Compatriots - June 30 2025

 

Compatriots

June 30 2025



Of the many kinds of love

love of country

strikes me as the kid brother

who tags along;

tolerated

but mostly ignored.

After all

you don't share a bunk bed with it

as I and my brother did.

Don’t fall into it

besotted.

Don’t declare before the world

with arcane formality

“till death do us part”.

And don’t repay in its old age

the loving care

it once gave you.

Not when it’s just an accident of birth

a fluke of geography.

Love of country

almost seems improper.

Sure, there’s attachment, belonging, a sense of “usness”.

I’m fond of our flag;

a simple maple leaf

in bold red and white

against a clear blue sky.

And name another founding document

that contains as sensible a promise

as “peace, order, and good government”.

But too much flag-waving and fist-pumping

seems unbecoming.

Dividing people

into them and us

leads to nothing good.

And when patriotism

turns to jingoism

“a refuge for scoundrels” comes to mind.

So if you hear blood and soil from a frenzied crowd

watch your back.

Yet we’re shaped by the culture

we grew up in.

Our native country

is part of our identity;

one of the many hyphenated nouns

that make us who we are.

And people die for it;

buried

in a flag-draped casket

as the anthem is played

and taps rings out,

an honour guard

fires 3 shots.

A citizen, now

of that great country

not found on any map.

A country feared more than loved.

A country

from which no one’s yet returned.

The land of the dead;

the final resting place

where in the end

we’re all compatriots.

I’m embarrassed by how much I write about death. But although this poem doesend on a morbid note, it’s not at all about death. It’s about our commonality, despite national boundaries and superficial differences. It’s just that death is the great leveller, the most potent manifestation of our shared humanity.

There’s been a lot of patriotic talk here in reaction to Trump’s racist and xenophobic “America First” crusade. I feel patriotic, but at the same time distrust that feeling.

When I think of love of country, I wonder if the word “love” is somewhat misplaced. Because compared to all the others — filial, fraternal, romantic, maternal, and spiritual — patriotism is a kind of love where you can have too much, and nothing good has ever come of it. There’s a fine line between healthy patriotism and blind jingoism.

I apologize to Christians who might object to from which no one’s yet returned. But aren’t there always exceptions to the rule? And anyway, atheists get to take liberties!