Pride is weird.
I don’t just mean the “pride” that’s meant to celebrate the LGBTQ+ rights, or even the ironic “pride” of the Proud Boys—who, let’s be clear, have nothing to do with actual pride. I mean pride in the general, uncomfortable national identity kind of way. The way that, when a nation has become so divided, waving the American flag outside of your house feels akin to wearing a sign that says “I’m on everyone’s side”— or worse: “I’m not on your side at all.”
As someone born in London, the United Kingdom’s decision to leave the European Union—a choice that, in my estimation, was bigoted at best, and self-destructive at worst—saw my community take down the England flags from their window sills, a quiet but powerful statement of resistance against the Brexit movement.
This made sense to me. I didn’t like the decision the people of my country made “in the name of England,” so I didn’t want to represent the nation. Taking down the flag was a form of protest, a rejection of what that symbol had come to mean.
There’s something similar about the situation going on in the U.S at the moment, only it feels more charged. The American flag is no longer a neutral symbol of national pride; it carries the baggage of ideas many people don’t agree with. Too often, the flag now conjures images of “Blue Lives Matter” bumper stickers and a lifetime Fox News subscription. This shift isn’t necessarily anyone’s fault, but it’s happening, and it’s worth examining.
It’s curious how quick Americans are to disassociate from the flag. English people love nothing more than making fun of their country, but if someone else does, they’ll defend it with their life. Americans on the other hand, seem to have built this national identity on an undying belief that “we are the best” —and maybe that’s what makes it so hard to criticize the country without being branded a traitor.
This is where things get really complicated. The fabric of this nation was built on, and I mean brick-by-brick, word-by-word, built on two things: 1) God and 2) patriotism. And it’s not lost on me that for anyone who’s even a little socially conscious today, these are not just any values. These things have become, for many, the property of the right-wing, of people who wear their American-flag hats like they’re armor.
The danger of patriotism is when we let it become too closely associated with one “side.” When it becomes the “us vs. them” mindset of fascism, rather than unity, it stops serving its purpose.
The founding of this nation was steeped in independence, freedom, and individual rights, and has been deeply intertwined with a sense of unshakable loyalty to the Constitution—a document that hasn’t evolved much in nearly 240 years.
Take the Second Amendment. It was created because of the threat of redcoats charging in on horseback over the morning sun. The idea was that the citizens of the colonies should be able to protect themselves from a tyrannical government. It made sense in the 18th century, but today it has become a foil to the nation the Founding Fathers dreamt of. Firearms, once a means of defense from foreign invaders, have become a tool used to battle fellow Americans, not the British.
Here lies the question: can we stay loyal to the principles of the Constitution while adapting it to the values of modern life?
The same tensions that defined the founding of this nation—between freedom and control, between autonomy and community—still live on today. The struggle to reconcile the new with the old continues to fuel the division that courses through the fabric of American society.
To be proud of your country is nothing to be ashamed of; it never has been, and it never will be. But perhaps one day, waving your flag won’t need to be so closely associated with the extreme, and can become a symbol of national unity, not division.
Maybe, just maybe, pride can just mean pride. Without all the baggage.
