My disdain for nationalism has been 18 years in the making.
As an immigrant, I am a confused crossbreed between Americana and the memories of a place I now know only by name. I have what some might call a “hybrid identity,” a product of my effort to reconcile Vietnamese and American patriotism. I refuse to incorporate either in my personal life.
Discussions of emigration make the case for a poignant identity crisis that immigrants endure when they acclimate to foreign surroundings. But when it comes to nationalism, identity crises also concern those citizens naturalized by birth. As American citizens, immigrant or not, we undergo a crisis of identity as forces of nationalism erode our sense of individuality.
When we are overcome with patriotism, we begin to define ourselves not by individual choices or experiences, but a perceived shared experience.
The line between personal and national identity gets blurry. Young patriots construct their notions of selfhood around notions of nationhood. We use answers to the question “Who are we?” to answer the question, “Who am I?” When a country such as ours values virtues of democracy, justice and liberty above all else, we automatically begin to value them, too.
We value them because of some vague, collective memory; yet our personal experiences have no connection that compares to their philosophical weight. When these virtues — democracy, justice and liberty — become a part of our personal identity, they become buzz words politicians use to command ideological obedience. Would we care so much about these American words if no one were around to say we had to?
We become invested in forwarding democracy, whether or not we know how to achieve it. Yet, we perform the most mundane of rituals, like reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in elementary school and the most violent ones, like declaring war on Iraq in the name of “American justice” and “democratic values,” as former President George W. Bush said in a 2003 speech.
At this point in my life, I admit that my unfavorable views of nationalism stem from a childhood of somewhat conflicting cultures. There is a resistance — albeit subtle — to Americana. A fascination with all things British, from Harry Potter to “Downton Abbey,” and the idealization of European cultures, like Italian or Parisian, suggest disenchantment with American things.
Nationalism dominates our lives through policy-making, war and ideology, but it also overshadows our personalities.
It is “Americanism” that compels us to do things like buy big cars, have unyielding allegiance to sports teams or wear the spangled banner on our shirts when we travel. It can be gendered, too, and it seems to affect men more than women. Some men I know would rather live lives as artists, unencumbered by a Chevy payment and a house mortgage, but they’re afraid to be seen as irresponsible or foolish in judgment. For some people, the absence of some American ideals reveals a lack of personal substance and character.
Nationalism isn’t a destination, but a way of life. It is the biggest and most dangerous bandwagon any citizen can board. It is the biggest form of identity laziness when we insert hollow fragments of some “national narrative” into our personal biographies without fully understanding what they mean.
Reach the columnist at ctruong1@asu.edu or follow her at @ce_truong
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