What is a Patriot?
A Trip to Iceland Made Me Proud of My American Heritage

Photo by Alex Jordan | Special to VOX

By Kathleen Jordan | VOX Summer Intern

I pause at the top of the ridge, hundreds of feet above the drop-off — the earth seems to pulse waves of energy through my heels. The cliffs behind me extend and dip and cross, like a child had outlined their shape with big, thick brown marker. In front of me, clear blue water pools and stretches over a mint-colored terrain. Mountains line the horizon.

This place is Þingvellir (pronounced Thingvillar), the site of the first Icelandic parliament and Iceland’s conversion to Christianity in the year 930. It also happens to be the most breathtakingly stunning place I have ever seen. I could hardly say the same of America’s historical equivalent: Take away the heart-stopping natural beauty and add a Disneyworld/gift shop effect, and you have Philadelphia’s Liberty Bell. So, as a self-proclaimed proud American, I falter. Standing in what seems to be the most naturally beautiful place in the world, I can’t help but think, How can my country compare?

Going with the Flow
Walking the streets of Reykjavik, Iceland’s small, quaint capital, I clutch my scarf around my neck, trying to draw attention to what I hope is a distinctly European fashion statement. I leave each store with an Icelandic “Thanks,” though I’m sure all of the shopkeepers speak English. I wonder whether I want to look less American or more Icelandic. Each time someone mistakes me for an Icelander, it feels like a miniature victory, but why? What is it that makes me want to blend in so desperately? Am I ashamed of where I come from? And what does this mean of my patriotism? If I cannot be proud of my country, then I must not love it very much.

My family and I sit in a bar with a Scottish 21-year-old, Amanda, who we met earlier that evening. We talk about the differences between our countries and, following Amanda’s lead, begin to discuss American politics. She speaks with an intense passion about how she believes the United States needs fresh, driven leadership for our own sake, but also for our international reputation. She talks very intelligently (and doesn’t seem to pause for breath). After realizing she has been ranting, she blurts out, “I care so much about it I feel like I deserve to vote!” I’m positively struck by her enthusiasm — she knows more about U.S. politics than many of my well-educated friends.

Later that night, in the (especially clean!) convenience store, I overhear one British young man saying to another, “I think it’s November 4th.” I ask, perhaps presumptuously: “Are you talking about the American election?” They smile and nod. I feel a rush of panic and an obligation to explain that many Americans are not proud of our current leadership. I get so flustered that I pretend someone called to me and leave them to judge me in the dairy aisle.

What is a patriot? Would a patriot feel the need to apologize for her country?

Embracing My Roots
Laying in bed and letting the city sounds wash over me, I think about how I acted that day—how I felt compelled to hide my nationality, how defensive I was in the grocery store, and how easy it was for me to put down my government. At that moment, I tell myself something important. If so many people care about and are affected by my nation’s future, then I need to care 10 times more. Caring, for me, is the definition of patriotism. I care, so I am a patriot.

I am lucky to live in a country with a strong democracy. And caring about the integrity of that system of government makes me a patriot. Democracy is the right to demand change. I believe in making our ideas and ourselves obvious and unavoidable. I’ve grown up in a liberal household while attending a conservative school, and that juxtaposition forced me to work out my political inklings out loud. While many of my peers at school say that criticizing our leadership is unpatriotic, I say that it is unpatriotic to fail to question the government. If the lynchpin of democracy is the voice of the people, then by blindly following a leader, you choose to deny your people and yourself the chance to live in a sincere democracy.

I would not care so intensely about my country if I hadn’t been taught to care. My father, Hamilton Jordan, President Jimmy Carter’s campaign manager and White House Chief of Staff, taught me what it is to truly love America. He showed me with all that he has contributed to our nation’s history and all that he imparted to me over the 19 years that I have known and loved him, that I owe it to the United States to be proud of where I come from. I used to be ashamed to be from the South; now, I couldn’t be prouder. When my dad died this summer after his sixth bout with cancer at the age of 63, I knew that the fervor he had for his nation could not die with him because he spent the past two decades instilling it in his three children. If one man can turn an unknown political hopeful from Plains, GA, into the President of the United States, I do truly believe there isn’t much a person can’t do with a little bit of faith.

I believe, and quite unapologetically so, that I live in the greatest country in the world. I faltered on the ridge on that stunning day of my Icelandic family vacation, and just as any stray from a moral code strengthens the return, so did my brief stint with cultural rebellion make me feel that much more connected to my home. What more could a patriot ask for?

Kathleen, a Westminster graduate, is now a sophomore at Kenyon College. She says she loves all of the RYV ‘08ers and promises to come back.