[Note: Not everyone will be on board with this and that’s fine. I don’t need anybody to agree. I just need to say it.]

As Jeff Probst might say, the tribe has spoken.

We’ve always thought of ourselves as Americans. At times we’ve taken pride in that and other times we’ve been ashamed, but we’ve always kindled that little fire of hope inside. In our own ways, we’ve all worked to better the place.

Now we stand here, stunned and heartbroken and angry, without words to fully express our feelings of betrayal.

Or maybe we find words online, words from the best among us, the stubbornest, the ones who will fight for a “better America” as long as they have breath. We’ll respect those words, we’ll cling to them, we’ll share them.

But at the core, they’re a concession speech. They’re footlights on a path, but the path is narrow, the lights dim, and the voices of those walking it are subdued. The bright beacon we once imagined America to be is dark now. We can be forgiven for wondering if it was a false light all along.

At their core, those stubborn, inspirational words aren’t much. They don’t heal, they simply exhort us to limp along with our injuries. They don’t offer a cure for the disease, only a salve to ease the pain a little. Their hopes are more modest than they were a few days ago, more … realistic. They don’t mean to, but they acknowledge a tragic truth: we’re all exiles now.

We’ll continue doing the best we can because that’s who we are. But it isn’t who America is.

The tribe has spoken. And now I have to accept that I’m not an American, I’m just a guy who lives here.