Patriotism

Yesterday was the anniversary of 9/11. Ten years have gone by since that horrific day. I was a little six year old when it happened, and I barely remember that morning. Watching specials on it are the closest I've come to feeling the same emotion that many Americans feel. So, this anniversary did not affect me as it would anyone who lost someone or witnessed the event. It affected me in a very different way.
Following 9/11, there was a surge in patriotism that still lingers to this day. This patriotism allowed such heinous laws like the Patriot act to be passed, and eventually, it allowed the Iraq War to break out. It is something that I personally abhor.
Right or left, people who take this superpatriotic, us above everyone stance really worry me.  The problem that I have with patriotism is that it blinds people with nationalistic ideals that overcome all rational thought. I've been called anti-American for not wanting to recite the pledge in school. In the political arena, President Obama was criticized for not wearing a flag pin. People like Michelle Bachmann have called for investigations on who's "anti-American" in congress. Last year, Glenn Beck hosted the 9/12 Rally to Restore Honor in D.C. This rally leeched off of past accomplishments in American history and was a mockery of patriotism. Hell, the entirety of the Tea Party has based much of their ideology on this faux-patriotism.
Something that these "patriots" are failing to recognize is the difference between patriotism and nationalism. Patriotism is the love of one's country. Nationalism is the obsession of one's country. These people are not patriots, they are nationalists.

"Our country, right or wrong."
          -Stephen Decatur

Nationalism builds up racism. It builds up imperialism. It blinds its followers, wrapped in the flag, and often, religion. A nationalist will have undying love for their country. They will be unresponsive to reason. Historically, nationalist ideologies have been responsible for an endless amount of wars; most notably WWI. WWI was a pointless war fought over a clash of egos. It was fueled by endless nationalism. Another example of nationalism is the Red Scare. The use of irrational fear and the extreme love of America was manipulated to create a political witch hunt.
The people who wrap themselves in the flag and call America God's chosen nation are not patriots. They are nationalists.

"My country right or wrong; if right, to be kept right, and if wrong, to be set right."
         -Carl Schurz


Patriotism is open love for country itself, not its leadership or agenda. A patriot is someone who holds love for their country, but does not blindly follow it. A patriot does not hear a cry for war and immediately declare it a crusade. A patriot does not look at a fault in their society and pretend that it's not a problem. A patriot does not act as a cog in a massive machine with no individuality.
If a nationalist sees his nation bomb the hell out of a smaller country on a faulty excuse, he will declare the excuse valid and insult the smaller nation. A patriot who sees this event will question the reasons and analyze the excuse. In a nation like our own, the patriot would be called a traitor, while the nationalist would be called a patriot.
The "patriots" we have in this nation seem to think that patriotism means someone who always wears flag pins, says the pledge every day, blindly follows whatever the government or their political involvement in the government does, never criticizes anything that America does (unless it's by a politician they dislike), and goes to sleep on an American flag pillow. Someone who criticizes the government or doesn't support a military action will be branded a traitor, communist, or my favorite, socialist.

Of course, the five people who see this post might wonder if I myself am a patriot. Because of the use of the word in this nation, I would not want to call myself one; however, if one considers the real meaning, then almost every loyal American would be called a patriot. I'm just a cynical teenager who finds this fake patriotism to be a pile of bull, but I do love my country. And while the pledge or the national anthem never really affected me, there was one moment where I was overcome by love of country.

Last summer, I was with the Boy Scouts up in the Sierras. It was the final night, and the entire camp was gathered up at a little amphitheater, where two fires were burning. The sun had gone down, but there was just enough light in the sky to bathe the forest in blue moonlight. The amphitheater itself glowed orange from the flame.
Up in front of the crowd stood the staff of the camp. They stood at attention, facing the audience, their faces all glowing orange. The entire camp stood up and at attention as four men, carrying two folded flags, approached the stage. Both stopped in between the fires, and the camp director came down off the boulder. He was in his mid-fifties and sported a white beard. He took out a small slip of paper and introduced the flags. The one I saw was from 1994, and had been flown multiple times in different scouting troops. It had been left out in a storm, ripped, and could no longer properly convey the symbol of our nation. And so the flags were unfolded to be presented to us for one final time.
The flag opened. I looked upon it, at all the faded colors and sad holes, all bathed in an eerie orange glow. I brought my hand up to my forehead and saluted, and we all began to recite the pledge of allegiance. Unlike all those times in school when I would blindly recite it, this time my mind held upon every word, and it all stirred up many emotions deep inside me. We then watched as it was lifted up over the fire to be retired. The flag was lowered gently over the flames, which began to lick greedily at the cloth. The dull orange glow turned to a bright yellow beam, and light smoke began to rise as the fire consumed the old flag. As this went on, the camp director began to sing. His song described where our flag has been flown, describing various scenes in battle and in peace. As he sang, a strange feeling came into my heart, one that I knew, but it was stronger than I had ever felt it before. It was love of country. It was pure patriotism for this great nation; it seemed to overcome everything and swallow up the cynicism that I held.
The fire died down, and the flag had been reduced to a pile of ashes. The entire camp then filed out. As I walked down off the rock and watched the orange glow fade into the trees, my emotions shifted back to normal, but I knew that I loved my country.

That is what patriotism is about. Love of country. It's not about flag pins or saying the pledge. It's about loving your country honestly and sensibly.