On patriotism

After 250 years, the U.S. isn’t free yet

At a campground in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on July 4 some 15 years ago, I was with my beloved and his parents as we watched a small display of fireworks. Then a song began to play. My beloved groaned. I was confused. As it came to the refrain, “I’m proud to be an American,” I said, “I don’t recognize this song.” Then it was his turn to be confused. It was one of those moments when we realized that despite being the same ethnicity (Pennsylvania German) and the same religion (Mennonite Christian), we have a lot of cultural differences.

Growing up in inner-city D.C. in the 1980s and 1990s, I remember hearing Motown and soul music at backyard cookouts on July 4. Even the phrase “proud to be an American” didn’t make much sense, since we learned at the bilingual elementary school I attended that all of the Americas are American, not only the U.S. The faith community where I grew up supported our Central American neighbors who had fled violence by authoritarian regimes backed by the U.S. government. And we protested various military interventions around the globe. The U.S.’s actions were more often cause for shame than pride.

The 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence is approaching. Is there any way I would say I’m proud to be an American?

Arthur Krystal, in an essay on the occasion of the anniversary, noted that national pride has dropped in recent years. He quoted George Orwell’s definition of patriotism as “devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be the best in the world.” I sent the article to my dearest friend, who still lives in the part of D.C. where we both grew up, as fodder for future conversation.

Visiting my hometown in early June, I went with Helen to one of my favorite spots there (or anywhere), the National Arboretum. Farther away from downtown, we got a reprieve from the national guard troops who are patrolling D.C. as an occupying force. In the meadow containing the original U.S. Capitol columns, we walked and talked about nationalism, patriotism, and fascism. We reject the disgusting displays currently taking place in the capital and beyond for this holiday. But does that mean ceding any sense of patriotism to the authoritarians and their followers? Helen asked. Is there anything good we would claim that could be called patriotic?

“There are certainly places in the U.S. that are among the most beautiful places I’ve been in the world,” I replied. One being Pictured Rocks in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which I saw on that trip 15 years ago. “And I find a lot to admire in U.S. history.” Especially the resilience of Africans brought to the colonies against their will, and their descendants. They built this nation, often literally—including the U.S. Capitol building.

But the idea of loving an entire country, or feeling proud to be a citizen of it, is foreign to me. I get stuck simply thinking about how to define that country: by its borders? I wish borders were no more than invisible lines with welcome signs on the other side, as with travel between states within the U.S. By its way of life? If there’s anything good about what could be called the U.S. way of life, it is that we are a nation of many cultures, a nation where immigrants are essential to our strength and wholeness.

In the past year, the current U.S government gave the name of a military operation, Operation Midway Blitz, to its attack on Chicago targeting our immigrant neighbors and making the rest of us collateral damage. From my window I saw federal agents in head-to-toe camouflage tactical gear abduct a construction worker from his job site, Gestapo-style. They tear-gassed our block when there were children and elders outside. I learned that I did have some trust in our national government when even that limited amount was violated.

At our house dinner this week, I was talking with several of my housemates about patriotism and related ideas. One who is from the Philippines pointed out that in a colonized nation, the desire for independence and self-determination is one definition of nationalism.

While my hometown remains occupied by the U.S military and my current city is still menaced by federal agents, my strongest emotion in relation to this country is a desire for everyone to be free.

I want to believe we’ll get there someday.

Reading and listening

Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here: The United States, Central America, and the Making of a Crisis. By Jonathan Blitzer. New York: Penguin Random House, 2024.

This is an excellent work of long-form journalism. Sections of the book take place in the neighborhood where I grew up, Mount Pleasant in Washington, D.C., where many people from El Salvador and Guatemala fled. I grew up knowing a lot of this awful history, including hearing some of it directly from my neighbors and seeing the effects of the trauma they endured in their lives and the lives of their children who were my playmates and classmates. Knowing about the U.S. government’s support for death squads in Central America formed my beliefs about this country where I was born and raised.

While working on my homily for this coming Sunday, my mind keeps going back to Bernice Johnson Reagon’s setting of a few verses from the Gospel reading (Matthew 11:28–30): “Come unto me.” My favorite recording is this one from NPR, with Sweet Honey in the Rock singing this song at minute 5:38.

Correction: the original post that went out by email referred to Pictured Rocks as Painted Rocks.