Love of country is something I’ve struggled to embrace my entire life, and the feeling is mutual for many. Gallup last year found 20% of Americans have little to no patriotism—an all-time high for the survey. Some will ask why we should feel pride for a place we’re born to by chance, and others will question America’s shortcomings past and present. For myself, faith was a deterrent from patriotic devotion, with cynicism growing through my younger years. But in time, I developed an appreciation, and if Gallup called me today, I would join those who say they’re very proud to be Americans.
Faith was my first obstacle as a church experience made me question the virtue of patriotism. In college, I went to a concert for Switchfoot, a popular Christian rock band. I entered the outdoor arena and saw a three-foot wooden cross at center stage. But in the middle of a song, fireworks exploded as an American flag dropped in the background. It covered the stage from end to end, and the crowd went nuts. The colors obscured the cross, and I had an unsettled feeling. Which should I give homage to? The lyrics told me to praise God, but the spectacle implied something else. It felt like I was told to serve two masters in life. They won’t always align, and it was an off-putting message that always stayed with me.
Readings would later confirm in me the reluctance to love America. An ancient Christian letter, To Diognetus, further inspired me to deny my devotion to the state. Sharing of the lives of Christians in the second century, the author wrote of their separation from the world around them.
…though they are residents at home in their own countries, their behavior there is more like that of transients [resident aliens]; they take their full part as citizens, but they also submit to anything and everything as if they were aliens. For them, any foreign country is a motherland, and any motherland is a foreign country.
If Christians are to be aliens, how can we swear an unfailing love for the place we live? If “our citizenship is in Heaven,” as Saint Paul wrote, how can I follow fallible leaders and patriots? This was my line of thinking, and even today, I hold pride in the idea of being an alien. I will follow the laws of my country, and I want to love my neighbors. But this is not my home, and it shouldn’t receive my fealty.
Current events later added to my disillusionment. There was the Iraq War—an occupation seeming as a sequel to Vietnam, raising further doubts in us of our institutions. Then there was the Great Recession—a mark of capitalist greed as unchecked investments almost collapsed the global economy. And in the fallout, I was laid off from my job, leading to months of general aimlessness. I had no goals, no direction, and no confidence in a better life. Combine this with various disappointments and turnoffs from political figures through the years, and my journey against patriotism felt complete.
The Gallup survey reflects these sentiments in the public. Fifty-eight percent said they were very or extremely patriotic, with only 36% of Democrats versus 92% of Republicans. While some will use this to attack Democrats, the number is understandable to me. It was a 26-point drop with the election of President Trump, showing that our answers will differ with circumstances. And even Republicans aren’t immune to this as their numbers dipped during the Biden administration. Also, progressivism by nature pushes for change, so it’s natural for them to not hold an unqualified patriotism. Many will say there’s too much work to do to feel that way, and that patriotism blinds us from recognizing the problems and shortfalls of our nation.
Older generations also showed more patriotism, and this falls in line with my story. There hasn’t been a bolt of revelation turning me around. But time has spun a long thread of reflections. I’ve thought of America’s founding. Of its self-determination and drive for independence. Of the arduous road to equality this history inspired. Of America creating the first anti-slavery organization. Of the nation later vanquishing slavery, and spreading its ideals to Europe and beyond. Of saving the world two times this past century, and looking out for it today. We have lit the world with abundance and influence that keep darker forces at bay. Take America out of the equation, and we would likely weep for where the world ended up.
But such praises for America should come with a full acknowledgement of its shortcomings. America has a long, tiring list of abuses and inconsiderations of people. The adoption and expansion of slavery. The maintenance of Jim Crow. The terrors of the KKK. Eugenics. The displacement of Native Americans in the 19th century, and Japanese interment camps in the 20th. And all the times that leaders have ignored the Bill of Rights, from John Adams to Woodrow Wilson to Joseph McCarthy. The history of harms goes on and on, from unsettling laws to foreign policy failures. All generations have failed to honor the dignity of the American people and others, and they will continue to do so. There is no escaping human behavior.
But the failures don’t overshadow the reasons for hope in America. Coleman Hughes identified this in a piece that argues for progressives to see the success in America for the people they seek to help. Women, minorities, and poor people have more abundance and protections here than most in the world, and America is still by far the most desired destination of immigrants. We shouldn’t compare ourselves to a utopian paradise, but rather to the messy reality of humanity. Yes, we have a long way to go, but we likely always will. And the values developed through 250 years of pain and growth provide an anchor for us that many nations won’t have. Despite all the bad, we have righteous aims that are worthy of our support.
Another memory comes to mind as I’ve made such conclusions. Visiting Germany in high school, I toured the Dachau concentration camp. I spent two hours at a slow pace passing prisoner barracks and fields with the ghosts of murder and torture. I couldn’t bring myself to the gas chambers and ovens, and I met with my class later in the museum. Hundreds of pictures showed people under medical experiments with looks of profound sadness. But toward the end, a photo caught my eye. Prisoners were at the front gates with American soldiers behind them. An American flag hung on a pole, and everyone looked happy. It was the only photo where anyone smiled, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I felt a joy and awe from a moment that sprang from ashes of despair more than 50 years earlier. It was the best of what America has been.
The experiences of adulthood made me forget this hope for a long time, but reflection has brought me back to it. America saved them, the world, and its influence continues to hold us in a better place today. I haven’t forgotten my devotion to faith, still seeing myself as an alien who keeps a distance from undying, worldly loyalties. But I can cling to this with one hand while in the other holding a somber recognition of the heroic, inspiring ideals this nation has held and defended. Far from perfect, but the best that’s going on for humanity. Let us now celebrate 250 years in the messy, imperfect hope that is the United States of America.
