Racistocracy
Published in

Racistocracy

My patriotism is colored, it is not white

This counts as true patriotism too

Patriot Day is September 11, Uncle Sam Day is September 13. Source

No one loves the same, and patriotism, like love, is no different.

Colored is my patriotism. It is not white.

My patriotism is blue from police brutality and law enforcement. It demands a system overhaul.

My patriotism gets red over gun violence justified by an amendment. It sees how this was wrong from the beginning.

My patriotism turns yellow when it hears bleached narratives of American history. It must have the whole story from the top without stops.

My patriotism is a mix of colors. It never defines “All American” as all white.

My patriotism adds hyphens to “American.” It doesn’t divide, it understands why.

My patriotism releases scapegoats. It holds a mirror instead.

My patriotism finds no value in loving a country that has only shown it love. It says true patriotism loves differently, anyway.

My patriotism knows “American cuisine” has many flavors. Its palate has tasted the sweet and sour.

My patriotism is unafraid of “foreign cultures” changing “American culture.” It recognizes the cultures, and vultures, here now.

My patriotism sees America shining high on a hill. It credits the bruised backs that America climbed to get there.

My patriotism has no privilege in being an American for privileges are unearned. It has ancestors who worked and deserve every prize.

My patriotism has traveled many miles, so it can trace America’s past and present. It scoffs and coughs at American exceptionalism as it hopes for better ways and days.

My patriotism wants honesty about the colors in the flag. It rejects whiteness as innocence, for it remembers the times and the crimes.

My patriotism is not satisfied with America — “as is.” It prefers James Baldwin’s criticizing love.

My patriotism tells me that oppression is in the brick, mortar, and water. It hates that a Senate building has a segregationist’s name.

My patriotism knows the composer was a slave owner. It sings two national anthems for good reasons.

My patriotism spits as white Americans salute Donald Trump with pledged allegiance. It heard about the Confederate flag as a child.

My patriotism does not marvel at the latest technology. It doesn’t applaud innovation made with speed for greed.

My patriotism remembers the punished cotton pickers who made the US and Europe richer. It is not a good economy that makes everything good enough.

My patriotism recognizes military service is a job. It cannot pretend all missions are noble.

My patriotism has better purposes for billions of dollars. It can do without a military parade or a Space Force.

My patriotism will fight America’s enemies. It worries more about those enemies who are American-born.

My patriotism celebrates national holidays and solemn anniversaries. It also remembers the darker and daily tragedies that go unnoticed.

My patriotism understood former First Lady Michelle Obama’s first-time pride as an adult. It nodded with agreement.

My patriotism has experience and understanding as its prism. It thinks with the double consciousness of W.E.B. Du Bois.

My patriotism comes with warnings and the talks about how to survive. It is America that shaded it jaded.

My patriotism knows America is uneven. It hates how we only come together for certain seasons.

My patriotism wants the best, but it knows we aren’t there yet. It stands, and it kneels, to move the country ahead.

My patriotism finds faults. It cannot sanitize America’s facts.

If you see my patriotism as different from yours, remember how we came to these shores.

My patriotism is colored by what has colored me, and white it can never be.

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