January 21 was a brutally cold day. Driving down Route 6, late for an appointment, I noticed not one but two vehicles with giant American flags billowing behind them. Of course: it was the day after the inauguration. My reaction was immediate and visceral, starting in my brain but banging my heart and stirring my gut.
Why did those oversized flags cause me such agita? Those drivers had the absolute right to fly them. It was because they were displaying what they considered to be their flag, a symbol of their values and beliefs, their politics.
But that flag is mine, too. It flies from countless poles across the country and represents us all, not just one party or one mindset. It is a shared symbol of America.
It got me thinking about symbols and their arbitrary nature. The cross is a simple combination of two lengths of wood, but millions of people have lived, died, and killed for it. The swastika now represents evil, although it had religious connotations in Hinduism and Buddhism long before the Nazis usurped it. The dove is a symbol of peace, although it is no more peaceful than any other nonraptorial bird. The rainbow has become a symbol of gay rights, even though rainbows are natural phenomena that even bigots can enjoy.
But our flag — the red, white, and blue banner under which many have given their lives in battle, that was raised at Iwo Jima and surely elicits a lump in the throat and a surge of patriotic feeling. Can I really relegate it to just another symbol?
My feelings about this country are extremely conflicted. There is no other country quite like America. Our citizenry is a glorious mix of nationalities, races, and creeds. No other nation can boast such diversity. While class distinctions exist here, they are not as baked-in as in many older countries and perhaps not as profound. America represents opportunity and freedom like no place else. The stories of people arriving here with nothing — including my own ancestors — and achieving success are numerous and true. There is a term for it: the American Dream. America stands for something.
But I cannot turn away from the negative chapters of our history: This beautiful land that was wrested from its original “owners,” the Native Americans who were cheated, mistreated, and murdered. The millions of Africans who were abducted from their homelands, bound in slavery, and, even after emancipation, never given a chance at equality, actions with repercussions to this day. The xenophobia that gave us the Chinese Exclusion Act, the turning away of Jews fleeing the Holocaust, the internment of Japanese-American citizens during World War II. The shocking subjugation of women, so that even the right to vote was denied them until 1920. The horrors of homophobia that continue to this day.
And it is not just history that troubles me. The widening gulf of income inequality, the dominance of corporate culture, the deliberate promotion of consumerism, the lack of investment in child care, elder care, equal educational opportunity, and a healthful environment are there for all to see. America stands for all that, too. The American Dream does better in Scandinavia.
I do not believe in American exceptionalism, unless it is in the concept of this country. And for reasons beyond my abilities to either understand or describe, a majority of my fellow citizens have chosen a path unlikely to improve any of the above. In fact, I see things getting much worse.
But I am not going anywhere. Today on the beach I met a man without a country, a sad sight. Here illegally, he cannot return home and at the same time cannot meaningfully engage in life where he is. I can, and I must. Mine is a default patriotism: I must not give in to the forces that are shredding human dignity and contributing to injustice, economic ruin, and environmental degradation. We are bound to be American citizens, through bad times and good, and we must work for what we think is right, not “my country, right or wrong.” We must resist.
Woody Guthrie sang: “This land is your land, this land is my land … this land was made for you and me.” He was right.
