Dillan DiGiovanni thinks that patriotism isn’t just red, white and blue or merely black and white, either.
This Independence Day holiday has been unique for me. For the first time in a while, I’ve considered how perplexing patriotism can be.
For the past few years I sat along the Charles River on the Cambridge side, waiting for the sun to set and listening to the live music drift across the river from Boston. I enjoyed the activity but often felt distanced from the celebration. As I’ve matured politically, the holiday has grown to mean very different things from when I was a child.
This year, I traveled back “home” to New Jersey, where I was born and raised. I spent the holiday with some dear friends but our celebrations had nothing to do with the holiday, itself. It was just a good excuse to hang out because we all had the time off.
I will confess that Independence Day, and patriotism in general, is perplexing for me. I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be an American citizen. I see the pictures of hotdogs and red, white and blue outfits and hear the fireworks and hold that up against the actual history and present reality of politics in this country.
I am grateful, so very grateful for the ability to move somewhat freely around my country. I’m grateful for much of what it means to be American. But I don’t just feel gratitude without thinking about what it really means to be American.
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I think about who enjoys freedom, the freedom that we speak about on July 4th, and who doesn’t. I wonder if the people who celebrate it also consider that it isn’t equally celebrated by all people and hasn’t been for much of our nation’s history.
I wonder how many families thought of the recent SCOTUS decision, when adding red ribbons to their daughters’ ponytails and placing blue hats on their sons, and what it may means for them in days and years ahead.
I wonder how many men flipped hamburgers and hoped their sons won’t be attacked for wearing a hooded sweatshirt on the way back with buns from the store.
I wonder how many people think of many incarcerated individuals who won’t be attending family barbecues, when the addictive fervor of watching Orange Is The New Black episodes has worn off.
I think about my friends who posted quotes from Fredrick Douglass and former slaves on their Facebook walls this weekend. I know how few of my friends have read the book Roots or seen the movie “12 Years a Slave” and how easy or convenient it is to forget about the legacy of slavery, the stark opposite of freedom, when serving up strawberries and blueberries with whipped cream.
And then, I think about my friend who was in Afghanistan and Iraq and how he barely, barely made it home for his son’s birth. They had waited years for this baby and he made a tremendous sacrifice in exchange for service. And every year he dresses up as Uncle Sam in red, white and blue to celebrate the holiday, despite.
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Every 4th of July, when I’m tempted to be frustrated and bummed on behalf of the whitewashing that happens around patriotism and national pride, I think of my friend. I think about what he gave and what he experienced and who he is today. I think about the conversations we had where we each learned to see things a little differently. I remember when he told me how knowing me changed his opinions on politics, in ways no other relationships had. I think about his undying sense of pride and devotion to an ideal that we all hold in our mind and out hearts, even when unjust laws get passed and horrible things happen to good people. And I know that the ideal we all want to experience isn’t reality, but each person making small changes moves us one step closer to that finish line.
I remember that patriotism is about being devoted to one’s country, even when that country is a little screwed up. It’s about being great, but not perfect. It’s about making progress toward the ideal of freedom for everyone, even if it often feels like one step forward and forty steps back.
“Patriotism is loving your country all the time, and your leaders when they deserve it.”
-Mark Twain
photo courtesy of Sharon Meyer