Country, love and worry

I love my country and all that it represents for me, the land, the people, the geography, its history, its culture.  Am I, therefore patriotic? I think I would be, without the hubris, the politics, the betrayals. I also worry for my country. I do not live there, and in recent years I have wondered why not. Is it just the way it went, work, family, women, choices, real of fictitious?

What does being patriotic mean? I honestly do not know. I may know what it should not mean, extreme nationalism, hate of others, narrow-mindedness, ignorance of history. Is it compatible with loving one’s country? I want to try to explain, as a lover of history, and living elsewhere. 

Country, its origin, its destiny

All countries have a history that is proper to them, and being born in one country does not imply an understanding of that history, even in those countries lucky enough to have maintained a decent level of historical education. This, incidentally, has been threatened in recent decades, for reasons that are beyond the scope of this post. Suffice to say that without that minimum knowledge of history, love of one’s country may degenerate in pseudo patriotism, or worse, unfounded nationalism.

Countries are all the result of changes, geographical, climatic, demographic, political. History is the record of those changes, and of the people that lived, encouraged or fought against them. Most people, even in the most isolated parts of the world, are issued from population changes, migrations, natural or man-made disasters. In my country, France, history has often been a succession of wars, always weakening the country, and killing many people. I am not proud, although I respect, that side of “our” history.

But I am more interested in the positive side, the culture, the diversity – not meaning in this case the contrary to uniformity but the historical diversity of people, landscapes, rivers, forests, animals.

I am certainly aware of its origins, the beauty of Gaule, of its people, and its agony in the hands of Rome. Its history cannot be dissociated from that of the Christian Church, from the proximity of its neighbours, the other latin countries, but also the Frankish inheritance.  If I am disappointed by the course of events since the 70’s, although admitting in writing this, that I am probably accepting I do not understand the present generation of my compatriots, it may be that I regret the apparent disappearance of a French way of doing things, as it was when I was young – and living there.

Country love versus nationalism

I know that, even in a country as relatively still homogenous as my own, there are many divergent groups and views. A country is made of regions, and, yes, more that one nation. This is true anywhere, even if more obvious in the larger countries, even if one nation appears to prevail. This may be one of the reasons why I may assert to be patriotic, but not “nationalist” in the way the word is now used. My country is many nations, Provence is different from Alsace, Brittany from Lorraine, the North from the Pyrenees. This leads me to be skeptical about  bigger superstructures, or those modern bureaucracies that claim sovereignty when they evidently have none. 

So, if anything, I admit to a nationalism of culture, although speaking several languages and being keen about other cultures. For example, I am in love with French literature of all periods, without losing interest in the other great literatures, German, Russian, Italian, Spanish, American, Japanese… Why if it is so, do I adopt this limited patriotism? Perhaps by dislike of extremism, by the sight of too many examples of misconstrued, even murderous, false versions of it. 

Country love and living elsewhere

May be I am a coward? Maybe I have chosen the easy way: claiming to love my country, without the commitment, the hard work, the risk of disappointment? It is indeed so easy, to travel, to be here, and there, to observe, to enjoy, without belonging. I guess I share with many exiles, or émigrés, that feeling of missing something. Hence the appetite in reading all about the country’s history and literature, in depth, while being somewhere else.

I feel a sense of deep love for my country, yet living elsewhere has brought about a twinge of guilt within me.