There are four holidays that occur in quick succession and symbolize our love of country: Memorial Day, D-Day, Flag Day and July Fourth.
The first and the last are the most important, because they commemorate those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country, and those who created this beloved nation at great risk to themselves. That’s why it’s always demoralizing to see how they’ve been reduced, in large part, to beach and barbecue holidays with a sprinkling of testimonials to the true spirit of the moment.
Of the other two, D-Day is the least acknowledged, except among that tiny and ever dwindling group of people who hear the phrase “Omaha Beach,” and understand. My mother’s cousin, Adolph Pace, parachuted onto the beaches of Normandy, and his bride turned that parachute into her wedding dress when he came home.
And Flag Day? It’s not much of a stretch to wear something red, white and blue on the day, and it’s nice to reflect on its symbolism, and yes Betsy Ross appreciates a visit if you happen to be in Philly, but of the four it’s the least important.
But I truly do love this month-and-a-half long stretch where we remember, celebrate and protect our identity as Americans. Because other countries are bound by blood, language, culture and in many cases DNA. All we have is aspiration.
We aspire to be what Reagan called a “Shining City on a Hill.” That didn’t used to be considered hokey, naive or offensive. That described us perfectly, people who wanted to be on top of the human mountain.
Sadly, both progressives and conservatives have lost sight of the message.
As a registered Republican who embraced the GOP after decades of grappling with my moral compass as a Democrat, I used to have the zeal of a convert. I was so proud to belong to the party that oversaw, along with a pope and an Iron Lady, the destruction of communism. I was so happy to be a member of a party where — with very few exceptions — men and women believed in the sanctity of unborn human life.
But I don’t exactly recognize that party today.
The tone-deaf sound of “America First” has replaced the rich anthem of American exceptionalism where not only is legal immigration a virtue and a gift, but using our own blood and treasure to protect our allies is an obligation.
Those we remember in Memorial Day did not die on these shores. They made the ultimate sacrifice in foreign lands, far from their mothers’ embrace and their fathers’ proud gaze. They did it to preserve our greatest export: democracy.
And immigrants? They were always “us,” our grandparents and great grandparents, many of whom came legally, some of whom did not.
Now, they are “them.” It’s an oversimplification to say all immigrants are good, because there are in fact many multitudes who are mediocre. That’s human nature. But shifting our default position from “welcome, make our country better” to “find another destination, we don’t want you” is tragic.
But at least I can have conversations with conservatives. Progressives are convinced that the country is lost.
So many are rushing to obtain new passports from other countries in the same way a Kardashian buys a new handbag.
It’s acquisition for the sake of looking better than geopolitical virtue signaling. It’s not about loving the ancestral home, in so many of these cases. It’s about hating on the one in which they were born.
I’m embarrassed and angry by some of the MAGA excesses. But I’m not embarrassed by my country. I’d never leave it for greener pastures, because quite frankly there are none.
I have no real home these days. Politically I am much more comfortable on the right, but it’s far from a perfect fit.
There is a jingoism I see and hear in former comrades that shocks me. And when they try and say it’s all about “America First,” I turn them off.
But the anti-Americanism of the left bleeds into antisemitism. And to me, that is worse than anything I see and hear on the right.
It is a bigotry of such obvious contours and heavy proportions that I want nothing to do with those who exploit the children of Gaza for their own political advantage.
So here I am, honoring the fallen who sacrificed for a country they would not recognize.
Here I am, remembering my cousin and his comrades, who saved the free world with their bodies on the beaches. Here, raising the flag and visiting Betsy.
And then thanking the flawed but godly and magnificent men who created glory out of chaos.
The rest of you can figure it out on your own.
Christine Flowers is an attorney and a columnist for the Delaware County Daily Times in Pennsylvania. Her column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.
