This was written by Sophie, one of our student interns. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect those of Civitas other than respect for the value of open dialogue.
As I write this, fireworks are being shot off from at least three different directions, battling the lightning rolling across the desert for the prize of being most eye-catching. It’s been an unusual Fourth of July, starting in El Paso staring at the border wall ringed with barbed wire and ending at a National Park that is sometimes closed due to US Missile Launches. Between those two bookends was a two-hour drive that led to some reflection.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have been obsessively watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs and now the Stanley Cup Final. I like to pretend it’s for my own knowledge, akin to watching tape, and it will help make me a better hockey player whenever I finally find a league that will take a beginner. Really though, I just like watching hockey and I’d probably watch it even without the pretense of learning something.
What’s unusual about this Stanley Cup Final is that, for the first time since I’ve been truly attentive to hockey, the Canadian national anthem is played alongside the American national anthem. Starting players—the goaltender, two defensemen, and three forwards—are always present on the ice for the playing of the national anthems and the camera likes to focus in on their faces in these final moments before the puck drops. It’s a moment that’s supposed to mean something for sports events, giving the players a reminder of what they’re playing for, allowing teams to highlight veterans. It’s a moment that matters.
I look to the anthem to see who looks nervous and who looks ready, in an attempt to predict how the opening minutes of the game will go. My friends will tell you I’m obsessive about the national anthem, always making sure we get to games early enough to see it. If I can’t watch it myself, I make a friend watch and tell me their notes on players (and I usually get two opinions, four eyes are better than two.) It’s not about the patriotism of the moment.
Recently, my eyes have been drawn to Carey Price, goaltender for the Montreal Canadiens. Price is a Ulkatcho First Nation member descended through his mother, who currently serves as the elected chief. As mass graves continue to be uncovered on the grounds of Canada’s Residential Schools and the number of murdered children continues to grow, I have increasingly looked to Price as the Canadian national anthem plays. A true goalie, his eyes give nothing away, but I can’t help but wonder how hearing that anthem makes him feel. Can it matter to him anymore? And if it does mean something, what is it? What impact does hearing the national anthem of a country that has committed genocide against First Nations persons like his grandmother, and still ignores the violence and injustices First Nations persons face, have on Price?
Thinking about what might run through Price’s mind as he hears the national anthem of a country that tried to eradicate his people made me think about the United States national anthem and what it means—both to me and in the broader sense.
The Star-Spangled Banner is everywhere. It’s played before baseball games and hockey games, performances at the MUNY, at almost any major event you can think of. A ubiquitous part of American culture that has, at times, been at the center of major controversies, like when Colin Kaepernick knelt during the anthem before NFL games. Or, within the week, when the United States Women’s National Team was harassed online for appearing to not face the veteran playing the national anthem. (They were facing the veteran and the flag, but that was ignored.)
The only time I have bought into any of anthem-singing patriotism is when the rarely reached Week 15 rolls around at the International Institute. That’s the week where we take a couple minutes out of class time to prepare them for their naturalization ceremonies. An American flag is wheeled into the room, as well as a TV to play the Star-Spangled Banner. Everyone stands, recites the oath and then sings the national anthem as loudly as they possibly can.
Many, many times in my four years of teaching I have been told by students to sing louder, even as they belt out the words to an anthem of a country that hasn’t accepted them yet, full of people who never will simply because they weren’t born here. I think about all those students across the years standing up straighter as the music starts, meticulously placing their hands on their heart, asking me to make sure its correct. There are few moments that repeatedly move me: Week 15 has never failed and it is one of the traditions I miss the most having been virtual for a year and a half now.
My holdup on the anthem, then, stems from the fact that, like most things in the United States, there are two histories or meanings to it. The glitzy flag-studded renditions delivered before sporting events are there to provoke nationalism, but recently have become more about the military than America. There’s a reason that while Colin Kaepernick’s protest was about injustices in America, the backlash was about him being perceived to disrespect the military. Two different conversations, with one side refusing to listen while Kaepernick sat down, addressed the concern about disrespecting the military, and continued on with his protest.
The anthem sung in the classroom of the Institute is not about the military brand of patriotism, though all citizens promise to bear arms if called upon, but instead about the potential and promise of America. The anthem that permeates our daily lives is about the military and a militaristic lens of American. The patriotism we are supposed to be expressing isn’t for America, it’s for a very narrow version of what America is.
That anthem, the one solely about the military, is the one that causes me fits. The one sung in that classroom, the one full of promise, that means as many different things as people in the room, that’s the anthem I can still sing. And I know that maybe, seconds after writing that the national anthem I can get behind is that one that involves at least 25 perspectives, I should be able to accept the militaristic viewpoint as well. But I also keep thinking about OL Reign forward Bethany Balcer tweeting about how maybe people should “worship the flag like it is your god.”
It is worth nothing that the National Women’s Soccer League entered into debates about whether or not to stop playing the national anthem before matches given that the anthem was not being broadcast for television. The idea behind cutting the anthem from programming came from the notion that the anthem was there to allow players to protest how they saw fit, with it no longer being seen by TV viewers, the players opportunities to protest were also not being seen, thus rending the anthem unnecessary. So maybe, while the Star-Spangled Banner doesn’t need to disappear from the public as fast as pride decorations do on July 1st, the national anthem should be given space to mean more than just military power. Perhaps it’s time the national anthem means the thousands of things it means to individuals, without people screaming that any deviation is wrong. Maybe, we should practice that famous diversity when it comes to celebrating or protesting the Star-Spangled Banner. After all, the difference of opinion is as American as baseball, apple pie, and, yes, the national anthem.
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