Photo: Lisa Scicchitano
I have often been grateful to be an American, but proud? Perhaps the happiness I felt when we landed on the moon, when Nixon resigned and when Obama was elected is akin to pride. Even so, I have never thought of myself as a “proud American” or a patriot, at least not in any conventional sense. Being a patriot, like being religious, doesn’t make one a good person. What matters is how one’s patriotism or religion manifests. Lest we forget, the perpetrators of 9-11 were both patriotic and religious.
Personally, I have never liked the Pledge of Allegiance, “The Star-Spangled Banner” or “God Bless America,” especially Kate Smith’s bombastic version, which has always made me cringe. Not that anyone is asking, but my choice for our National Anthem has long been Phil Och’s “Power and Glory” or Leonard Cohen’s “Democracy.”
I have never flown a flag in my yard, nor I have never worn a flag pin. I believe that flag-burning should remain legal. I am not a fan of fireworks. For that alone, some would consider me part of that liberal hate-America crowd, whatever that is exactly.
I have never thought of myself as coming from a “military family,” but I actually did. My maternal grandfather, John Cascella, was born in Italy and fought in an U.S. combat unit in World War I, for which he was granted American citizenship. My father, Joseph Raiola, was in the army during World War II, though dad never had a nice word to say about his time in the military, except that he got out.
My mother, Christina Raiola, spent over 30 years as a civilian working for the army – mostly in protocol – at Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island and Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. While mom was working closely with high-ranking military brass, meticulously organizing dinners and official ceremonies, I was busy as the President of the student body at Adelphi University (in 1972) trying to get army recruiters permanently banished from campus.
My generation – the baby boomers – had it easy in a lot of ways. There was little doubt that we were going to have a better life, a life with more choices and opportunities than our parents did. There was one caveat: Don’t die in Vietnam.
It was no easy thing to feel proud to be an American during the Vietnam War. The Greatest Generation could understandably take pride in going to war to stop Hitler. It was considerably more difficult to take pride in not going to war to stop Nixon. Nixon was hardly Hitler, but the war he was waging was as sickening and ugly as it was morally indefensible. In Vietnam, America was the evil invader, slaughtering innocents, burning villages, and then denying it ever happened. Many in my generation were trying to save the world from America, America from itself, and their own skin at the same time.
I had a draft card and I was in the final year of the lottery to be called to military service. The odds of my number being chosen were slim, but I was nonetheless prepared. I had become a minister in the Universal Life Church. I was also a member in good-standing of CCCO – the now defunct Central Committee for Conscientious Objectors. I stood, as much as I was capable at the time, against America’s war. And if that qualified me as “anti-American” to the vocal “love it or leave it crowd,” then so be it.
Among those who were outspoken against the war were my boyhood heroes: Bob Dylan, Muhammad Ali, John Lennon and The Smothers Brothers. Yet somehow, they were all deemed enemies of the state. Our best leaders, white and black, were shot and killed. I feared my fellow countrymen far more than I did anyone in Vietnam. At the time, the idea of “American pride” struck me as absurd. And actually, it still does, though for different reasons now. As George Carlin put it in one of his standup specials:
“I could never understand ethic or national pride. Because to me, pride should be reserved for something that you achieve on your own, not something that happens by accident of birth. Being Irish isn’t a skill. It’s a fucking genetic accident. You wouldn’t say, ‘I’m proud to be 5’11”,’ or ‘I’m proud to have predisposition for colon cancer.’ So why the fuck would you be proud to be Irish or Italian or American or anything? Hey, if you’re happy with it, that’s fine. Put that on your car: ‘Happy to be an American.’ Be happy, don’t be proud. There’s too much pride as it is. ‘Pride goeth before a fall.’ Never forget Proverbs.”
When George Carlin quotes the Bible, I listen.
What is pride anyway? When I say I’m “proud” of something I’ve done, I’m saying that I feel good about it. It’s a satisfying feeling. But so what? David Duke, Billy Grahman Junior and Mike Pence are each proud, patriotic and, in my view, terrible men. Idiots, racists, misogynists and homophobes may swell with national pride quite easily. So might criminals, rioters and even killers. Here is a list of things more important than pride: being informed, intelligence, openness to changing one’s mind, compassion, generosity, honesty, being a good listener, creativity, empathy and wisdom. Having pride doesn’t even crack my top ten.
At this time, America has so much to not be proud of. Our President is an unimaginable toxic cesspool of hate, intolerance, ignorance and incompetence. The minority rules the majority. Our system of government and electoral process are arcane, and resistant to reform. Among western democracies, America is first in mass shootings, obesity and watching television. Currently, our health care system is ranked 15th in the world, however 27.5 million Americans were without health insurance in 2018 and more than 5 million Americans have lost their employer-based coverage this year. Among comparable countries, our life expectancy is ranked 12th and has recently declined. We are ranked 24th on “environmental performance.” America is the only developed western nation that regularly applies the death penalty and the first to develop lethal injection. In the World Press Freedom Index, we are currently ranked 45th. The state of race relations in the country speaks for itself.
Waving the flag, chest thumping and passionate defenses of American Exceptionalism, all expressions of American pride, will not improve our lot. The bigger issue is that pride itself is too often an impediment to genuine introspection and needed social change. Pride too often inspires self-inflation. That’s why it “comes before a fall.” And yet, being proud is essential to our well-being, individually and collectively. So the question must be asked: What would a healthy sense of American pride look like in 2020?
First and most importantly, a healthy sense of pride is rooted in reality. And given that Americans can’t agree on what constitutes reality, there is currently no chance of us forging any shared sense of healthy national pride. For proof of that, look no further than our splintered response to COVID-19.
Even if we were under relentless attack by the Martians, we would continue to fight bitterly amongst ourselves. Some would scream “fake news,” while others would insist the Martians did not pose much of a threat (even as they incinerated our cities), while others would take cover while hoping scientists came up with an effective weapon against the invaders so they could get on with their lives. Needless to say, after a Martian attack, there would be no speedy “return to normal,” just as there won’t be now.
Pride is something that needs to be earned and even when earned, humility is the higher virtue. As the great sage Lao Tzu says in the Tao Te Ching: “A leader is best when people barely know they exist, and when their work is done, their aim fulfilled, the people will say: we did it ourselves.”