The Arms Race I'm on Board With
Patriotism is nonsense.
At least the way we’ve been doing it.
A pledge is supposed to be an alignment — but alignment to what, exactly?
A flag?
A border?
An idea no one can clearly explain without slipping into poetry or fear?
Nationality isn’t earned.
It isn’t chosen.
It isn’t moral.
It’s an accident.
Where you were born.
Who you were born to.
Where life happened to drop you.
Yet we treat nationality like a debt.
Like we owe loyalty, money, silence, or sacrifice to something that never asked our consent and rarely returns the favor.
Patriotism looks backward.
It sanctifies history.
It freezes identity and says: this is who we were, therefore this is who you must be.
That’s not belonging.
That’s inheritance without agency.
Nations should be about belonging.
About saying: I share values with the people around me.
That we have a vested interest in each other’s common good.
That when things go sideways, we don’t disappear — we show up.
If my country says, “Let’s play nice. Let’s see if cooperation works better than domination. Let’s try to build with others instead of standing over them,” then yeah — that’s when I start to feel something that might resemble patriotism.
But even then, it’s not really about the nation.
It’s about the people.
Because the country I’d be proud of isn’t the strongest.
It’s the one that wants to hug the world.
We’re already one world.
One people.
Distance doesn’t separate us anymore.
Politics does.
They draw lines and say us and them.
They point and say enemy.
But be honest — did they ever do anything to you?
Did some kid across an ocean personally wrong you?
Or is this just a story you were handed and told to defend?
Still, we wave our silly flags and pretend they make us better.
When I fly a flag, it isn’t a declaration of superiority.
It’s shorthand.
This is where I’m from.
This is my heritage — imperfect, unfinished, complicated.
This is my tribe, not because they’re better, but because they’re mine.
It’s the same reason I’ll fly a flag for a football team that has nothing to do with me.
Sometimes it’s not about identity.
Sometimes it’s about rooting for the underdog.
About wanting to see people win who don’t usually get to.
About believing triumph should be shared.
That’s not nationalism.
That’s empathy wearing a jersey.
And if the flag you fly wants to hug the world —
well, that’s an arms race I’m on board with.