From the second floor of my off-campus house, a large American flag is flying.
The genesis was simple: we noticed the flagpole holder on the balcony, and then spied Old Glory in a corner somewhere. If our house had contained one of those PACE rainbow flags, or the Ratty bagel flag, or a helium likeness of Miss Piggy, it would have gone up instead. Our flag-raising was not a calculated act of nationalism; it was not pro-war or anti-war; at the time, it was not a statement of any kind.
Yet, despite our intentions (or lack thereof), flags are symbols, and symbols denote meanings. So what does this flag mean? Is it a message I can stand behind?
The American flag represents one of the most loaded legacies in modern history. The image has been exploited for almost every domestic cause under the sun, used as both clothing and kindling.
Yet we need not look to the past for examples. When the events of Sept. 11 sparked a profusion of stars-and-stripes lapel pins, the message seemed to be clear: Bring 'em on. The terrorists want the world to devolve into barbarism, but we will not stop exporting our crusade - er, freedom. Thanks to a lapdog media, the Bush propaganda machine was able to simplify geopolitics into two poles: "with us" (red, white and blue against staid navy cotton) and "against us" (cheering as the towers fall).
To many Americans (a majority, arguably) the Patriot act brand of patriotism is unpalatable. But nothing is quite so unpalatable as terrorism - so jingoism wins the day, and we are still witnessing the results. The stars and stripes are arguably the biggest brand in America today. Turn on the TV, be it CNN or "American Idol," and you are bound to see a morphing background of computer-generated reds and blues.
If the American flag means exactly what Condi Rice has marketed it to mean, then of course I want nothing to do with it. But the flag and the republic for which it stands are broader and deeper than any ad hoc political sound bite. Terms like "liberty" and "democracy" have been co-opted to support violence, but this does not mean that the concepts they represent were empty to begin with.
In practice, the meaning of the flag is rarely as straightforward as the White House would like. On Sunday, the Week in Review section of the New York Times featured a front-page photo of seven poor, black New Orleans residents stranded on a rooftop. They were wearing white T-shirts and camouflage shorts, screaming for help, and waving - you guessed it - American flags. Why would we invoke this symbol as the hurricane waters rise? Are these people appealing for the equality and opportunity that America has clearly failed to deliver them? Is this an indictment, a plea or something else entirely?
To some of my neighbors, the American flag has always represented oppression and imperialism; the post-Sept. 11 backlash merely brought it to a farcical level. Indeed, this country was founded on slavery and genocide, and maintains a military presence throughout the world. According to this line of thought, any talk of equality is negated by a continuing reality of violence. I would not countenance flying a Confederate flag under the pretense that it represents states' rights; so how can I fly an American flag and say it stands for freedom?
Yet I still believe that America is a bold experiment in republicanism, and whether this promise has yet been fulfilled or not, it is a goal worth honoring. It is not an issue of genocide trumping constitutionalism, or vice versa; both historical strains are present in the flag, and both represent potential futures. We are Americans whether we like it or not; and, short of abandoning (or dismantling) our nation, we must do what we can to shape it in our image. The more the American brand is rhetorically tied to freedom fries instead of real freedom, the more the voting public is attracted to cowboy troglodytes instead of statesmen.
Perhaps we can use the flag to represent the vision of America that we committed to paper even as we forcibly removed, enslaved and extrerminated millions. It may be naïve to cling to this idealized notion; but it may also be our only hope.
Andrew Marantz '06.5 is just living out the American dream, and he just realized that nothing ... is what it seems.
