I must confess: Even after 9/11, the waters of patriotism, wrung from the tears of a nation, never washed over me. Sure, I felt horrible for all of those killed and injured, along with the countless loved ones who were also affected; but I can’t claim to have felt even the slightest inclination to rally around the flag. That’s due only in part, by the way, to the identity of the buildings that had been targeted. Being a peace-monger, the attack on the Pentagon only brought tears for the wounded, mortally or otherwise, not for any structural damage incurred. Nothing screamed “chickens coming home to roost” than a shot at “War, Inc.” A shame that the insurance company didn’t just simply total the whole building out.
The words “World Trade Towers” don’t exactly smack of patriotism either. Tall buildings, to be sure, on, of course, American soil. But New York City is more a symbol of international capitalism or world finance than Americana, with the Twin Towers being its literal and de facto pinnacle. More George Soros than Uncle Sam; more scone and espresso than Apple Pie. The loss of life so much more important than loss of any sense of prestige that those two phallic columns of now molten steel represented. For us or to the rest of the world, dang nab it.
As a former Chicagoan, now Stocktonian, if I feel any sense of loyalty at all — beyond family, friends and my parish — it is to my urban birthplace, where remnants of family still reside. And perhaps gradually to my new rural home. I take great offense to suburbanites claiming to be urbanites, and sub- and urban- ites claiming to be hillbillies. Even those of us with fewer ideas than teeth don’t claim that ridiculous label here, so we sure as hell don’t appreciate “weekend warriors” latching on to it.
Dread Scott Tyler
Nationalism and patriotism in this country are abstractions, intangibles out of necessity. Our “nation” of fifty still largely disunited states, founded by a motley crew of disaffected European mutts and misfits, can’t possibly hold a so-called patriot’s attention — let alone his allegiance — for very long. This country is geographically too big; demographically, too diverse; and governmentally-speaking, far too bureaucratic to do so.
We pledge allegiance to a flag woven of propositions. Blood spilled not of loyalty to a people, but to the ideals upon which those people have chosen to identify with. Either by birth, chance or oath.
Wars and the rumors of wars then serve the purpose of resolving an identity crisis for us, as identifying enemies, real or imagined, often do. But with a nation as phantasmagorical as ours, that need is all the more pressing; particularly when, due to occasional economic downturns, our identities as consumers are bound to suffer lapses as well.
I pray that God will one day bless America…with an ability for its people to recognize that they were never any more blessed — or cursed — than other people living on our fragile planet; and if one most love a place, let it be the one closest to where you have chosen to rest eternally. Forever peaceably.
