“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the
United States of America.”
2,340.
I have recited those words 2,340 times, every
day from kindergarten to senior year of high
school.
I grew up in Washington, a state named for
our first President.
Some of my favorite songs as a child were
Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.”
and John Phillip Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes
Forever.”
We celebrated Veteran’s Day with an assembly
at school and Independence Day with fireworks
at home.
Growing up American was easy.
It is only now that I’m older, the words
of the Pledge of Allegiance still inscribed
on my soul from 2,340 repetitions, that I
start to critically examine their message.
I look up the history of the Pledge.
I learn that it was originally written as
a marketing tactic to sell more American flags
to elementary schools in conjunction with
a Columbus Day ceremony.
I realize now that just as the flag is a symbol
of national pride, the Pledge might be a symbol
of American capitalism and ignorance.
“If you had to describe an American identity
in one word, what word would you use?”
“Patriotism.”
“Liberty.”
“Freedom.”
“Unrest.”
“And to the Republic for which it stands,”
If the flag stands for our Republic, what
does our Republic stand for?
When I think of America today, I think of
militarism and capitalism, of dominant narratives
of whiteness and the millions of people of
color who live in for-profit prisons because
our society has determined that is the best
way to remove the Other, of children who are
afraid to go to school for fear of getting
shot because adults can’t agree on legislation
to help keep them safe, of incessant name-calling
on social media and news outlets because we
are so polarized that we would rather dismiss
others’ ideas outright than really talk
to them.
I think of Thi Bui’s memoir The Best We
Could Do, and how she feels compelled to share
her parents’ stories of Vietnam because
they are more nuanced than the American version
of that war, and how when she talks about
the famous photograph “Saigon Execution”
she points out that the man who was shot had
just murdered an entire family and that is
not the side of the story we know, that even
when the United States pulled our military
out of danger, the war continued for the Vietnamese.
We proclaim life, liberty, and the pursuit
of happiness, but for whom?
“If you had to describe an American identity
in one word, what word would you use?”
“Brazen.”
“Gluttonous.”
“Ignorant.”
“Entertainment.”
“Afraid.”
“One Nation under God,”
Benedict Anderson described nationhood as
an “imagined community,” a community constructed
by people who perceive themselves as part
of a larger group.
He writes that “the nation is always conceived
as a deep, horizontal comradeship,” and
that “ultimately it is this fraternity that
makes it possible, over the past two centuries,
for so many millions of people, not so much
to kill, as willingly to die for such limited
imaginings.”
We perform our patriotism to the point of
death.
I would not be here if other men and women
had not died to make this country possible.
I know that.
But I am sad that our patriotism is born from
a place that says “we are better than others,
we deserve this form of existence more than
other people deserve to live.”
Our country teaches children to treat others
the way they want to be treated while simultaneously
teaching them the opposite – that some people
matter more than others.
“If you had to describe an American identity
in one word, what word would you use?”
“Pride.”
“Overcompensating.”
“Bully.”
“Democracy.”
“Indivisible,”
Our rhetoric says “indivisible,” but as
a nation we are divided: into liberals and
conservatives, whites and not-whites, natural-born
citizens and immigrants.
We have forgotten that our nation was founded
by immigrants.
Our land belonged to indigenous peoples.
We are the ones who divided it amongst ourselves.
In the introduction to his cookbook Asian-American:
Proudly Inauthentic Recipes from the Philippines
to Brooklyn, Dale Talde shares his childhood
experience of living two lives: one Filipino,
and one American.
He writes, “It’s not that we didn’t
want to be Filipino.
We just badly wanted to be American, or at
least to find a way to fit in.
In my family and many Filipino families, the
U.S. looms large, whether you live here or
not...
I embraced my American identity, though my
Filipino life kept intruding.”
Talde grew up craving American fast food,
and as a cook, he fuses Asian and American
flavors to create something new.
His work is reminiscent of the young United
States, when our country was shaped by immigrants
who wanted to create something new.
Today, words with power, like “authenticity,”
“illegal,” and “border control” limit
our integration.
They divide us.
“If you had to describe an American identity
in one word, what word would you use?”
“Ethnocentric.”
Hodgepodge.”
“Oblivious.”
“Hopeful.”
“Ignorant.”
“With liberty and justice for all.”
Why must we make America great again?
Was this country ever truly great?
It seems like there has been a collective
reimagining of our past, some nostalgic creation
of a homeland America whose greatness I cannot
see.
242 years after declaring independence to
create a “land of the free,” so many men
and women are not free.
Systematic oppression prevents liberty and
justice, and we’re only starting to explore
how to dismantle it from the top down rather
than from the bottom up.
Progress is slow.
If being an American means so many different
things to different people, where does that
leave me?
I am an American.
I have never left this country, have never
lived outside the state named for our first
President.
I have no cultural ties to other nations.
This is my home, but I cannot support many
aspects of American culture.
I am no longer sure what it means to be American.
I do not know what it means to say “I pledge
allegiance to a country that is responsible
for many good things for me and many terrible
things for others” - even though I have
already said that 2,340 times.
“If I had to describe an American identity
in one word, what word would I use?”
“Contradictory.”
