As we approach the 250th anniversary of the unanimous adoption of the Declaration of Independence by the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia, I’ve been thinking about the symbols, customs and rituals that have become a kind of civic religion in this country, and what impact they’ve had on me. Just as I have mixed feelings about organized religion, I have mixed feelings about the Pledge of Allegiance. In elementary school, like most children, I didn’t fully understand the Pledge of Allegiance, but I found beauty in the sound and rhythm of the words. I didn’t understand why we put our hands on our hearts, but like so many other things, I just did it because the teacher instructed us to. Of course, the pledge was just one part of broader citizenship training. In fifth grade, music class complemented our social studies focus on American history. We learned Revolutionary War songs, Civil War songs, folk songs, work songs and the many songs written about our flag. All these years later, I still remember most of those songs, including the lyrics, and belt them out on long trips in the car. We also learned the rules concerning raising, lowering, folding, maintaining and disposing of the flag. This was the Vietnam War era, so I saw more than one flag-burning on TV. It hurt me every time, having been taught to respect that symbol. Still does. On the other hand, the horrifying photos in Life Magazine helped me grasp the protesters’ anger. During my sixth-grade year, my family lived in Edinburgh, Scotland. There, in public school, we recited the Lord’s Prayer every morning and had religious assembly twice a week: the Headmaster read passages from the Bible and told us what lesson we should take from it. My parents were shocked, but we just did it. The Lord’s Prayer was new to me, and its old-fashioned language held the same appeal as the poetry in the Pledge of Allegiance. Nobody bothered to explain its meaning or significance to me because the other kids had been reciting it for years. I just memorized and recited it because my teacher kept a leather belt rolled up in her cabinet to use on disobedient children’s hands. That year abroad jostled all my assumptions: I realized that so much of what I’d considered normal (for the whole world!) was actually just stuff we did or believed here. So, when I had to start reciting the Pledge again in seventh grade, I was no longer on automatic pilot. I listened beyond the poetry to the words’ meaning. It hit me that I was swearing an oath of fealty to my country every morning. Why? Was my loyalty in question? Did someone think that without this ritual,I would betray my country? By the time I reached high school, the Pledge of Allegiance was causing me unease. I couldn’t see how mechanical recitation would make me a more thoughtful, concerned citizen. “America, love it or leave it” bumper stickers proliferated. But with the head-spinning disaster of the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal shaking the foundations of our democracy, unquestioned loyalty didn’t seem right. Furthermore, those two words, “Under God,” really bothered me. I hadn’t made up my mind about God (still haven’t), not feeling qualified to presume and not feeling the need to pronounce on the question. It also disturbed me to have someone put words in my mouth and expect me to make a promise — my hand over my heart! — without ever asking me whether I agreed. So, I was left with a choice: Either swear to something I didn’t necessarily believe, just because some school official expected it; or stop reciting it and express my allegiance in terms that coincided with my convictions. I stopped reciting. Even today, I stand in respect for those who find meaning in the pledge — just as I stand with the congregation in a place of worship. But I say nothing, hands at my sides. More than reciting the pledge, it was questioning the ritual and choosing to forego it that made me feel engaged as a citizen. Because the right to dissent is precious.
Lynn Palermo, a Lewisburg resident and a translator, is retired from the faculty at Susquehanna University.