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My earliest memory of patriotism is from kindergarten.
My family was living in a cramped apartment building, and every morning, as I waited for the bus to fetch me, the property manager would bring out an American flag to the pole resting in a grassy island in the middle of the parking lot.
I don’t know when I started doing this, but it only made sense for me to salute the flag as it was hoisted. I had seen it on television—soldiers rendering their own salutes—and I imitated them.
The property manager got a big kick out of this, and his beaming face only served to encourage my foal-like love of country.
The seed planted at that early age was invaluable. I had a broken family and an abusive home, and as a child, long before I really knew why, I needed some kind of pride in something — a value system, a set of beliefs, a confident path out of fear and uncertainty.
When you’re a kid who knows a little too much and doesn’t have much—materially and parentally—it can feel brutally lonely and hopeless.
In those early years, I had public schools teachers who told us that we could be anything we wanted in this country if we were willing to work hard to achieve it. To be fair, I don’t think it’d be remotely accurate to say that’s true. Privilege is a real thing, and I have found, far too often, that those with it seem unwilling or unable to see it.
But at that time, I bought into it. I studied hard, I stayed out of trouble, I dreamed big, and, above all, I wanted to serve my country.
For many, this is far too earnest. It smacks of naïveté and propaganda and jingoism and indoctrination into the ideology of American exceptionalism, specifically created to enable the military-industrial complex and keep the most elite in power.
I can’t deny our country is built on a horrific past, and moreover, we have an obligation to confront it, be honest about it, and rectify it, whatever discomfort that will entail.
But I do love my country. I love America. I often feel disappointed by what happens in this country—and in recent years, with increasing frequency—but I have never abandoned a feeling of pride in what this country could be.
I am a proud American because I still believe there are countless people in this nation who also believe in the vision of a country where no one is oppressed and where no one gets left behind.
In spite of our history, I still believe America has the potential to be a model society, and it is because of this belief that I rarely felt lonelier in my perspective than I have in recent years.
I am a trans woman living in a country in which a major political party has made it one of their prime policy objectives to eradicate people like me, for no more reason than mollifying their own fear and insecurity.
I have watched my community become a scapegoat through which mainstream politicians seek to shamelessly pander to their base and exploit unyielding ignorance for fundraising and political gain.
My community is living through a nightmare of violent propaganda from which there appears to be no immediate escape.
It is, of course, not just the trans community. Every marginalized community is witnessing a moment in which the human imperative to be empathetic and respectful, the very basics of decency toward others, is derided as “woke.”
And thus, I can understand why there are some in marginalized communities who see a trans woman wave an American flag and can’t help but feel annoyance and frustration.
My fluency in the language of pain is only native to the hurt I’ve experienced. I cannot fully understand the complexity of pain others experience that is varied from my own, nor do I pretend to understand it.
But respectfully: I have pride in my country because over the course of my life, it is has often been one of the few things that kept me going. Imperfect and struggling though it may be, I have to believe in America because I have already thrown my whole self into the idea of it.
And I do believe in this country. I still believe we can be something grand and hopeful and proud and inclusive, if only we’ll keep it up long enough to finally make the choices required to that end.
I hope all of you will enjoy time with your family and friends today, and more than that, I hope you’ll take time to remind your kids of the country we could have someday.
Happy Fourth to you and yours.
Hi, I’m Charlotte Clymer, and this is Charlotte’s Web Thoughts, my Substack. It’s completely free to access and read, but it’s also how my bills! So, please do kindly consider upgrading to a paid subscription: just $7/month or save money with the $70/annual sub. You can also go way above and beyond by becoming a Lifetime Member at $250.
Because I Love My Country