Rhetorical Analysis Paper

Published  on  Tuesday,  September  25,  2001  in  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle

And  Our  Flag  Was  Still  There by  Barbara  Kingsolver

MY  DAUGHTER  came  home  from  kindergarten  and  announced,  "Tomorrow  we  all  have  to  wear  red,  white  and  blue."

"Why?"  I  asked,  trying  not  to  sound  wary.

"For  all  the  people  that  died  when  the  airplanes  hit  the  buildings."

I  fear  the  sound  of  saber-­rattling,  dread  that  not  just  my  taxes  but  even  my  children  are  being  dragged  to  the  cause  of death  in  the  wake  of  death.  I  asked  quietly,  "Why  not  wear  black,  then?  Why  the  colors  of  the  flag,  what  does  that mean?"

"It  means  we're  a  country.  Just  all  people  together."

So  we  sent  her  to  school  in  red,  white  and  blue,  because  it  felt  to  her  like  something  she  could  do  to  help  people  who are  hurting.  And  because  my  wise  husband  put  a  hand  on  my  arm  and  said,  "You  can't  let  hateful  people  steal  the flag  from  us."

He  didn't  mean  terrorists,  he  meant  Americans.  Like  the  man  in  a  city  near  us  who  went  on  a  rampage  crying  "I'm  an American"  as  he  shot  at  foreign-­born  neighbors,  killing  a  gentle  Sikh  man  in  a  turban  and  terrifying  every  brown-­ skinned  person  I  know.  Or  the  talk-­radio  hosts,  who  are  viciously  bullying  a  handful  of  members  of  Congress  for airing  sensible  skepticism  at  a  time  when  the  White  House  was  announcing  preposterous  things  in  apparent  self-­ interest,  such  as  the  "revelation"  that  terrorists  had  aimed  to  hunt  down  Air  Force  One  with  a  hijacked  commercial plane.  Rep.  Barbara  Lee  cast  the  House's  only  vote  against  handing  over  virtually  unlimited  war  powers  to  one  man that  a  whole  lot  of  us  didn't  vote  for.  As  a  consequence,  so  many  red-­blooded  Americans  have  now  threatened  to  kill her,  she  has  to  have  additional  bodyguards.

Patriotism  seems  to  be  falling  to  whoever  claims  it  loudest,  and  we're  left  struggling  to  find  a  definition  in  a  clamor  of reaction.  This  is  what  I'm  hearing:  Patriotism  opposes  the  lone  representative  of  democracy  who  was  brave  enough to  vote  her  conscience  instead  of  following  an  angry  mob.  (Several  others  have  confessed  they  wanted  to  vote  the same  way,  but  chickened  out.)  Patriotism  threatens  free  speech  with  death.  It  is  infuriated  by  thoughtful  hesitation, constructive  criticism  of  our  leaders  and  pleas  for  peace.  It  despises  people  of  foreign  birth  who've  spent  years learning  our  culture  and  contributing  their  talents  to  our  economy.  It  has  specifically  blamed  homosexuals,  feminists and  the  American  Civil  Liberties  Union.  In  other  words,  the  American  flag  stands  for  intimidation,  censorship, violence,  bigotry,  sexism,  homophobia,  and  shoving  the  Constitution  through  a  paper  shredder?  Who  are  we  calling terrorists  here?  Outsiders  can  destroy  airplanes  and  buildings,  but  it  is  only  we,  the  people,  who  have  the  power  to demolish  our  own  ideals.

It's  a  fact  of  our  culture  that  the  loudest  mouths  get  the  most  airplay,  and  the  loudmouths  are  saying  now  that  in times  of  crisis  it  is  treasonous  to  question  our  leaders.  Nonsense.  That  kind  of  thinking  let  fascism  grow  out  of  the international  depression  of  the  1930s.  In  critical  times,  our  leaders  need  most  to  be  influenced  by  the  moderating force  of  dissent.  That  is  the  basis  of  democracy,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  and  especially  when  national  choices  are difficult,  and  bear  grave  consequences.

It  occurs  to  me  that  my  patriotic  duty  is  to  recapture  my  flag  from  the  men  now  waving  it  in  the  name  of  jingoism  and censorship.  This  isn't  easy  for  me.

