Small-town Americana is all about an Independence Day parade. The banners, the floats decked out with balloons and flowers, the candy eagerly collected by small children thrust to the front by their parents or older siblings. School bands march to familiar tunes, local businesses, and nonprofits get some PR, and fire trucks blast sirens and sometimes spray water on the sweaty spectators. Along with hot dogs and fireworks, it is one of the better parts of the 4th of July.
Unless it’s an election year.
Unless protests of every sort use it to make political statements. Unless politicians go down the length of main streets with smiling faces and empty promises.
When the respective donkeys and elephants walk in the parade, my mouth sours. Honestly, the real donkeys paraded by eager young 4H members are more tolerable. I’d rather smell the barn animals than deal with another influx of “patriotism” in the form of political voters at the parade.
I skipped the parades this year. Any major election year is obnoxious, but this year, I just couldn’t stomach the idea of waving a flag around a bunch of political hype. It just didn’t feel patriotic. Not when I know that people are being criminalized for homelessness, when my mailbox is inundated with mailers from different candidates, and when I see people unable to get the medical care they need because of a broken healthcare system.
To be honest, I have never been a particularly patriotic person. My deep interest in history (all history, not just American history) has always made me suspicious of people so profoundly attached to their country. However, it could also be the immigrant and pioneer blood in my veins. My family tree comes from a scattering of places, each generation moving someplace new in search of some “better life”. My father moved around the Pacific Northwest as a child, my parents moved me from California to Montana at the age of 12, and of course, I can look back at those who immigrated from Scandinavia or crossed the West in covered wagons. Maybe there is in us an ingrained discontent with the country, causing generations to constantly seek a place we can call ours. Perhaps I lack patriotism due to the Christian preoccupation with life after death, “This world is not my home I’m just a’passing through” as the old hymn goes. My own parents are of this branch of Christianity that is not as interested in being a Christian nation, since their goal is a heavenly reward.
All of this pondering leads me to a question: what does it mean to be patriotic?
I can always start with what it doesn’t mean, which is a much easier answer.
Wearing red, white, blue, stars, or stripes. One can choose to embrace the color-coded aesthetic of any country regardless of citizenship.
Flying a flag, eating BBQ or other America-specific foods.
Voting, protesting, parading, shooting off fireworks, basically anything that is loud and public display.
What I see here is that patriotism is not about how you display your affection for your country. Many people do that; just watch the Olympics, and you will see flags, gear, painted bodies, and all manner of displays of support for the athletes that represent different countries.
If you follow any royal fashion or state visits between nations, you will know that many people make clothing choices that have political statements in the form of color or “traditional” attire. (Many thanks to the way Elizabeth Holmes has instructed me in that department.)
These outward demonstrations do little to convince me of true patriotism.
Patriotism is not the love of government since, historically, the government has not always had the best interests of all people at heart. Be it kings and queens, autocratic dictators, republics or tribal leaders, the government has often only truly served a few people well, and the rest of us are left with crumbling promises.
Patriotism and its promises have been used as manipulative tactic to enlist thousands into the military and dehumanize countless generations of indigenous people around the world. Those people have been punished for their own patriotic displays, from traditional garb and hairstyles to agricultural practices and religion.
Modern patriotism is a religion in its own way. It has high holy days, liturgical practices, passages quoted by rote memorization, and certain expected behaviors (removing of hats, hands on hearts, etc). As someone in the ongoing journey of decontructing my religion and reconstructing my faith, it is no wonder that I am in a state of questioning the religiosity of patriotism; especially with Christian Nationalism being on the rise.
Patriotism is not the love of government.
This year marks the first time I have left the borders of the nation in which I was born. I crossed the border into Canada, a mere hours minute drive from my house (still closer the nearest state border which is over two hours away). I spent 24 hours in small town with many similarities to my town. I did not leave the Rocky Mountain region I call home, and I am well acquainted with the tourist traps that wer present. However, there were enough differences to make the experience non-American. Driving 100 kph verse 70 mph, signs in English and French, and other small things that remind me that my country, vast though it is, is not representative of the entire world.
Once upon a time that border was nonexistent. Tribes moved around this part of the continent according to their customs and needs. They wintered in the valleys, hunted in the autumn, gathered berries along the wooded rivers. Settlers came from around the world seeking their fortune and safety in these mountains. They carved out farms and learned to survive far from the metropolises built by other men.
Then someone somewhere drew lines on a map and suddenly there were two countries. Depending on where you landed you were beholden to one government or the other. Your tax dollars were sent to far away capitals ostensibly to help you. You sent soldiers to wars that your government declared, you tilled your land to profit whichever country claimed you as a citizen. The government gave you this land and now you owe them your undying loyalty.
Patriotism is not pursuit of profit.
In JFK’s inaugural address he spoke these now famous words, “ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country.” It is fine sentiment, but I think one that needs reconsidered and I think there are other parts of that speech that could even inform our reconsideration. For instance, “If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.”
Or this, “we pledge our word that one form of colonial control shall not have passed away merely to be replaced by a far more iron tyranny.”
And I would say to the Republicans and the Democrats, “Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us.”
To be a patriot is to ask both what your country is doing for you and what you can do for your country. To be a patriot is to recognize your neighbors, foster relationships with them, build communities that understand how to work together. Patriotism is a love of the land and its creatures.
As I wander the labyrinth of thoughts about patriotism and religion I come back to the Golden Rule, love your neighbor. And who is my neighbor? My neighbor the landlord who gives me slack when I struggle to pay the rent. My neighbors are the sick people I pray with at the hospital in whatever fashion they need. They are owl living in the tree outside and the cat who keeps the rodents out of my pantry. People with whom I disagree are my neighbors and stupid drivers on the roads are my neighbors.
Patriotism is understanding that I am a citizen of earth, and taking action that cares for all the citizens of earth.
As a citizen of earth, born in the United States of America, a female living the 21st century, patriotism is taking care of those whose lives intersect with mine with compassion.
What does patriotism mean to you?
For the Ears
For the Eyes
Recently I finished Crowned with Glory by Jasmine Holmes, in which she tells the story of Black men and women, free and enslaved, and how they fought for their dignity as human beings in the country for centuries.
Kaitlin Curtice is an Indigenous writer who gives me so much hope for the work that can still be done for our country. I highly recommend subscribing to her Substack.
For the Taste Buds
Contributing to our country starts by learning to contribute in your family of origin. With that hope in mind, I have tasked each of my three older children with making breakfast one day a week for the summer (fingers crossed we can keep it up through the school year). My eldest daughter, Saoirse, is working on pancakes, and getting the pan to the proper heat is the real challenge. Carsten is determined to master omelets, and Ethan alternates between stovetop oatmeal and baked oatmeal. The added benefit is a little less work for me during the week.
How do you teach your children to contribute to the family?
May this week bring love of country to your sense and your soul.
This is just wonderful Caitlin.
I can’t call myself a patriot, now that I’ve lived in 3 different countries. This unbinding, blind “faith” in the supremacy of a certain people is just lacking in reason, as you beautifully expressed..
The bit about the border reminded me of Antonia Malchik’s letter about the feeling of crossing a border.. You’ll find it interesting, I hope!
https://open.substack.com/pub/antonia/p/border-unruly