Patriotism

Those shiny little enamel flags politicians ostentatiously wear on their lapels proclaim their wearer’s unwavering patriotism; their ubiquity suggests that politicians have calculated that patriotism sells. This is hardly surprising: American kids start their school day with the Pledge of Allegiance, and sports fans stand (and often sing along) as the national anthem is played at the beginning of every sporting events in America. The curious thing about these patriotic displays is how deeply-rooted they are: they are not the imposition of a nationalist government, but part of what ordinary Americans take for granted.

If you want to gauge the level of popular support for patriotic displays, try this experiment: refuse to stand up as the anthem is played at the next ballgame you go to, and keep talking loudly as the “Star Spangled Banner” is sung. Do bring a clean shirt and a towel, though: you may find that the person behind you mysteriously loses control of his beer cup…
I don’t like the lapel pins or the value they supposedly stand for. But as I was grading a big stack of undergraduate history essays recently, I came across something more disturbing. A number of students writing about some of the ghastly events of the twentieth century—the use of poison gas in the Great War, the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution in China, and so on—declared that the perpetrators of those events had acted in part because of their patriotism. In some cases, of course, this was true. But the students were not making a critical assessment of the role of patriotism or nationalism in the commission of crimes: instead, some students blithely assumed that patriotism is a virtue.
For some of these students, patriotism, like religious faith, is a noble motivation—even if the state to which that patriotism is attached is repulsive. So, for instance, Mao’s responsibility for the deaths of tens of millions of his compatriots is mitigated by Mao’s apparent desire to make China a great nation, or the chemist Fritz Haber’s advocacy of poison gas is excused by his patriotic attachment to the German fatherland.
You may be tempted to say that this is all stupid; this notion of patriotism is simply the product of shoddy undergraduate thinking. But I think you would be wrong.
Patriotism has become like religion: we are told, over and over, that those who claim the mantle of patriotism must be respected. Like religion, patriotism is a fundamental value, a fundamental principle. We can, as pluralists, accept that there are many different kinds of patriotism, just as we are encouraged to accept that there are many different religions. But just as we must profess to respect religion in public life, we must profess to respect patriotism in political life. In neither case are we meant to dig too deep.
At its best, American patriotism can be a celebration of humanity. Why is America a good place? Because it promises equality and justice—and sometimes even fulfills that promise. Because it welcomes (or welcomed) the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. The person who calls himself or herself a patriot because his or her country does what it can to help the downtrodden, to celebrate justice, and to establish equality.
But the kind of patriotism reflected on the shiny surface of the lapel pin and regurgitated in undergraduate essays is one that substitutes blind allegiance for critical thought. It is shoddy; worse, it is dangerous.