By Claire Ferris ’21

Patriotism is a complex word.

It evolves over different periods of history, and it takes on new meanings and connotations with each person that claims it for themselves. I cannot claim to know all of its definitions, I cannot expect parts of my definition to match yours, and I cannot promise that my own definition will remain the same as I live through the history of our country; however, I can offer my current, personal understanding of the word.

To me, being patriotic is being committed to upholding the principles that stand at the core of our nation while also acknowledging the country’s faults – historical, systemic, and modern – and working towards changing them. To commit to and act upon changing this country for the better is, to me, one of the most patriotic things a citizen can do. Though not even old enough to vote in this upcoming election, I believe voting is one of the easiest ways to show a devotion to one’s country; my parents have set a great example for me in that regard. As someone who is passionate about history, I can only hope that many keep the tenet of looking back on our country’s history in their definitions of patriotism. And most people that I have spoken to do – of course, how can we know how to make policy in this country if we do not respect and honor the founding documents and founding members of our country? But I would argue that we cannot do this blindly; honoring our origins means honoring their complexity – the faults upon which our country was built, as well as the triumphs – and honoring the coexistence of these two concepts, regardless of how difficult it might be to process.

On Thursday, September 17, however, President Trump announced that his administration would be creating a commission – which he named the 1776 Commission – to promote “patriotic education” and a “pro-American” curriculum. The move comes after he heavily criticized the New York Times’ 1619 Project, which reframes the narrative of the founding of our country around the first enslaved Africans that were forcefully brought to the Virginia colony in 1619. Not only does the federal government not have jurisdiction over public school curriculum – that power is largely held in the states – but Trump’s decision to create this Commission is also a danger to historical education nationwide and threatens to undermine, under my definition of patriotism, the ability to uphold our country’s core principles and work towards changing this nation for the better.

Teaching history is not an objective process; yes, there are indisputable records of events that have happened over the course of time, and many events can be objectively recounted, but the lens through which history is told is up to the people telling it. Aside from the benefit of gaining the knowledge to recount events chronologically, history is about curiosity, trends, exploration, connections; for many Americans, it’s also about heritage, feeling part of a larger whole, and understanding the actions of those who came before us. To restrict the teachings of an entire country’s history to one group, as Trump’s thinly veiled racially oppressive language attempts to do, is to nullify the idea of a larger whole, to alienate and suppress the experiences of large populations in this country, to suggest that the racist principles and institutions upon which America was founded have no impact on the way our country is run today.

When thinking about patriotism, I found myself referring back to Trump’s claim: that his Commission would promote a “patriotic education.” At the White House Conference on American History, Trump claimed his administration attempts to “embrace the vision of Martin Luther King, where children are not judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character,” but his administration has embraced no such vision. Instead, it has offered blatant denial of Black Americans’ reality, using the words of the Civil Rights Movement as reason to ignore calls for change without having actually implemented the necessary change that would make Dr. King’s vision into legal, judicial, social, economic, and environmental reality. Trump also denounced critical race theory, espoused hatred for the New York Times’ 1619 Project and its implementation in several public schools, and even suggested that “[the left wants] to impose a new segregation.” I can, to some extent, understand government hesitation to include a project from a privately-owned newspaper in public school curriculum. The 1619 project has created controversy and received criticism from prominent figures and some members of academia. Though some (such as Leslie M. Harris) express concern for factual inaccuracies, other writers’ (such as Erick Erickson and Allen C. Guelzo) qualms with the project suggest some critics have more of an issue with the idea of our country’s founding framed around the enslavement of Africans. Trump claimed that American parents will not “accept indoctrination in our schools” or the “repression of traditional faith, culture, and values in the public square”. Here, Trump pointed to majority groups and beliefs, and attempted to claim that those beliefs are being violently denied and attacked through the calls for justice and civil rights by historically marginalized groups. With this statement, he gave white Americans permission to fear and take offense to the concept of basic, universal equality; though not evident in founding members’ practices (owning slaves, marginalizing women), decades of legal and judicial practice, and insidious, violent social customs, our country’s founders strove to incorporate this idea of universal equality into the fabric of the nation.

