I haven't been able to be very patriotic about the United States for a few years now.  I'm pretty sure it began when I started following politics --particularly campaign finance reform--and realized it was possible that America might actually be less of a democracy than I had always been told it was.  If American democracy--the surest thing in the world next to gravity, it seemed--might have been somehow compromised (even if only marginally), then what else might turn out not to be true?  That's when I first became disillusioned with America.

I've remained patriotically subdued, however, for another reason, a pretty simple one that's been getting a lot of attention recently:  A lot of people in the Third World hate us.  This makes me extremely uncomfortable.  I mean, these are the most deprived people in the world, and they hate America.

This really wouldn't matter if I/we hated them as well, but on the contrary, their plight is one of my primary political concerns and I think about it everyday.  Every car I see is an eccentric allocation of resources for which it seems there might have been a better purpose.  Every plastic soda bottle reminds me of the First World's famous rate of consumerism and waste.  (Even recycling doesn't fully solve the problem--it just changes the waste from a landfill problem to a chemical pollution one; but that's another issue.)  Every time I go to sleep in my cozy bed I think of the poor souls who make do with hard earth, or concrete, or something less pleasant in between--many of them so malnourished as to be nearly unfit to be called human.  Every time I use toilet paper (or just a toilet) I think of what it's like to do your business in the other 70% of the world, and how they would laugh at me if I asked for some.  Every nicely paved road I see is a symbol of seemingly endless wealth and luxury.  Every time I go to the dining hall I think of how the food we don't eat could probably solve some small country's starvation problems.  Every airplane I see makes me think of how exclusively available it is to rich pricks like me.  Every police car, ambulance, and fire truck reminds me of how ridiculously pampered America really is.  Every time I see an American flag, I think of the hate it elicits from the poorest people in the world.

Thinking in this way, my daily environment seems of course familiar but constantly alien, odious and unjust.  The First World, and America especially, appalls me.  Intellectually, I know most of the points I've raised are misleading or inaccurate or both.  But I also know that to a degree, at least, this is the way America looks through the eyes of the Third World, and that fact alone makes it worth understanding.

My method of understanding the Third World view might be a bit peculiar and excessive, as I have gone just shy of actually adopting it.  I don't hate America, but from my perspective, the extravagant displays of patriotism we've all become accustomed to after September 11 seem particularly incongruent and almost absurd.  What accomplishment are we celebrating?  The fact that America survived the loss of two buildings?  The fact that people still care about other people in this country?  (That might be half-legitimate, which is pretty sad.)  How can we celebrate when there is so much more work to be done?  When so many go hungry everyday?  When sick dictators abuse their people with impunity?

I do understand the flag displays on one level--sympathy for the victims.  For them, my grief is endless.  For them, I display the flag.  But my sadness for their loss never turned to anger, nor did it turn into pride in my country.

Probably the greatest reason for my reluctance to identify closely with America, however, is simply that I find it incredibly hard to identify myself with a country that the most maligned people in the world consider their enemy.

That so few in America feel this way disturbs me deeply.  I don't understand it.  I can't think of anyone in the world I would rather help than people in developing nations.  Being their enemy is the farthest thing from my mind and their hateful sentiment gives me, unlike most Americans, substantial pause before I run around waving the flag.
 

So: When will I love America again?

My grief for the Third World places it as my top global concern (as you might have guessed).  The easiest way for me to love America is if the Third World starts loving it for some reason.  Barring that, however, I will love America to death when Third World development becomes a national priority (not likely and possibly not safe), or when I see that our efforts at helping developing nations have been successful and the world poverty rate falls to more normal levels.  Causality, of course, would be a little hard to prove.  The bottom line, however, is that the condition of the Third World is undeserved, and in this Age of Total Justice, our humanity obligates us to make all possible effort to help them overcome that injustice.

I'm also still kind of hung up on campaign finance reform, the rigid two-party system, and the lack of decent presidential candidates.  My confidence in America would soar if I felt more represented by my government.  That's the point of America, after all, isn't it?

With respect to love of country, these are probably the two issues I care most about.  Some progress seems to have been made recently in the latter, with the campaign finance reform discharge petition successfully capturing enough signatures to bring the bill to the floor of the House (no actual floor debate as of this writing).  Of course, the satisfactory criteria elude even me, and it's possible that I will always remain lukewarm to the United States.  It's just as likely that my views will transform entirely and I'll become a flag-waving fanatic, shooting myself out of cannons on the Fourth of July.
 

Until then, God Bless Afghanistan.
 

My United Nations and United States flags.