The  last  time  I  looked  at  a  flag  with  unambiguous  pride,  I  was  13.  Right  after  that,  Vietnam  began  teaching  me lessons  in  ambiguity,  and  the  lessons  have  kept  coming.  I've  learned  of  things  my  government  has  done  to  the  world that  made  me  direly  ashamed.  I've  been  further  alienated  from  my  flag  by  people  who  waved  it  at  me  declaring  I should  love  it  or  leave  it.  I  search  my  soul  and  find  I  cannot  love  killing  for  any  reason.  When  I  look  at  the  flag,  I  see it  illuminated  by  the  rocket's  red  glare.

This  is  why  the  warmongers  so  easily  gain  the  upper  hand  in  the  patriot  game:  Our  nation  was  established  with  a  fight for  independence,  so  our  iconography  grew  out  of  war.  Our  national  anthem  celebrates  it;;  our  language  of  patriotism is  inseparable  from  a  battle  cry.  Our  every  military  campaign  is  still  launched  with  phrases  about  men  dying  for  the freedoms  we  hold  dear,  even  when  this  is  impossible  to  square  with  reality.  In  the  Persian  Gulf  War  we  rushed  to  the

aid  of  Kuwait,  a  monarchy  in  which  women  enjoyed  approximately  the  same  rights  as  a  19th  century  American  slave.

The  values  we  fought  for  and  won  there  are  best  understood,  I  think,  by  oil  companies.  Meanwhile,  a  country  of

civilians  was  devastated,  and  remains  destroyed.

Stating  these  realities  does  not  violate  the  principles  of  liberty,  equality,  and  freedom  of  speech;;  it  exercises  them,

and  by  exercise  we  grow  stronger.  I  would  like  to  stand  up  for  my  flag  and  wave  it  over  a  few  things  I  believe  in,

including  but  not  limited  to  the  protection  of  dissenting  points  of  view.  After  225  years,  I  vote  to  retire  the  rocket's  red

glare  and  the  bullet  wound  as  obsolete  symbols  of  Old  Glory.  We  desperately  need  a  new  iconography  of  patriotism.  I

propose  we  rip  stripes  of  cloth  from  the  uniforms  of  public  servants  who  rescued  the  injured  and  panic-­stricken,

remaining  at  their  post  until  it  fell  down  on  them.  The  red  glare  of  candles  held  in  vigils  everywhere  as  peace-­loving

people  pray  for  the  bereaved,  and  plead  for  compassion  and  restraint.  The  blood  donated  to  the  Red  Cross.  The  stars

of  film  and  theater  and  music  who  are  using  their  influence  to  raise  money  for  recovery.  The  small  hands  of

schoolchildren  collecting  pennies,  toothpaste,  teddy  bears,  anything  they  think  might  help  the  kids  who've  lost  their

moms  and  dads.

My  town,  Tucson,  Ariz.,  has  become  famous  for  a  simple  gesture  in  which  some  8,000  people  wearing  red,  white  or

blue  T-­shirts  assembled  themselves  in  the  shape  of  a  flag  on  a  baseball  field  and  had  their  photograph  taken  from

above.  That  picture  has  begun  to  turn  up  everywhere,  but  we  saw  it  first  on  our  newspaper's  front  page.  Our  family

stood  in  silence  for  a  minute  looking  at  that  photo  of  a  human  flag,  trying  to  know  what  to  make  of  it.  Then  my

teenage  daughter,  who  has  a  quick  mind  for  numbers  and  a  sensitive  heart,  did  an  interesting  thing.  She  laid  her  hand

over  a  quarter  of  the  picture,  leaving  visible  more  or  less  6,000  people,  and  said,  "That  many  are  dead."  We  stared  at

what  that  looked  like  -­-­  all  those  innocent  souls,  multi-­colored  and  packed  into  a  conjoined  destiny  -­-­  and  shuddered

at  the  one  simple  truth  behind  all  the  noise,  which  is  that  so  many  beloved  people  have  suddenly  gone  from  us.  That

is  my  flag,  and  that's  what  it  means:  We're  all  just  people  together.

Barbara  Kingsolver  is  the  author  of  nine  books  including  "Prodigal  Summer."and  "The  Poisonwood  Bible".

©  2001  San  Francisco  Chronicle

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