It is through the core principles of our nation that Trump attempts to define a “patriotic education” and a “pro-American” curriculum. Denouncing the 1619 Project, Trump claimed that the “project rewrites American history to teach our children that we were founded on the principle of oppression, not freedom.” But why could both not have played a role? This claim smacks of hypocrisy; liberty was a driving motivational factor in the colonists’ revolt against Britain, but liberty in its full form was a concept known only by elite white men. We were founded on liberty, but we were also founded on oppression: slave labor was the backbone of the southern colonies’ economies; the desire for land led to the displacement and genocide of Indigenous peoples; and women were expected to stay in the home and out of the public sphere.

We cannot keep choosing to focus only on the positive and comfortable (white) elements, figures, and principles when teaching our country’s history. And that is exactly what Trump’s definition of a “patriotic education” does. He suggested that his 1776 Commission would “celebrate the truth about our nation’s great history.” I have an obligation to argue, though, that “the truth” about our history is neither great, nor exclusively white; the truth is everyone’s truth, collective and individual. I believe that a true “patriotic education” would honestly tell the stories of each group in this country. I have found tremendous pleasure and meaning in obscure historical topics; why would it be in our country’s best interest to curb students’ access to and passion for historical topics that are not reflected in the cultures of historical American majorities?

The abrupt and unexpected nature of the 1776 Commission’s creation further suggested to me that it was not one born of concern for the quality of public education, but rather a political decision initiated to incite division and further ensure that the Trump administration’s racially divisive and oppressive agenda becomes engrained into the minds of the American youth. If education reform was truly a crucial tenet of their platform, the Trump administration would have hired a Secretary of Education who has had experiences in public education, and one who cares about the safety of students during a pandemic; instead, they appointed Betsy DeVos, who has advocated for reopening schools despite not providing funds or means by which American public schools could safely do this. Teaching is a tremendous service to this country; during the COVID-19 pandemic, many teachers are being asked to risk their lives to come into teach, and many school districts would like to make teachers’ conditions safer, they simply do not have the federal funding to do so. Putting his political agenda at the forefront of his concerns in regard to public education is a slap in the face to American teachers who have been deprived of fair pay for years, and who are being unjustly forced to risk contracting a highly contagious respiratory disease in order to retain an income.

Trump ended his remarks by saying “our youth will be taught to love America with all of their heart and all of their soul.” With those words, Trump did not imply that the Commission aims to foster love for country under my definition of patriotism. Instead, he suggested that to love America is to sacrifice any desire to change it for the better or learn about its faults; he suggested that to love America is to allow it to plunge itself into a never-ending, repetitious cycle of mistakes and injustices. Never mind that the language “all of their heart and all of their soul” is indicative of more pernicious red flags within the Trump administration that could even suggest a shift towards authoritarianism; the nature of authoritarian regimes’ rise to power is an intricate process, not the accidental result of a wavering ideology.

I will admit – I am a seventeen-year-old girl, a senior in high school. I am still learning about the revolutionary period in ADV US History; there will indubitably be flaws in my arguments, language, and reasoning. But allowing myself to make mistakes and commit to change, unlearning, and relearning is built into my definition of patriotism. I am fortunate enough to have access to resources that can tell me a myriad of stories about marginalized groups in this country, through which I can commit to change. Trump’s 1776 Commission threatens to take that away from millions of students across the country. Though he spoke of a singular founding father by name – Caesar Rodney – and urged Americans not to disrespect founding fathers as a whole, Trump neglected to acknowledge that our constitutional right to freedom of speech and freedom of expression includes the freedom to examine the founding fathers with a critical eye. They were complex people, and we cannot come to terms with American history without examining and digesting this complexity. Though it is unclear what specific effects Cary Academy could feel as a result of Trump’s Commission, we still, and always will, have work to do to ensure we do not teach a euro-centric, whitewashed version of history that subdues the pain Black people and other marginalized groups had to endure at the hands of colonial violence and systemic oppression.

My definition of patriotism will not be yours; we will disagree on some defining aspects, and we may agree on others. But despite differing definitions of patriotism as a result of lived individual experiences, blind agreement to only learn about our country’s successes and faults through the lens of its white founders is a disservice to the word itself.