I'm not a patriot. I am grateful to live in the United States, with all the entailed advantages, but I'm not a patriot. How can I be proud of a country that was ripped from its first inhabitants and built by slaves? I abhor anyone who reveres that legacy.
The scene is a high school basketball game. It's sparsely attended, but solemn attention is still given to the rites of the sport. All of us in the bleachers, we stand up for the piped-in national anthem. I notice that most of the audience has not laid hand over heart--is this not done anymore? "The Star-Spangled Banner" overtakes me, and I don't dwell on etiquette. Instead I am surprised by the swelling sentiment under my palm. It feels like church.
The country, as an institution, has made progress. For the most part you have to zoom out to see it. But the melting pot is melting, ever so slowly. So slowly that it hurts. And it seems that many people are willing to poison their own bodies in order to taint the melting pot (if you'll allow that continuation of the metaphor).
The salient question is: How can I best hold my own identity as part of a flawed assemblage of history and shifting finances? How can I regard my position healthily?
With compassion, I suppose. For my own agonizingly "correct" opinions, for the weak character of government, but especially for the factions that must rise according to Maya Angelou's words.
Photos by Anthony Quintano.
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