Yesterday was the Fourth of July. I have been struggling with my idea of patriotism for awhile. When I was a kid growing up on the Navy Base in Connecticut, Patriotism was easy. Patriotism was saluting the flag and singing songs before school started in the morning (am I the only one that loved that?). Patriotism was seeing my Dad put his uniform hat on when we walked outside to go to the base in the morning. Patriotism was pausing at 5pm every night to hear the sound of bugle music playing from down near the river, and knowing that the flag was being taken down for the evening. Out of respect any traffic on the base stopped- and if I happened to be walking around there at that time of day, it felt good to stand and feel the breeze and just feel united. I felt like my country was a place where people worked hard, did their best, and were free to pursue happiness for themselves and their families. It felt good, secure, easy. I loved those feelings.
Now, things are a little more confusing. Last year was my first Fourth back in the country after living in England for two years. When I lived in England there were fireworks all of the time. On of my first few nights in the country was Guy Fawkes day. I’ve never seen such riotous celebration in my life! Quite an interesting story, as well…but the point being, while living in the UK I needed to find a new way to express my patriotism. I realized early on that it wasn’t always appropriate, in every circumstance in every place, to display my passionate and loud love of country. I toned my own feelings down for awhile, and let the rest of the world in. As I had the chance to meet people from different places, I saw the value and unique nature of other cultures. London was quite the melting pot, and there were flags everywhere. Jamaica, South Africa, Ghana, Nigeria, India, Morocco…not to mention Columbia, Peru, Chile, Bolivia, Argentina, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Spain, France, Italy. As I say the names of those countries in my head, I can see people, I can hear names of people whose houses I have been in. Hands that I’ve shaken. Stories that I’ve heard. Those places finally became real to me. There was one flag that you didn’t see very often, though. And that was ours. It was hard to be patriotic in England- because so many had come before proclaiming America to be the one and only “Promised Land.” Little by little, Americans and Europeans have built up an interesting little relationship of cooperation and distaste. I don’t even want to talk about why, but I have my own ideas resulting from things I’ve seen. I think the blame is on both sides.
Yesterday I was hit with quite a lot of leftover confusion from all of my experiences, culminating into one big question: Am I a Patriot? I am old enough now to have seen wars start and end. I have seen people abuse the system. I have seen the system abuse the people. I hear men singing the words, “Let all that breathe partake,” and then talk about toughening up our borders. I’m not saying that I have all the answers, quite the opposite! I mostly have questions. It hard to keep myself from being completely disenchanted with the idea of America.
I got to thinking about the idea of a Fatherland. I heard the term in a movie we were watching and realized that I had never thought of the US in that way. I think, generally, it’s a term used by people who have left their home country for somewhere else. When I was little watching Fievel: an American Tale, it was just natural. Why wouldn’t people want to come here? When I lived in Scranton, I knew a woman from Bosnia. Through our conversations I realized that sometimes people leave their homelands because they have to, not because they want to. She had grown up in a beautiful little town, but as she got older, the violence got stronger. One day she came home to find that her house had been blown up. Most of her family was dead. She had no choice but to become a refugee, looking for somewhere to live where her kids would be safe. I’ve never seen things like that happen here. It doesn’t mean they don’t happen. It doesn’t mean that they won’t happen. But I grew up riding my bike around the neighborhood and buying Pushup Pops from the Dolphin Mart down the street. Why did I have one experience, and Yasminka had another? She would go back to Bosnia in a second if she could, if it were safe. I had to do some serious adjusting to allow room for the thought that maybe my country could be best to me, while another country could be best for someone else.
So, where do all these disjointed thoughts leave me? There are still moments when I feel that old, simple patriotism coming back to support me. We sang a patriotic hymn in church last Sunday, and I felt that peace strongly for just a moment. I am proud of our country. We’re all a mix of bad and good, but I think we’ve got a lot of good. In the end, belonging to a country is like belonging to a family. There are things that happen that make us sad sometimes. We can be disappointed in our leaders. We can try to voice our opinion, and feel like we haven’t been heard. We can look forward, and fear the fact that we don’t see change coming anytime soon. Maybe, sometimes, we feel like we’d just like to leave the mess behind and go set ourselves up somewhere else all together. But no one’s got a perfect family, and just like there are very few family rooms paved with gold- the streets of our country are cement, just as hard and gray as I’ve seen anywhere else. But just as true as all that is, I can see in most families a certain level of loyalty. There is a hope, deep down inside that someday things will change. Maybe next Christmas we’ll be able to get over our stubborn disagreements and have a meal together. Maybe we’ll finally get ourselves balanced out- just enough attention turned inward to address our own problems without forgetting those around us that need us to reach out and help. Maybe we’ll have to go through a painful process to get to the change that we need. Now, my family isn’t better or worse than anyone else’s, but it is my favorite group of people. I think that we’re at a peaceful place right now. Nothing raging on our battlefront.
I have decided that I am a Patriot. I choose to belong to this American Family, and to not give up my hope that someday we’ll get it right. Celebrating July Fourth, for me, is about a lot of things. I want to take time to remember the genesis of this space where I just happened to be born. It’s a day to feel the gratitude for my life, lived safety, and the freedom given to me to make choices, to quietly (or maybe not so quietly) be Erin Swigart (choosing to become Erin Hattaway), a Mormon girl with feminist tendencies who just wants to go to school and do my job and fly back and forth between coasts, to drive to where ever whenever, and to fly whatever flag I feel like flying. I would never give up on my family, I love them too much. Just the same, although I feel disconnected sometimes, I cannot give up on my country. I want to believe the Pledge that I used to repeat every morning.
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
I’ve seen us stand indivisible. It seems like when it really, really matters, and we realize where the threats are coming from, we’ll stand together to try and push it out. Sooner rather than later, an obnoxious sibling or two will complain about something and disrupt our harmony, but I’ve seen it achieved. And I think it can happen again. My allegiance is not blind faith, it is a commitment to my community. It’s my word that I will contribute, somehow. My allegiance will be a lifetime of questioning, challenging, appreciating, and cherishing my county.