North Star Writers Group

The Czech Republic looked like a Varsity team scrimmaging a JV team last Monday. After the second goal was rocketed into the corner of the net, I began telling myself, “It’s okay. We all knew this would happen. The US cannot compete with these teams.” That placated my frustration for about 22 hours (not counting my bizarre dream about a big ugly alien who tried to stomp on me and also happened to be an incredible ball-handler). But as I watched Brazil and Croatia, I began steaming again. In World Cups past, I was jealous of other teams. This time around, I am finding myself jealous of their fans. As it turns out, the sight of rabid, disturbingly-obsessive, flare-lighting fans renders me surprisingly emotional.

As illustrated with uncanny effectiveness in the World Cup bleachers, there is something beautiful, even transcendent about the idea of unconditional nationalism. It plunges much deeper than an alma mater, and it does not hinge on the integrity or character of political leaders. It is reckless, unashamed and demonstrated by colors – red and white, red and white and green, red and white and blue, black and yellow and red, eggplant and periwinkle, you name it. It is this human instinct that has catalyzed so many of history’s struggles, for when the business and complexity of life is whittled down, what else is there? The one thing in which all of us can find meaning is the fact that we were born on top of labeled soil and this reality bears consequence in the fuddled realm of human identity.

I find that some of the most joyous moments in sports occur when struggling or seemingly insignificant nations earn the spotlight and a citizen is given the opportunity to bear their nation’s flag, essentially declaring to the world, “We exist!”

It reminds me of a Stephen Crane poem, which reads:

A man said to the universe:

“Sir I exist!”

“However,” replied the universe,

“The fact has not created in me

A sense of obligation.”

Though a bit sardonic, the poem alludes to an interesting idea – the instinctive human desire for acknowledgment. Everyone fears a life of insignificance, and even worse, an unseen life of insignificance. Perhaps the only human fear greater than death is an unacknowledged life. As our identities are intrinsically wrapped up in our nationalities, how much greater is a person’s desire to declare both existence and allegiance, and to be recognized by the rest of the world?

Unfortunately, this instinct is under brutal assault in the United States. Ostensibly resulting from America’s current role in the world, a burgeoning group of Americans are announcing that they are ashamed to be associated with their country and are becoming increasingly prone to sympathize with foreign nations. The rhetoric has shifted from “ashamed of my president” to “ashamed of my country.” I find this assault on national identity to be the equivalent of national cancer, destroying a country from the inside out, eating away at the very soil our instincts yearn to defend.

Although it is certainly cause for concern that America is getting beaten in almost every sport in which we participate, it is not the greatest concern. The greatest concern ought to be that, as more and more Americans in the international spotlight belong to the group that is ashamed of its country, and as the mainstream media continue to sympathize, it is becoming unmistakably clear to the world that America’s cancer has become aggressive, and we are beginning to lose the battle.

Americans have forgotten what it means to be nationalists. Nationalism does not depend on the decisions of its leaders, or the actions of its military. It does not depend on mistakes of the past or the present or infamous moments of valor and honor. It does not depend on stories about great men, terrible men, myths about the old days, what was intended, overblown tales of struggle and victory in the face of persecution, or even the paramount ideals such as equality and freedom.

If you have forgotten what nationalism feels like, watch the World Cup and at least remember what it looks like. You need only to listen to the buzz of loyal fans, or watch a jubilant athlete circle the field draped in national colors, to remember that a concept as beautiful and powerful as nationalism is simpler than you might think. Nationalism merely says, “I exist, and this is my home.”

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