In preparation for my participation in the April 5 protest on Martha’s Vineyard, I pondered what kind of poster I should carry. Sen. Cory Booker’s 25-hour filibuster and his prophetic words came to mind: “If America hasn’t broken your heart, then you don’t love her enough.”

So I decided to paint a simple image — a broken heart, unmistakably styled as the American flag.

Indeed, all my life, I’ve loved America.

I loved America despite the enslavement of my ancestors. I loved America through the horrors of Jim Crow and the economic consequences of discrimination, a system that denied my family, and millions like mine, even a fraction of the wealth available to White America.

I loved America while watching my father, one of the top five Black golfers of his era, die at age 46 of a broken heart. He could not compete with the White golfers whose bags he carried. I bring up my father not to elicit sympathy, but to establish context. Dare I say, there are few, if any, Black Americans whose parents, and their parents before them, have not seen their talents dwarfed by racism.

I loved America for the long, painful struggle for civil rights, and for the hope that struggle inspired.

I loved America for the Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights Act and the groundswell of support for diversity, equity and inclusion following George Floyd’s murder.

I loved America for electing its first Black President, and for nominating a Black woman as a Presidential candidate.

But now, in the blink of an eye, in a broken heartbeat, the history of families like mine is being erased. The scaffolding that upheld basic rights for marginalized people is being dismantled.

And as if that weren’t enough, the modest savings and financial stability of millions of seniors like me are under threat too.

America has broken my heart.

And yet, I still love America. Because I believe a broken heart does not end love but hardens the spine, while the heart remains the source for defying wrongs that only love can right.

So, on April 5, I was there — with my broken heart held high.

Harry Seymour lives in Oak Bluffs.