Skip to content
Search

Latest Stories

Top Stories

“They Hate America”: Patriotism in the Face of Historical Updates

Opinion

Group of young adult students sit at desks in classroom listening to teacher

Why do Americans respond so differently to hard history lessons? A look at the three psychological mindsets driving the patriotism debate — and a path past it.

Lighthouse Films/Getty Images

I happened upon a civil discussion blog and read a post by a man who said he was happy to report that when he attended a panel discussion about teaching patriotism in the schools, all went well. He said that’s because most of the people in the bridging organization that hosted the event are “pretty patriotic.” He clarified that by writing, “None of the type of bad actors (and there are many) who want to teach kids to hate America and Western Civilization were represented.”

Someone made a comment about why we can’t incorporate historical change into curriculum and objected to the notion that a segment of the population wants to teach kids to hate America. The man who posted cited what he believes is proof. A last commenter simply input the emoji for a sleeping person, as though the argument was boring or unimportant.


As a journalist who’s been following the growing Common Ground Movement closely for the last two years, the above scenario is the kind that captivates me most and best demonstrates our current conundrum: our mindsets lead to polarization, yet understanding those mindsets can lead to depolarization.

In this particular case, the online comments demonstrated the three distinct responses we Americans seem to have when confronted by less than savory historical research and insights that challenge our traditional narratives and ignite arguments about patriotism:

  1. I’m a patriotic American who’s disturbed by the revelations and believes it’s my duty to incorporate the knowledge going forward, even if that means no longer celebrating traditional holidays, like Thanksgiving, in the same way.
  2. I’m a patriotic American who understands the information, but doesn’t care one way or the other because all of history throughout the world includes unpalatable information and characters, and you’re naive to think otherwise.
  3. I’m a patriotic American who believes the information is both questionable and/or biased, and more importantly, damaging to our country, which is why I don’t believe it should be taught in school or exhibited in museums.

Despite the opening sentiment, each group feels those in the other groups are unpatriotic, either because they adopt information too readily, appear disengaged, or are unwilling to accept unpleasant information.

According to cognitive empathy, if we Americans learn the psychology behind those three responses, we’ll understand ourselves better, be less likely to label fellow Americans as unpatriotic, and be more likely to consider one another’s point of view.

Those Who Ingest New Information

The first statement — “I’m a patriotic American who’s disturbed by the revelations and believe it’s my duty to incorporate the knowledge going forward, even if that means no longer celebrating traditional holidays, like Thanksgiving, in the same way.” — reflects those of us who practice what psychologists sometimes call constructive patriotism (“The Psychology of Patriotism,” The American Psychological Association). We express our patriotism through a willingness to confront our country’s flaws and behave according to those updates for the following reasons:

New information brings new moral reckoning: We encounter facts that conflict with the narrative we were taught and feel an obligation to update our beliefs and behavior.

Identity shift rather than identity rejection: Rather than abandon our identity as Americans, we adopt a more complex version of it, one that maintains an attachment to our country while acknowledging harm has been done.

Resolving cognitive conflict through action: Cognitive dissonance is when we’re faced with two apparently conflicting thoughts, in this case, "I love my country" and "my country did something bad.” To resolve the conflict, we change our behavior, maybe by altering how we celebrate a holiday, so our actions are consistent with our updated knowledge.

A sense of moral duty or responsibility: We feel ethically compelled to act upon the new knowledge.

Processing the grief or loss: Those of us who experience this reaction often mourn the simpler, kinder story we may have grown up with. Adjusting a holiday tradition can help us deal with that loss.

Indifferent to the New Information

The second statement — "I got the information, but don't care one way or the other because all of history everywhere in the world includes unpalatable information and characters, and you're naive to think otherwise." — reflects a historical relativism mindset in which we express our patriotism by trying to put negativity into perspective.

A coping strategy: We don’t deny the facts, but instead see America's flaws as matching those of a universal pattern. That, and judging what happened in the past, is both naive and unfair because we didn’t live during that time and so don’t understand the morals, events, and attitudes.

Emotional distance rather than moral evasion: We don’t refute the facts, but instead keep ourselves emotionally distant from them. That protects us from absorbing every historical wrong, which is exhausting.

A stability-first angle: This response allows us to maintain both our patriotism and our past behaviors. If new information is discovered, we’ll note it but won’t feel compelled to throw out our beloved traditions.

A sense of sophistication: If we assume others are being naive, we can view moral outrage at historical wrongdoing as a sign of inexperience or idealism, whereas acceptance implies maturity.

Minimal reckoning: By viewing history through a lens of “every country did bad things,” we can avoid deeper engagement with, or acknowledgment of, the historical information, even though we accept it as real.

Distrust and/or Rejection of the Information

The third statement — "I believe the information is both questionable and/or biased, and more importantly, damaging to our country, and therefore I don't believe it should be taught." — involves these psychological components.

Perception of threat: We find the information not only unwelcome, but dangerous enough to cause real social or civic damage.

Skepticism provides protection: If we question or reject the information itself, we avoid confronting the subject directly. Questioning makes sense, because we live in a disinformation era where people find facts to support their views and all messaging is slanted.

Loyalty first: We demonstrate our loyalty to group cohesion and shared national narrative first over historical accuracy. Whoever undermines the original narrative weakens our country’s stability, especially in the eyes of our enemies.

