Why you might want to stand for the national anthem even if you think you don't

Here are some things this post is NOT saying:

-You must stand for the national anthem. It astounds me that a president who was elected by the American impulse not to be told how to act summarily ignored that impulse.
-If you do not stand for the national anthem, you are less American, less patriotic, or love your country less than those who do stand.
-The national anthem or the flag are inherently sacred, apart from the meaning we choose to give them.
-Forced acts of patriotism are meaningful.
-The underlying argument that sparked the protest is not a very valid point to make, or not critical to the health of the country. On both an emotional level--the kind that comes about from watching videos of young black people get killed in what certainly looks like an unjust manner--and a cognitive level, when one looks at statistics about young men of color in America, it appears the American dream is not offered equally to young people of color. 


I've been surprised how divisive the issue of standing for the national anthem before football games has been. Trump baited us, of course, but having taken the bait, I'm surprised how viciously we're willing to fight each other over it. As these arguments go round after round, they sometimes stray into offshoots of the main argument. It's one of those offshoots I want to address. Eventually, if you argue this long enough, you'll get into territory where you're addressing propositions like "Is it just a song?" and "Is it just a piece of cloth?" That is, is there anything intrinsically meaningful about standing for the national anthem?

What would the meaning be?

Although a lot of people are conflating standing for the national anthem with respect for members of the armed services, past and present, I'm only aware of one explicit meaning given to the ritual at sports events. When we are asked to rise (and I'd say we are asked, not ordered: the PA announcer always says "please rise"), it's "to honor America." That's a pretty amorphous objective, one that each person who stands is going to interpret in their own way. When I stand--and I always have--I can't think that I've ever felt much of anything in the way of patriotic sentiment. I don't tend to find a whole lot of meaning in ceremonies. But I can see that it matters to some people around me. The ceremony they care about loses meaning for them, though, if everybody does not participate. It requires my outward observance. So I give it, in order for them to enjoy a ceremony that matters to them.

This may seem like I'm saying it doesn't mean anything at all to me, but in a sense, its meaning to me has a lot to do with life in a democracy. I'd be fine without a national anthem prior to sporting events, but it seems to matter to a majority of the community, so I participate to a limited extent. By standing, I'm saying that what other people want sometimes is more important than what I want personally. It may not really be a great song. It might be some rather pedestrian, 19th-Century bombast about a battle with a racist third verse we thankfully never sing. We might have a history as a nation that was just as long without it as our national anthem as we've had with it. Everything about the custom might be arbitrarily chosen and a complete accident of history. But it's an accident we've been living with for a while, and it's an accident that my neighbors seem to care about, so I'll participate.

Not everything is meaningful

I don't feel this way about every ritual. For years after 9/11, baseball stadiums were in the habit of pulling out a second patriotic act. In the 7th inning, where "Take me Out to the Ballgame" used to go, they started doing "God Bless America." And they were actually acting like we were supposed to stand for that, too. I remember getting in an argument with the person next to me at a Washington Nationals game one year when I didn't stand for it. I claimed it was because to stand for a song other than the national anthem was disrespectful to the national anthem, like saluting a state flag would be disrespectful to the national ensign. In reality, though, I was just annoyed by what felt like too much community patriotic display in one night. The 7th inning already had a great American tradition attached to it, I thought, and I didn't want to see it replaced because in our post-9/11 world, we were all falling over each other to show how much we loved America.

As a teenager, my high school suddenly re-implemented the Pledge of Allegiance soon after Desert Storm began, after years of not observing it. I found this troubling, like we were being told to get on board with the war. Not that I necessarily objected to the war, but I did object to being told not to object to it. So I stood for the Pledge, but I didn't recite it. I don't think anyone noticed, or if they did, nobody cared. But I just couldn't see myself going along with a group ceremony then. I didn't think the claims of the community to my participation were stronger than my personal conscience.

But maybe we need a few ceremonies we all agree on

I'm a snarky pain in the ass a lot of the time. When group organizers are trying to get some community activity going, I am usually the one crapping all over their efforts. In the Marine Corps, I sang the wrong words to cadences while we ran. Or I wouldn't sing them at all, and claim I had a religious objection to some of the baudier lyrics. I've uttered thousands of really great jokes under my breath. As a child, when my poor parents were trying to establish traditions for us, I worked against anything I found too solemn. I ignore 95% of all work functions outside of work.

Partly, this is just a reflection of my own personal predilection toward autonomy. And this predilection is probably healthy for the community, provided it isn't too prevalent or too pronounced. Too much community spirit can lead to totalitarian communities. It's a good thing to have a couple of wise asses in the group to keep the group from taking itself too seriously.

But there is also a danger in a community being too atomized, too focused on the individual. What would a school be without those PTA parents I find so hard to talk to? What would the Marine Corps be without those obnoxious Sergeants acting like we really belonged together? A few years ago, I coached my son's baseball team. It was a disaster for a while, because I wanted to be the wise-ass at the back undermining my own leadership. It took me a few weeks to realize that I had to be the chipper, annoying presence who made the whole thing stick together, or there would be no thing for people to make fun of.

Just because I make fun of something doesn't mean I don't love it. I keep my country at a safe emotional distance, but I also love it. I don't want it to dissolve. I want it to be there, so I can go on snarking about its traditions for decades to come.

Standing for he national anthem doesn't have any meaning unless we ascribe meaning to it. The flag is a piece of cloth. But this is the ritual we have. We don't have another one that's more central, more recognized. If we have nothing at all, no ceremony, however flawed, that is a space where we all recognize that we do, in some sense, belong together, then we will not belong together in any sense for long. If the community can make no claims on us at all, then there is no community.

Standing for a bad, 200-year-old song so convoluted the singers often screw up the words is not a great ritual. But it's the closest thing to an all-encompassing, American ritual that we have. At some point, the ones who mistrust community have to give the community some right to trespass our personal space, or the community will not be there. America is a more fragile thing than we imagine.

Words that should have been said by someone other than me

I admire those who kneel. It would have been much, much easier on Colin Kaepernick to just go along with the ritual, not rock the boat, and do what was expected. Those who kneel show a bravery I didn't have in high school to make their objections visible. And the underlying social reality of black Americans is real enough that I understand not feeling like you want to show outward signs of respect for a country that doesn't respect you.

But I don't think anyone who is kneeling wants the community to fall apart entirely. I suspect that many of those who kneel might love America more than many who stand, and it's the fierceness of their love that makes them kneel. But they may not realize the peril the nation is in. When Russian trolls seek to take America down, their easiest target is just to make us fight with each other. And we are starting to make it easy for them.

Former Green Beret-turned-NFL-long-snapper Nate Boyer approached this the right way last year when Kaepernick began his protest. He didn't berate Kaepernick. He said Kaepernick's protest was understandable, and made him sad more than angry. He longed for a time when Kaepernick would WANT to stand for the national anthem again.

These are the words the President should have said, rather than demanding the patriotic observances of free citizens. The paradox of democracy is that it doesn't work if we make you do it, and it doesn't work if we don't all do it without being forced. In that sense, standing for the national anthem does take on some meaning, because its significance arises, like the nation itself, from voluntary participation.

So I'm not saying you must, you should, you ought. I'm saying you might want to.