The Green Light: Exploring My Own Disillusionment With The American Dream

I spent much of my final two years in high school studying the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald. As per the Scottish curriculum, I studied The Great Gatsby in Higher English, and loved it so much that when I decided to pursue Advanced Higher English the following year, I chose to write my dissertation on the women of Fitzgerald.

A common theme across all Fitzgerald’s novels, many of which now approach their 100th anniversary, is the disillusionment with the American Dream – something still very relevant today. The 1920s, the backdrop against which The Great Gatsby is set, saw economic growth coupled with technological advancements following the end of the First World War. There was more money to spend, and people found more ways to spend it. As Tobey Maguire’s Nick Carraway tells us in a trailer for Baz Luhrmann’s 2013 adaptation of the Fitzgerald classic: ‘the buildings were higher, the parties were bigger, the morals were looser, and the liquor was cheaper’.

Whilst ideas of what exactly the American Dream is change depending on the times we’re living in, the common theme is that anyone – regardless of race, gender, birthplace, social background – can make it in America, where there are supposedly equal opportunities for all.

F. Scott Fitzgerald often used his novels to explore the idea that the American Dream is a lie, particularly through self-made Jay Gatsby and his unattainable dream of winning back his childhood sweetheart Daisy, now married to the wealthy Tom Buchanan. This dream, and the American Dream as a whole, is symbolised by the green light Gatsby is seen reaching towards, now one of the most iconic examples of symbolism in 20th century literature.

The United States of America and Me

Most people in my age bracket will recall growing up watching American films and TV shows, idolising American actors and singers, reading books set in the United States – all of which generally led to a fascination with America and a desire to see it.

I first visited the US as an 11-year-old on a family holiday to Florida. You know what that meant – I spent 90% of the two weeks I was there in Walt Disney World Resort, rarely seeing the ‘real’ America (whatever that is) beyond the big pink castle and the mouse ears.

Almost 10 years later, in June 2018, I stepped off a plane at John F. Kennedy International Airport, alone, a month shy of my 21st birthday. As I had grown up and grown out of my Disney Channel phase, my dream of returning to Florida had evolved into a dream of visiting the real America (in other words, not Disney World). Many of the American books, films and TV shows I had consumed in my teens were set in New York (The Great Gatsby, Avengers Assemble, to name a few), and so it moved to the top of my bucket list.

By age 21, however, I had long realised that America wasn’t the wonderful place I had perceived it to be as a child.

Reality

I can’t pinpoint when exactly when my wakeup call was. Maybe it was growing up in the aftermath of 9/11 and the subsequent war on terror. Maybe it was turning on the news to another school shooting, or the murder of another innocent Black man, woman, or child. Maybe it was when I learned that kids are taught how to protect themselves in the event of a shooter entering their place of education. Maybe it was when I realised that, if we lived in the States, my family may not be able to afford prescriptions.

Maybe it was on a chilly morning in November 2016, when my flatmates and I congregated in the kitchen of our university halls, deflated by the news that Donald Trump was to become president.

In the summer of 2020, I watched the Black Lives Matter protests unfold. Following the brutal murder of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis, various US channels interrupted their scheduling to show a black screen featuring the words ‘I can’t breathe’. This was accompanied by breathing sounds and lasted for a total of 8 minutes, 46 seconds – the length of time it took a police officer to kill George Floyd by kneeling on his neck.

It was an eerie and uncomfortable watch. It was intended to be an eerie and uncomfortable watch. As viewers, we were supposed to be horrified by it. Naturally, however, something of this nature being broadcast at a time when many kids were watching sparked complaints from parents. In turn, this opened up conversation in which a number of POC discussed how young they were when their family had the conversation with them about how they could leave the house one day and just not return. It was then I realised that it is a privilege to grow up with the belief that the United States of America is the land of the free.

On January 6th 2021, I opened Twitter and watched, in real-time, as Trump supporters descended upon the US Capitol. I was simultaneously appalled and yet sadly unsurprised. As I watched the scenes from the Capitol, I felt a sense of sadness at the fact that this was the country I had grown up dreaming of. And that it had always been like this – it had just taken me years of growing up to see the reality.

We all know things would have been very different had those people been BLM protestors.

On January 20th, I sat in front of my TV for most of the day, glued to coverage of the inauguration. As I watched Kamala Harris being sworn in as the first female, black, Asian-American vice president, I once again had that familiar sensation that I was watching history unfold in real-time.

Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are not perfect. Getting rid of Trump was a step forward for the United States, but there is still a lot of work to do. As Bernie Sanders tweeted following the inauguration: ‘Joe Biden will inherit from Trump: The worst economy since the Great Depression, the worst public health crisis in 100 years, massive wealth inequality, the existential threat of climate change, a racist immigration system’. America still has a long way to go, and it’s important that the Biden administration works on moving forward as a country, as opposed to reverting to what it was pre-Trump.

‘Boats against the current…’

Now, as an almost 24-year-old, my relationship with my own personal American Dream is somewhat complicated. As a student, I went back and forth with the idea of doing a year abroad in the States, before ultimately deciding not to. For almost a year now, I’ve been saving up to return to New York, as well as to see Las Vegas and Los Angeles for the first time. I have enough Captain America merch to construct a shrine. The walls in my flat are adorned with vintage American travel posters and pictures of legendary American entertainers. I have two framed photos of my best friend and I in New York – one on the Brooklyn Bridge, and one at an outdoor bar in Long Island City with the Manhattan skyline behind us.

I’ll always be fascinated by America and its history. There will always be a State I’ll want to visit that I haven’t yet been to. I’ll always be influenced by mainstream American culture. Part of me will always view the United States as an incredible place in many ways. Alas, every child who grew up consuming American media and dreaming of life stateside has to face the reality eventually. And let’s not pretend we’re completely innocent here in the UK either – it was only in 2016 that Labour MP Jo Cox was murdered in broad daylight by a far-right extremist. Mainstream British media is dominated by right wing tabloids. Those in power entice the working classes into believing that other working class people are the problem, cleverly deflecting from the ever-growing gap between the rich and the poor.

When I think of the American Dream and what it means – whether that be the traditional idea of the American Dream, or whatever it may have evolved into, or whatever our own personal American Dreams are – my mind once again returns to Gatsby, alone at the end of his dock:

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning—

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald