Essay: The Greatest

I was recently asked if I believe that the United States is the greatest country in the world. “Great” feels like a popular word lately – making things great again and being the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) come to mind.

I paused before I responded. I couldn’t decide how to answer. Yes? No? Sometimes? This country has afforded me freedoms and opportunities I would not have in other places and I am grateful. But somehow “greatest” didn’t quite capture the way I feel about the country of my birth. And that’s when I thought about the “I Love America Because” essay contest.

I was 10 years old when I won this essay contest at my school, and I went on to win a district award. There’s a photo of me accepting some sort of certificate and a check for $10. I'm wearing a purple headband that pushes my pale, straight hair from my face and mint green stirrup pants (it was the 1980s). I look surprised, even taken aback. Of course I loved America. And somehow, I had found the right words to say so.

Back then, I had no reason to question my love for America, which I later learned was not really the right way to say it, because Honduras, Ecuador and Bolivia are America, too. I hadn't yet learned about systemic racism, questionable US intervention in foreign governments or the pervasive and widening gap between the rich and poor in this country. I didn’t know that the US scores poorly among developed nations in maternal health and child poverty rates. I didn’t know we were leaders in gun violence rates and incarceration rates. There were times in my early adulthood, particularly when I was traveling more internationally, when I did not think the US was the greatest country in the world, and when I looked back on the “I love America” essay contest as a childish exercise.

But then I fell in love. I met and married the love of my life and we had three children. I thought a lot about love, and how you can deeply love someone and yet still see their flaws. In the case of children, loving someone means not letting them get away with hurtful or bad behaviors. You speak up, because you want the ones you love to be the best, most whole and healthy versions of themselves. In the case of a nation, when you love something, you speak up with it goes astray. Put another way: dissent is patriotic.

When I think about the United States, on the precipice of a polarizing election, wearied from partisan bickering and violence, I don’t find the question about greatness to be the most compelling or the most uniting. For me, the better questions right now are: What country do I love the most? What country do I believe in? For what country am I willing to toil so that it can be the best version of itself? Perhaps it is too trite to repeat JFK’s line about asking not what your country can do for it but what you can do for your country. But perhaps it is not. Love is a verb.

My children are 11, 8 and 3. I am not entirely sure if they are the greatest 11, 8 and 3-year-olds that have ever lived. But they are the ones that I love the most and for which I would sacrifice. As it turns out, I do love America, not because we have perfection but because we have possibilities. We have diverse people, creative innovation and abundant resources. We have so much capacity to support human flourishing. But so much depends on who we decide that we will love.

Election week nears. Cast your ballot. Remember who you love.