[In honor of the 4th of July, this week’s series has highlighted various historical and cultural contexts for this uniquely American holiday. Leading up to this special weekend post on patriotism in 2022!]
In Of
Thee I Sing, I trace four types of patriotism across American history.
The first, celebratory
patriotism, has been relatively constant, but the other three have
continued to evolve, so in this post I wanted to say a bit about where I see
each of them here in mid-2022:
1)
Mythic
patriotism: Over the last few months there have been a number of stories
about rising white Christian
Nationalism, many connected to this important recent
book by Philip Gorski and Sam Perry. In Of
Thee I Sing I resisted using the term “nationalism,” as I find it distinct
from (and significantly more dangerous than) what I would want to define as “patriotism.”
But there’s no doubt that my category of mythic patriotism is quite far along
the spectrum toward nationalism, and more exactly that the myths on which this
form of patriotism depend have consistently featured both white- and –Christian
centered visions of America. Even when these narratives are not overtly white supremacist
(and I think it’s important to recognize that they can be more benign than
that), they begin with the idea that the American community was at any point
fundamentally white and/or Christian—and so a significant goal of my ongoing
work, on patriotism and on America, is to push back on those narratives as the
myths that they have always been.
2)
Active
patriotism: One of the questions I’ve been asked a good bit, in book talks
and in adult learning classes and in various other settings, has been “What can
we do?” I’m not going to pretend that there are clear or easy answers to that,
nor that I don’t face the same frustration and sense of hopelessness at times
as well. But one of the main reasons I wanted to include this category in my
book is to push back on the idea that patriotism, or civic engagement, or citizenship,
or anything we might aspire to is passive, is about accepting things as they
are or have been. Celebratory patriotism might be relatively passive—but if we
recognize that there’s an alternative, active form of patriotism as well, it
frees us to think about actions like voting, like organizing, like protesting
as all expressions of a patriotic commitment to the nation. There’s a lot we
can do, and in doing any and all of it we’re extending the legacy of some of
our most inspiring active patriotic figures and communities.
3)
Critical
patriotism: There’s another layer to it, though. “What can we do?” isn’t
just an expression of hopelessness—it’s also, quite often these days, an
understandable cynicism, a sense that things are very bad on so many fronts and
far too many of those in power don’t seem to care (or at least not enough to
fight). Perhaps the single biggest reason I wanted to write the book was to
challenge the idea that such understandable (and accurate) critiques are and
must be separate from patriotism—that’s mythic patriotism talking, advancing
the “love it or leave it” narrative. I really detest that narrative, as I
believe not just that critical patriotism is an important form that always
needs to be in the conversation, but that in many ways it’s the most important
form precisely for this reason: that it reminds us that criticizing something
with the goal of pushing it toward the best version of its self is absolutely a
form of love, and in many ways the highest form. And, without doubt, one that
we desperately need to advocate for and practice here in 2022.
Next
series starts Monday,
Ben
PS. What
do you think?
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