In the past I was what you might call a sunshine patriot. I would hang a flag on Memorial Day, Flag Day, Fourth of July, and Veterans Day. When the hostages were taken in Iran, in 1979, I hung my flag all 444 days of their captivity but took it down after their release and resumed my old pattern
On 9/11, I was living in Arizona and I flew my flag until I went into town and I saw it flown in tandem with the Confederate flag. When I got back home I took my flag down because I didn’t want to be associated with those who had co-opted the American flag for some neo-Confederate purposes. Often the same people who flew the Confederate flag out there also flew the Nazi flag. It was around this time that flying a flag didn’t just seem to be about being a patriot, but seemed to be conflated with other darker purposes.
Once my then son-in-law enlisted in the Marines and was sent on his first of three deployments to Iraq, I began to put my flag out on a daily basis. My oldest son enlisted in the Army few years later, followed a few years after that by his brother, my youngest child. Our flag was often accompanied by yellow ribbons which were tied to the trees and Christmas wreathes for the decade and a half that our loved ones cycled in and out of Iraq, Afghanistan, and South Korea. I felt it was my small way of showing my support for them and to remind others that something was going on half way around the world that we should remember.
I had displayed the flag daily since then, up until the day after the last presidential election. I had put a great deal of time into studying the issues, watching the debates, and learning about the candidates. I could not understand why the Republican Party candidates didn’t stand up to the bully-there was so much in his history and lack of preparedness they could have tarred him with. When he ultimately became the nominee, I thought, “well, this will be a cake walk.” On Election Day I woke up early and went to cast my vote. I wore white in anticipation of having the first woman elected President. My daughter threw an election night watch party and even decorated cookies with images of the candidates. We settled in to watch the returns and as the results came in and it appeared that history would not be made, the atmosphere turned somber. I could not bear to watch until the final results were tallied and the election called. I drove home numb. I remember spending a month or more in a state of absolute disbelief and in something like a fog.
There would be no more daily flag display. As the months have unfolded and the daily barrage of outrage after outrage has been normalized in our media, a different kind of history is being made. I have found that I don’t have the stomach to fly my flag.
To me the flag has always served as a symbol of our freedom, opportunity, determination, a willingness to stand up for those who cannot fight for themselves, and goodness. Although I recognize that our history is deeply flawed, I also realize that there are many people who work tirelessly to make us a more perfect union.
Today I don’t feel the same way about our flag. When I witness an active assault on our governmental institutions, the rejection of the Constitution, the willing trashing of the Fourth Estate, an embrace of strongmen, a rejection of our longest allies, the establishment of internment camps /detention centers for those seeking refuge in a country that has historically opened it’s door to the wretched refuse, and the forced removal of children from their parents, it no longer feels right to show my support by flying the flag. I cannot show my support for a country that would let all of this happen without a huge outpouring of rage. There are many, many people who are phoning, e-mailing, marching, protesting, yet the individuals who represent us seem impotent against the miasma of fascism that is blanketing our country.
I’m also not sure if the flag means the same thing when it is displayed flanked by flags from the most brutal regime on the planet. The leader of North Korea starves his people, imprisons his people, tortures his people, murders his people in every vile manner imaginable. And our flag stood with his.
I will not be putting up my flag until I see a change in who we are as a nation. Until I see children reunited with their parents; until I see our representatives work for us instead of corporations; until I see our representatives work together in true bipartisan fashion to solve immigration/refugee/asylum issues in a moral and humane manner; until I see our politicians place their loyalty to country over party or corporation; until I see a government that works to make life better for all of its citizens and not just the wealthy.
I may have to wait a long time for all of that to happen, if ever. I am pinning a lot of my hope on November for a turn in the tide, a firm rejection and repudiation of our latest fascist flirtation. I will live in hope that we have looked into the abyss and made a choice to turn our backs on that darkness.
I’m not sure whether the flag should serve as a barometer of my patriotism and probably most people don’t give a damn whether or not I display one. My youngest son wears one on his uniform every day and I know he would support me in any decision I make. It just no longer seems to be the right thing to do.