Warped Patriotism

On America and violence

Is it not one of the strangest features of the human condition that evidently no response to a tragedy seems sufficient? That everything appears to fall short? The deluge of commentary after the demoralizing attempted assassination on Trump has been appropriately dished out, but do people actually feel how utterly calamitous the incident was? “The United States dodged a catastrophe”— does America feel the weight of that sentence? No matter what is said about the infamous day, it is difficult to imagine words being able to match the gravity of the moment. But it is not a shortcoming of language. It is something else.

There is a stretch of time (about ten seconds) during the shooting in Butler, Pennsylvania that has not gotten much attention in the media, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it. It occurred right after Trump got to his feet, threw his fist to the sky, and mouthed “fight” to his supporters. The crowd erupted, as if on cue, into that nauseating chant: “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

Something about that moment felt downright backwards. It’s time to beat our chests? Right after a brush with death? Why not chant for Trump himself? There are times when it is undoubtedly appropriate to loudly profess pride in one’s nation, like the Olympics. But a celebratory expression of patriotism after a lone gunman nearly killed a presidential candidate is out of place. Now, however, I realize it was not. It was not out of place at all. It was the inevitable result and expression of a distinctly American moment.

For anybody who has not witnessed the countless episodes leading up to this thankfully failed crescendo, the tragic event this weekend truly dawns the central malady of America: No matter how many calls for peace ring out, it is a violent country. It is a place where you take your own risks. It is a combative place, where you are applauded if you emerge victorious, regardless if it is by accident, talent, or cheating. It is a modern Machiavellian nightmare boiling with hatred and on the edge of political collapse.

We heard it affirmed last night, too, when J.D. Vance addressed the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee. He told a story about his grandmother (Mamaw), who passed away shortly before he was deployed to Iraq in 2005:

“[W]hen we went through her things, we found nineteen loaded handguns,”

Immediate laughter and applause.

“They were stashed all over her house—under her bed, in the closet, in the silverware drawer. And we wondered what was going on, and it occurred to us that towards the end of her life, Mamaw couldn’t get around so well. And so this frail old woman made sure that no matter where she was, she was within arm’s length of whatever she needed to protect her family. That’s who we fight for! That’s American spirit!”

The response from the crowd? Cheers, applause, hoots and hollers. And then: “U-S-A! U-S-A!” Twelve times over.

In other words, it does not matter that there is a constant looming threat of being attacked by your neighbors in your home. Or at school, the cinema, the mall, the supermarket, a concert, a synagogue, a church, a night club, a park, or literally anywhere. That’s just America. The spirit comes from the willingness to be in the brawl itself, from the strength to fight back and protect yourself. The ethos of the United States is a society for the plight of the individual, who, if they can survive and bear the battleground, will be able to live the American dream, while, of course, being constantly vigilant for those who want to take it away from them.

Unless you share the former disposition, you don’t really want to live in America. You most likely want to live in America 2.0—the upgraded, progressive version that is collectivist and safe. Citizens who do proclaim to love their Kentucky-fried country strive for such a futuristic vision but do so from a place of financial or social privilege—from a position where the revolutionary attitude has been tempered, where the life-threatening choice of a family to emigrate and seek a new homeland is too far in the past to be appreciated, and where one can remain relatively shielded from the effects of shifting policies.

The 2024 election is bound to produce more disparities—moments where words and feelings do not seem to align. Those times might seem incongruent due to partisan differences, but this is not a direct line of demarcation between a liberal and conservative worldview. The sentiment of a voluntary gamble—charged with danger and violence—is bred-in-the-bone. An inborn risk exists in America, still loitering after the violent acquisition of liberty and successful revolt against the British Army. The next risk to undertake is in November. After that perhaps we can work on outgrowing the attachment to such a perilous existence.