Fear of erosion: Accepting one wrongdoing could lead to a rush of more negative research that undermines our self-respect as Americans. The best thing to do is prevent the slide.

A "true" patriot: We fulfill a duty by protecting the collective story from what we view as dangerous agenda-driven revisionism.

Conclusion

These three psychological postures typically show up in America's current cultural and educational debates surrounding:

  • traditional celebrations such as Thanksgiving and Columbus Day
  • any changes to the curriculum of U.S. history, especially regarding: slavery and its legacy; Indigenous history; the naming of monuments and institutions; the framing of military and foreign-policy history; critical race theory; the 1619 Project; AP African American Studies

By recognizing the three mindsets, however, we can have more substantive discussions about the actual historical insights and proposed changes.

Those of us arguing for curriculum change may not be trying to make kids "hate America.” Instead, we may be operating from the belief that moral reckoning is an act of patriotism rather than a betrayal of it. Those of us resisting curriculum change may not be avoiding truth out of ignorance, but instead operating out of genuine concern about narrative erosion and social cohesion. And those of us who shrug at the whole debate aren’t necessarily complacent. We may simply have made peace with historical complexity in a way that any particular current debate doesn’t feel urgent.

If that kind of understanding seems impossible in our current culture, the good news is that there are numerous cases in which citizens, organizations, and government officials have been successful at incorporating historical changes.

Consider that for decades, the history of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre — the destruction of Tulsa’s Greenwood District, a prosperous Black neighborhood in Oklahoma — was actively suppressed.

In the 1990s, the state created a commission to collect evidence from newspapers, survivor interviews, death certificates, photographs, and other sources that resulted in a documented historical record. The public was brought into the debate. Convinced of the historical facts, in 2008, the Tulsa public school system incorporated the historical event into the social studies curriculum.

The process wasn’t fast, but it did allow people of all three mindsets, with the time, information, and opportunity to come to terms with American history in a way that took patriotism out of the equation.

Writer and journalist Martha Engber is the host of Vigilant Positivity, a blog and YouTube channel that covers the Common Ground Movement.


Read More

People, diversity or meeting with hands together for unity,

A personal 9/11 reflection on American resilience — how ordinary kindness, community, and quiet strength endure amid political noise and division.

Jacob Wackerhausen/Getty Images

America’s Quiet Strength: Rising Above Power, Chaos and Cruelty

As Americans look back on 9/11 in this 250th year, we remember a nation shaken — yet rising, again and again. America is cracked, but Americans are not broken. Our resilience is the quiet force holding this country together.

Today, we find ourselves in a moment thick with noise — global conflicts, corruption, rising prices, healthcare struggles, and political division designed to exhaust us. Every day brings a new headline, a new crisis, a new attempt to distract or divide. The chaos, fatigue, and uncertainty are real. Yet even in this noisy, chaotic time, Americans continue to rise — not because life is easy, but because rising is who we are.

Keep ReadingShow less
People standing in a circle with their arms around each other.

A theological look at addiction recovery: why faith communities matter alongside treatment, and how loneliness fuels dependence in America.

Luis Alvarez/Getty Images

Recovery Is Sacred Work: Faith, Belonging, and the Crisis of Dependence

September’s observance of National Recovery Month gives us a chance to celebrate people rebuilding their lives after substance use and mental health challenges. It should also force us to ask an uncomfortable question: What kind of society leaves so many people desperate to escape their own lives?

Addiction is often described as an individual disorder. Clinically, that description matters: substance use disorders affect the brain, behavior, judgment, and physical health. Yet addiction does not develop in a vacuum. It can take root in grief, trauma, chronic pain, economic insecurity, family rupture, social isolation, or a loss of purpose. Recovery therefore requires more than abstinence. It requires a life in which connection, dignity, responsibility, and hope become possible again.

Keep ReadingShow less
​A crowd gathers to take in the September 11th memorial lights in Brooklyn, NY.

A crowd gathers to take in the September 11th memorial lights in Brooklyn Bridge Park, New York City, NY.

Getty Images

Remembering 9/11 and My Pledge to Frank

A college friend called me and desperately urged me to turn on my television. I was at home in my study writing a chapter on civic faith for a new book. As I tuned in to the news, I watched a second plane ram into the north tower of the World Trade Center, where my best friend from college, Frank Reisman, worked for Cantor Fitzgerald. Hours later, another call: Frank was gone.

Twenty-five years have passed, and I remember that dreadful day as if it was yesterday. Are we a better nation? Stronger? More vibrant? Kinder?

Keep ReadingShow less
Two Yellow Speech Bubbles Overlapping Common Ground on Blue Background Front View.
A reflection on parenting, empathy, and communication in a divided world.
Getty Images, MirageC

Building Trust, One Conversation at a Time

In 2020, my friend and colleague Dr. Terrence Robinson died suddenly and unexpectedly of COVID. For five years, we had built a youth apprenticeship program together in Cleveland, raised more than half a million dollars, and trained more than 200 young people. Terrence was Black. I am Jewish. The whole time, I wanted to talk with him about the things that sat quietly underneath our friendship: race, religion, history, privilege. I never did, because I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, and the negative ramifications of saying something ignorant in the workplace. Then he was gone, and the conversation I kept postponing was gone with him.

I think about that silence often, because it is the same silence I now see between two communities that once helped change this country together.

Keep ReadingShow less