And Our Flag Was Still There
by Barbara Kingsolver
September 25, 2001
San Francisco Chronicle
MY DAUGHTER came home from kindergarten and
announced, "Tomorrow we all have to wear red, white
and blue."
"Why?" I asked, trying not to sound wary.
"For all the people that died when the airplanes hit
the buildings."
I fear the sound of saber-rattling, dread that not
just my taxes but even my children are being dragged
to the cause of death in the wake of death. I asked
quietly, "Why not wear black, then? Why the colors of
the flag, what does that mean?"
"It means we're a country. Just all people together."
So we sent her to school in red, white and blue,
because it felt to her like something she could do to
help people who are hurting. And because my wise
husband put a hand on my arm and said, "You can't let
hateful people steal the flag from us."
He didn't mean terrorists, he meant Americans. Like
the man in a city near us who went on a rampage
crying "I'm an American" as he shot at foreign-born
neighbors, killing a gentle Sikh man in a turban and
terrifying every brown- skinned person I know. Or the
talk-radio hosts, who are viciously bullying a
handful of members of Congress for airing sensible
skepticism at a time when the White House was
announcing preposterous things in apparent self-
interest, such as the "revelation" that terrorists
had aimed to hunt down Air Force One with a hijacked
commercial plane. Rep. Barbara Lee cast the House's
only vote against handing over virtually unlimited
war powers to one man that a whole lot of us didn't
vote for. As a consequence, so many red-blooded
Americans have now threatened to kill her, she has to
have additional bodyguards.
Patriotism seems to be falling to whoever claims it
loudest, and we're left struggling to find a
definition in a clamor of reaction. This is what I'm
hearing: Patriotism opposes the lone representative
of democracy who was brave enough to vote her
conscience instead of following an angry mob.
(Several others have confessed they wanted to vote
the same way, but chickened out.) Patriotism
threatens free speech with death. It is infuriated by
thoughtful hesitation, constructive criticism of our
leaders and pleas for peace. It despises people of
foreign birth who've spent years learning our culture
and contributing their talents to our economy. It has
specifically blamed homosexuals, feminists and the
American Civil Liberties Union. In other words, the
American flag stands for intimidation, censorship,
violence, bigotry, sexism, homophobia, and shoving
the Constitution through a paper shredder? Who
are we calling terrorists here? Outsiders can destroy
airplanes and buildings, but it is only we, the
people, who have the power to demolish our own
ideals.
It's a fact of our culture that the loudest mouths
get the most airplay, and the loudmouths are saying
now that in times of crisis it is treasonous to
question our leaders. Nonsense. That kind of thinking
let fascism grow out of the international depression
of the 1930s. In critical times, our leaders need
most to be influenced by the moderating force of
dissent. That is the basis of democracy, in sickness
and in health, and especially when national choices
are difficult, and bear grave consequences.
It occurs to me that my patriotic duty is to
recapture my flag from the men now waving it in the
name of jingoism and censorship. This isn't easy for
me.
The last time I looked at a flag with unambiguous
pride, I was 13. Right after that, Vietnam began
teaching me lessons in ambiguity, and the lessons
have kept coming. I've learned of things my
government has done to the world that made me direly
ashamed. I've been further alienated from my flag by
people who waved it at me declaring I should love it
or leave it. I search my soul and find I cannot love
killing for any reason. When I look at the flag, I
see it illuminated by the rocket's red glare.
This is why the warmongers so easily gain the upper
hand in the patriot game: Our nation was established
with a fight for independence, so our iconography
grew out of war. Our national anthem celebrates it;
our language of patriotism is inseparable from a
battle cry. Our every military campaign is still
launched with phrases about men dying for the
freedoms we hold dear, even when this is impossible
to square with reality. In the Persian Gulf War we
rushed to the aid of Kuwait, a monarchy in which
women enjoyed approximately the same rights as a 19th
century American slave. The values we fought for and
won there are best understood, I think, by oil
companies. Meanwhile, a country of civilians was
devastated, and remains destroyed.
Stating these realities does not violate the
principles of liberty, equality, and freedom of
speech; it exercises them, and by exercise we grow
stronger. I would like to stand up for my flag and
wave it over a few things I believe in, including but
not limited to the protection of dissenting points of
view. After 225 years, I vote to retire the rocket's
red glare and the bullet wound as obsolete symbols of
Old Glory. We desperately need a new iconography of
patriotism. I propose we rip stripes of cloth from
the uniforms of public servants who rescued the
injured and panic-stricken, remaining at their post
until it fell down on them. The red glare of candles
held in vigils everywhere as peace-loving people pray
for the bereaved, and plead for compassion and
restraint. The blood donated to the Red Cross. The
stars of film and theater and music who are using
their influence to raise money for recovery. The
small hands of schoolchildren collecting pennies,
toothpaste, teddy bears, anything they think might
help the kids who've lost their moms and dads.
My town, Tucson, Ariz., has become famous for a
simple gesture in which some 8,000 people wearing
red, white or blue T-shirts assembled themselves in
the shape of a flag on a baseball field and had their
photograph taken from above. That picture has begun
to turn up everywhere, but we saw it first on our
newspaper's front page. Our family stood in silence
for a minute looking at that photo of a human flag,
trying to know what to make of it. Then my teenage
daughter, who has a quick mind for numbers and a
sensitive heart, did an interesting thing. She laid
her hand over a quarter of the picture, leaving
visible more or less 6,000 people, and said, "That
many are dead." We stared at what that looked like --
all those innocent souls, multi-colored and packed
into a conjoined destiny -- and shuddered at the one
simple truth behind all the noise, which is that so
many beloved people have suddenly gone from us. That
is my flag, and that's what it means: We're all just
people together.
Barbara Kingsolver is the author of nine books
including "The Poisonwood Bible," (Harperflamingo,
1999).
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Gee they should have tracked the "Terrorist in chief" Bush in his plane and blow him out of the skies ! That would have spared some thousands and thousands of human lives in the US and abroad, well at least for a while... Maybe next time ha ha ha!
