Epistemica

The ceremonial “I love America” is commonly deployed by the right and is often contrasted with “The Left hates America”. It often comes with a flag somewhere behind it and a hymn in the distance.

What does it even mean though?

It’s obviously not government. Fox News and company brandished the American flag behind them as they bashed the governments of Obama and Biden. And it is obviously not all Americans to them. It is a culture, but it is a particular monoculture within a broader diverse American culture. American culture includes revival tents and drag shows, jazz and country, Hollywood and homeschooling, strip malls and monasteries, megachurches and Marxist reading groups, rodeos and tech conferences, Walt Whitman and Walmart. It is Mississippi but it is also Manhattan.

In asking those on the right what it actually means to love America, I have gotten two varieties of answers. There is the “common sense” answer in which you either grasp an intuitive sense of what the stars and stripes represent, or you don’t. Then there is the “I’m happy to be here and not in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Iran” answer, which is more akin to “I’m lucky to be in America” rather than “I love America.”

Alexis de Tocqueville saw early that American patriotism was expressed in many different ways and was being weaponized for the advancement of very specific, often highly exclusive groups and cultures. There was, he thought, a natural patriotism, the kind born from memory and habit, from the graves of ancestors and the manners of home. People love their country in that way as they love the house they grew up in. The attachment is absorbed over times and stems from culture, speech, weather, family, and repetition. It is less a doctrine than a feeling.

But Tocqueville also understood that instinctive patriotism could become touchy, vain, and provincial. He said that Americans have a tendency to receive criticism of the country as a personal insult. Praise America all you like, he suggested, but try to point out one defect and the national mood changes. The free citizen is suddenly fragile and even censorious. The person who boasts of openness demands tribute and blind allegiance.

Such a theatrical version of patriotism reveals a deep insecurity.

“I love America” at its worst sounds like the demand for applause on command. It is almost a verbal salute and a test of belonging. It is a strange way to say “Do not criticize this country in my presence,” just as the same individual will claim that Obama was anti-American. The implication is that they are saying, “my preferred America is the only real America.”

For many, it is clear that the phrase has fallen into jingoism, reflecting a love of country as threat and monocultural enforcement. “My country must be praised, obeyed, excused, feared, and ranked above all others.”

The clear contradiction, here, is centered on the unfiltered defense of their version of America while attacking and dismissing any other version.

As James Baldwin said, “I love America more than any other country in the world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.” Few on the left jump to the rash response “you don’t love America!” when those on the right attack Democratic presidents, Democratic governors, and whatever the right views as non-standard people. It’s such a trite position to take, but one that has persisted since the founding.

But the most devastating critics of America have often been among the most serious believers in America, especially in the notion of the US as a pluralistic society that values freedom—including freedom from religious installations within the government. To love America is to rage against the betrayal of these values.

George Orwell’s distinction between patriotism and nationalism holds that patriotism, in the humane sense, is attachment to a place and way of life. Nationalism is different as it requires a sense of superiority and demands enemies. It cannot be content with loving home but must prove that such a home is supreme. Patriotism says, “This is mine, and I am bound to care for it,” nationalism says, “This is mine, and, thus, it must prevail as superior.”

“I love America” can clearly belong to either spirit.

I love this republic enough to participate in it and its freedoms enough to extend them to people I don’t agree with it. I love its history enough to learn the parts that embarrass me and its soldiers enough not to waste them. I love its symbols enough not to use them as props. I love its promise enough to notice when the promise is denied.

But to many of those on the right, it means:

I love the myth and resent the entire actual history. I love the flag but not the obligations beneath it. I love the troops but not the broken veteran. I love the Constitution until it protects my opponent. I love free speech until it becomes impolite to my clan. I love democracy until the count goes against me. I love the people, provided they know their place in my story.

To say “I love America” honestly is to accept a burden and that this place is mine, though not mine alone. The cheap patriot demands applause as the actual patriot asks for responsibility and accountability.