Love It or Leave It: The Complexity of Patriotism
"Love it or leave it." It's a phrase most Americans have heard at some point. Sometimes, it's spoken with pride, sometimes with menace, but always with a clear implication: unquestioning allegiance or exile. The phrase demands loyalty, but does it allow room for honesty, for critique, for a deeper kind of love—the love that dares to tell the truth?
I’ve never uttered those words to anyone, nor would I ever say them to my own child. That’s not the kind of love I wish to express—neither for my family nor for my country. True love is not blind devotion; it is a commitment to seeing clearly and striving for better. And yet, throughout history, many have been told that to challenge their nation is to betray it.
A Story of Two Homelands
I write these words from France, a country that colonized my birthplace, Vietnam, for nearly a century. My parents and grandparents lived under French rule, and the weight of that history shaped our family’s experience. Part of me admires France, not because of its colonial past, but because of its culture, its literature, and its ideals. But I cannot romanticize it as many Americans do, envisioning only the Eiffel Tower, charming cafés, and picturesque countryside. Colonialism’s legacy lingers, visible in the lives of immigrants from Africa, the Middle East, and Asia who now live at the margins of French society. It is easy to ignore their struggles when indulging in a fantasy of France—but ignoring reality does not make it disappear.
Like France, America, my adopted home, is a land of contradictions. I was born in Vietnam but became an American, not just through legal paperwork but through lived experience. My identity is shaped by three wars: the battle against French colonization, the civil war between North and South Vietnam, and the war that drew America into Vietnam’s fate. Many Americans remember their involvement as an act of noble sacrifice, but it was also a continuation of imperial ambition—a belief that America had the right to shape another nation’s destiny.
One war might be a mistake. A series of wars is a pattern. From the displacement of Native Americans to interventions in Asia and the Middle East, America has always justified its conflicts as necessary for freedom and security. But history tells a more complex story. The same nation that fought against British colonial rule became an empire in its own right, expanding its influence through conquest and war.
The Price of Speaking the Truth
Not everyone welcomes these truths. I once received an angry letter from an American veteran who felt personally betrayed by my critique of the Vietnam War. “We sacrificed for you, your family, your country,” he wrote. “You should be grateful.” Another veteran suggested I leave America if I didn’t love it enough. But love is not measured in blind obedience. True love for a nation means holding it accountable, acknowledging both its achievements and its failures.
I criticize America not because I hate it, but because I believe in its potential. Every country has a dual nature—both beautiful and brutal. France, Vietnam, and America have all been shaped by war, conquest, and injustice. To ignore those realities is to live in denial. To confront them is to seek a better future.
Belonging Beyond Borders
My son was born in America. His citizenship is unquestionable, yet even he may one day hear the words, "Love it or leave it." That phrase suggests there is only one way to be American, but in reality, America is a mosaic of identities. My son bears the name Ellison, after the great writer Ralph Ellison, who chronicled the struggles of Black America. His name carries the weight of history—the promise of democracy and the shadow of oppression. America is both, always has been, and always will be.
I grew up hearing my parents express love in ways that did not rely on words. Rather than frequently saying 'I love you,' Vietnamese people often demonstrate their care through gestures and daily acts of kindness. My father, exhausted from long hours of labor, still made sure we had food on the table. When Vietnamese parents ask, “Have you eaten yet?” they are really asking, “Are you well? Are you cared for?”
I now ask my son the same question, blending my heritage with the traditions of my adopted homeland. I tell him I love him—something my parents never said to me but always showed. Just as I refuse to be forced into a single definition of Vietnamese identity, I reject the notion that there is only one way to be American. Patriotism is not submission; it is the courage to demand that America live up to its highest ideals.
The Freedom to Challenge
Symbols like the flag and the national anthem mean little to me in themselves. They have been used too often to divide, to draw lines between those who are considered "true" Americans and those who are not. But America is more than its symbols. It is a set of principles—democracy, justice, equality. These ideals have been stained by history, but they remain worth fighting for.
When my father finally accepted America as his home, I felt both relief and unease. What version of America had he embraced? The one of opportunity, or the one of exclusion? America is both, just as every country is a mix of promise and failure. To love a country is to refuse to accept its failures as inevitable.
So no, I will never say “love it or leave it.” I will say: Love it enough to tell the truth. Love it enough to demand better. Love it enough to make it a home for everyone, including those who challenge it. That, to me, is the deepest kind of patriotism.
