages are stagnant, and trust in American institutions continues to erode.

In June, protests erupted again, from No Kings marches to abortion rights rallies, mutual aid events and youth-led teach-ins about American history and civic responsibility. On the media and the streets, Gen-Z is showing up not with blind patriotism, but with clear purpose.

So yes, the American spirit might still be alive. But we’re not just celebrating it with flags and fireworks. We’re interrogating it. We’re rewriting what it means. This July, Gen-Z isn’t waving the flag because we’re told to, we’re asking what that flag stands for, and who it still leaves behind.

A few weeks ago, I read about something called Civic Season, a movement created by young historians and museum workers to bridge Juneteenth and the Fourth of July. It invited us to treat patriotism not as a flag-waving reflex, but as an opportunity for critical participation. Not nostalgia, but accountability. 

That feels more honest than fireworks.

Because the truth is: Gen-Z isn’t “unpatriotic.” We’re just allergic to empty performances. We crave meaning, something built, chosen, and earned. Not something inherited by default. According to a United Way survey, nearly one-third of Gen-Zers are regularly engaged in activism or social justice work, which is significantly greater than the number of Millennials. The thing is, when asked what drives their activism, a great share of Gen-Zers cite moral and ethical reasons as motivations. Gen-Z believes their patriotism is rooted in activism. We show love for the places we live in by pushing them to grow. Loudly. Creatively. Relentlessly.

Maybe it’s not about rejecting the 4th of July entirely. For some Gen-Zers, the day has shifted from a celebration of national identity to a reflection on how much we’ve had to push for change. The fireworks might still be there, but the meaning behind them has evolved. 

We’ve been showing up, in protest, at the polls, in difficult conversations. We’ve challenged norms, reimagined systems, and held institutions accountable. For many, Independence Day is no longer about the state itself, but about the strength of the people working to reshape it. That doesn’t mean every Gen-Zer will celebrate the same way. Some will still gather with friends and family, not out of patriotism, but for the comfort of connection during uncertain times. Others will spend the day unplugged, disengaged from the noise altogether. 
And both responses are valid. 

In a year marked by political tension, climate emergencies, attacks on bodily autonomy, and economic pressure, Gen-Z isn’t looking for empty symbolism. We’re looking for sincerity. Any “celebration” now is less about America and more about surviving it, and trying to make it better. 

This generation understands that patriotism doesn't have to look like flag-waving. Sometimes, it looks like a protest. Sometimes, it looks like rest. Sometimes, it looks like refusing to pretend everything's okay. 

This year Gen-Z is choosing purpose over performance.