Love of country demands fantasy. Nations are not natural entities; they are constructed or “imagined” communities, in the words of political theorist Benedict Anderson, formed through common narratives and symbols. We invest meaning in the idea of the nation to feel connected to something larger than ourselves, a shared identity rooted in land, culture, and—most importantly—other people. This fantasy, however abstract, provokes a genuine and uniquely human sense of loyalty. Make-believe, even on a national scale, is not inherently harmful.
The problem rests in how this fantasy is practiced and to what ends: whether it serves as carte blanche for the self-interest of the few or as a tool to foster solidarity among the many.
Patriotism, when harnessed by the most powerful among us, twists the human desire for community into a tool for control. I am reminded of conversations with my father about his love for this country. His American roots span generations, but over the years I have watched as his once-unabashed sense of pride has given way to doubts—though he would not admit it. He has grappled with questions such as that posed by comedian Theo Von in an interview with Senator Bernie Sanders: if America is “nothing… but a shell LLC for… big corporations, then what am I?”
My father’s discomfort with the feeling of being used by the leaders of the country he loves may explain why he self-deprecatingly refers to himself as a “stupid landscaper” when we discuss politics. Despite his unwavering view of America as a land of opportunity and his sense of civic duty, his anxieties reflect a broader disconnect among many decent people. They find themselves caught between the noble fantasy of their imagined community and the reality of economic inequality, corruption, and social division that undermine the community they cherish.
Yet despite his doubts, my father has always remained committed to the utopian idea at the heart of patriotism: the belief in the value and potential of community. His dedication to being an upstanding citizen—evident in the warm greetings he receives from passersby—reflects a deep, enduring loyalty to the people around him, transcending any abstract sense of national identity. Love of country, if reimagined, has the power to foster relationships grounded in direct cooperation, voluntary association, and mutual respect. Rather than being co-opted by those who would exploit national loyalty for personal gain, this sentiment can be harnessed to build truly inclusive and equitable communities. In many ways, my father embodies the highest form of patriotism: one grounded in steadfast community involvement.
Nevertheless, my father often asks me, “Who should I vote for?” He doesn’t seem to realize that the change he has made in the lives of his neighbors, even by doing something as simple as yardwork for an elderly woman down the road, far outweighs anything a single vote in a national election could achieve.
Although the 2024 general election presents an opportunity to shape national policy, it should not restrict our vision of what community can be. Love of country need not be confined to electoral politics. The social fabric of our nation is woven at the grassroots level by making the ideals of solidarity a reality in our everyday lives. Like my father, we can start by helping those around us, cultivating authentic—and patient—connections that emphasize collective well-being and mutual aid. Fantasy, in this context, is not a tool of manipulation but an unwavering expression of our desire to love and connect with others, even those beyond our immediate orbit. By embracing a form of make-believe that combines grand aspirations with decisive local action, we can transform a superficial love of country into a force that nurtures our shared humanity beyond the ballot box.