Hello and welcome to a steamy Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is July 3rd and Independence Day eve.
While everyone in Wannaskaland is probably out enjoying the many festivities, parades, and parties that make up this holiday weekend, I've been sitting at home (in the air conditioning) watching UEFA Euro 2020 (in 2021) the European soccer championships. The Czech Republic played Denmark in the quarterfinals. The game ended 1-2, with Denmark taking the win while two Czech players took bandages for head injuries.
Admittedly, we don't follow sports too closely at our house. But for the big, international competitions (think Olympics) that tingle of national pride and nostalgia invariably compels a body to stop what its doing and tune in. The fact that the Euro2020 takes place during the United States' own Independence Day weekend is cause for pause to consider the idea and emotion behind pride for one's nation and love of country.
I recall growing up with an awareness that being American was a uniquely special privilege. As if living in the United States was just about the biggest win you could ask for in the lottery of life. (As they say in realty, "Location, locacation, location.") In elementary school, we heard plenty of stories about droughts and famine in Ethiopia. One day at school, the hot lunch served was gruel, so we would understand just how bad the food was for the suffering children in Africa. Then there was AIDS. And, in those days, we were reading The Diary of Anne Frank as early as the 5th grade; a text that would be revisited as frequently and as faithfully as Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
From a young age, I understood that with being American came a distinct privilege and that, even if I was just an average citizen from a small, no-big-deal (to me) town in Minnesota, a certain aura clung to me like a perfume. "Aaah...you're American," was a phrase I heard often in the early get-to-know-you days of the year I spent in Belgium as a high school exchange student. I thought, "Yes, yes, I am." And I felt proud. And lucky. And like, wow, the fame, in a way, that came simply because of my nationality.
One day, as I sat with a group of other foreigners (and by this I mean non-Belgians) in a Belgian cafe, the tone of "Aaah...you're American" shifted. This version of the familiar tune was new to my ears. The glint in the stranger's eye and the knowing nods around the table rang alarm bells in my head. My arms prickled despite the heat. And, suddenly, it wasn't so cool to broadcast my nationality.
I learned to keep a low profile, blend in, speak Dutch, avoid wearing white socks and tennis shoes, because the reality also was being American could either work for me or against me and I wouldn't know until I knew more about the people I was encountering, no matter how nice I thought I was. (I'm from Minnesota, remember?)
It was also while I was in Belgium that the United States hosted the 1994 World Cup and I witnessed a fascinating surge of national pride. After spending a year learning how to turn down the volume on the "I'm American" broadcast, Europeans all around me were amping it up. Belgium had a strong team that year and I still have the Belgian newspapers with the World Cup headlines splashed across its front pages in my scrapbook. Belgium beat Morocco. Belgium beat the Netherlands. (Such a significant victory for the Belgians, I couldn't possibly even begin to put it into the right words.)
I also had a chance to visit friends in Germany. I recall them gearing up for the match between Germany and South Korea and my friends donning any kind of German garb they could find in their closets and cheering so fervently their faces turned red and veins popped. When the German team won, they whooped and dug out some German flags (from where, I don't know) and we all hopped in a car and drove around the village hooting and honking to celebrate the big win.
When I returned to the States, I continued my Dutch language studies. There were only four of us in the advanced Dutch language classes at the University of Minnesota and, to be honest with you, we spoke English more often than not. I selected Linguistics as my major and became fascinated with the relationship between language and culture and especially in the realm of a very small field of study that focused on LCTLs - Less Commonly Taught Languages.
I met a Czech and moved to the Czech Republic and tackled another LCTL.
And throughout the years and the life experiences, I have often thought about national pride and how it sticks with a people; how it shows up in their language, how it surfaces especially during international soccer football tournaments. A belief that one is special in a particular moment in time. A belief that your nation has value and contributes something of worth to the world. That your country gets its well-deserved five minutes to shine in the spotlight of the global stage.
And on national holidays - no matter where they are in the world and especially if they are celebrating a story of independence - I am reminded of these thoughts. About patriotism and love of country. And I am conflicted.
My family has two homes. Two nationalities. How do we divide our loyalties? Do we have to? And, if so, why?
I'll state the obvious: it's been a crazy year. When I think about where the world was one year ago and where it is today, and then throw in the complex emotions about the Independence Day holiday - it's just that, well...national pride is a tricky thing right now.
I don't feel very celebratory but rather sober. That, as a nation, the clear-eyed reality is that we have a long, long way to go. For example, on this day, the Battle of Gettysburg ended (see below). Before we don our red, white, and blue, grab a hot dog, and scoop up the potato salad, let's unpack that history, shall we?
Perhaps my takeaway from all the international soccer cups and national holidays I've seen and experienced in all the countries I've either lived in or visited is this: let us look past the feelgood narratives that spur superficial, fleeting sentiments of pride and instead focus our efforts on listening to the tellings of history's uglier stories so that we, as a nation, feel called and compelled to not only be better but to do better - and then actually do the bettter. If we, as a united people - A United States, a united world - could all get behind that, imagine what next year's Independence Day celebration could look like.
2022 could be so monumental, I would even consider wearing something sparkly for the occasion.
On This Day
Remembering You
Kim
A sober yet sparkly post. Thanks Kim
ReplyDeleteStellar topic so well explicated. I, too, often think about the privilege of being an American. One year I was in Paris for Bastille Day, also known as French National Day. It celebrates the unity of the French people. Nobody does it quite like the French. Actually, every nation that celebrates such days attempts to bring people together. Wouldn't it be wonderful if that happened everyday?
ReplyDeleteThanks Kim, for writing this excellent exploration that is both personal and worldwide.