The Nature of Things: American Flags & Black Lives Matter
I recently encountered a debate regarding the choice to fly the American flag vs. the Black Lives Matter flag. I was first struck by the rhetorical fallacy in comparing the flags as equals, since the Black Lives Matter flag doesn’t claim to be the national flag, nor does it alter the American flag in order to relay its message. In fact, Black Lives Matter wasn’t originally a flag at all. But, despite the false equivalency, I was willing to examine my conscious decision to fly a 12 inch garden Black Lives Matter flag, as well as my unconscious choice not to fly an American flag.
It was easy for me to determine why I chose to fly the Black Lives Matter flag. I am a white woman living in a predominately white neighborhood. I’m surrounded by racism-skeptics. Being a white ally doesn’t just mean protesting and engaging people on social media. It also means putting yourself in a position that can led to a conversation. My flag led to a conversation.
It wasn’t as easy to determine why I have unconsciously chosen not to fly an American flag outside my home. For starters, I don’t own one, and I don’t decorate with American flags outside of Independence Day. I wasn’t raised on the bread of nationalism. Do not misunderstand me — I’ve shed tears during the National Anthem, felt immeasurable pride over America’s best achievements, and I’ve always supported the men and women who fight and die for this country. I have nothing against the American flag, I’m just not very proactive about it. The philosopher in me recognizes the American flag as but a symbol, and we can’t control the nature of symbols.
This uncontrollable aspect, this remainder outside of intention, accompanies all symbols. It was this intangible shadow of meaning that made me hesitate before installing a Black Lives Matter garden flag. I knew flying this flag meant more than just my white allyship. It meant offending neighbors who don’t understand or agree with the Movement for Black Lives. It meant opening myself up to the unknowable shadows of objects and symbols. For example, it never occurred to me that a Black Lives Matter flag could be compared to an American flag. That’s the thing about objects and symbols, they have power outside of our intention or use for them.
In her book Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things, American philosopher Jane Bennett calls this ability for objects to produce subtle or dramatic affects “thing-power.” An object, a thing, doesn’t identify itself — it is given an identity by those who create or objectify it. Things don’t have meaning until they do. The non-identity of a thing is that which remains after the identifiable parts are attributed. There will always be a remainder, a shadow that nettles those who seek to fully identify the object.
The American flag has been identified as a symbol of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The American Dream. Therefore, the American flag’s most overwhelming “thing-power” is freedom. However, the flag we wave today was adopted in 1960, four years before the Civil Rights Act. The American Flag waved over a nation that bought and sold slaves; it waved over a nation that gave citizenship to black people but continued terrorizing them; it waved over an institutionally segregated nation. The American flag of today waves over a nation that still refuses to acknowledge the trauma and multi-generational impact of slavery. The American flag has never meant freedom for all Americans, therefore the “thing-power” of the American flag is also oppression.
In a piece he wrote for Time last year, Damon Young demonstrates the oppressive “thing-power” of the American flag. In his article, he details a bike trip he took with his wife and another black couple. As they traveled farther outside of Pittsburgh and moved into more rural areas, they started to notice an influx of American flags. They saw so many American flags they joked about it being “a flag orgy.” However, as they trekked through rural Pennsylvania, Young and his group stopped laughing when they noticed a stark increase in something else: Racism.
And then, after stopping at the B&B, showering, changing and venturing out that night to find some food, that peculiarity shifted to a latent menace. We were reminded, through the stares, the whispers, the pauses and the glares, of who we were. Of where we were.
Of course, we didn’t need the reminders. We didn’t forget. But they were sending a message — a reminder in case we forgot to remind ourselves — and the flags were the first dog whistles.
In his article, Young demonstrates that the American flag doesn’t represent liberty for everyone, at least, not when it’s in the hands of the people most likely to wield it.
But what about the shadow “thing-power” of the Black Lives Matter flag? What remainder exists outside of justice?
From personal conversations, I’ve learned that remainder consists of a desire to move on from talking about race. I’ve learned that those who dislike the Black Lives Matter flag tend to believe that racism doesn’t exist, and that black people are exactly where they want/deserve to be based on their individual behavior. Some people who oppose Black Lives Matter do so because they live in fear that their non-black life will somehow decrease in value if they validate the value of black lives. Sometimes they mention violence committed in the name of Black Lives Matter (especially violence against police). This argument is why the Blue Lives Matter flag began to fly, a flag that is more, but not directly, comparable to the Black Lives Matter flag. Therefore, the “thing-power” of the Black Lives Matter flag is not just justice, but also incredulity, fear, and anger.
I can empathize with the idea that violence against police makes the Black Lives Matter flag less sympathetic, because there is evidence to prove this violence has occurred, but the violence of few should not erase the voice of many. As for the other reasons the Black Lives Matter flag is shunned, there is no such evidence to support the beliefs that leave the opposition feeling incredulous or afraid. In fact, the evidence points in the opposite direction. However, because statistics are most often met with the argument that “black people are where they are because of their own choices,” there is no point in providing statistical evidence of inequality among black and white Americans. Instead, those who wave a Black Lives Matter flag must find a way to connect to the people who don’t understand it. The very fact that my garden flag was conflated with my absent American flag proves that there is much to learn from one another, and in the process of learning perhaps we can find common ground.
Outside of philosophic musings, some symbols are so destructively powerful they need not be questioned (ex. the swastika or burning cross), but in most cases Bennett urges us to become comfortable with a thing’s “non-identity” or the shadows of things. The more we understand what a thing doesn’t mean to us, or can’t mean to us because it is unknowable, the better we can understand the thing itself. The more comfortable we are living in a state of aporia when it comes to the nature of things, the less emotionally driven our response to things become. It is not without consequence that we attach ourselves to objects that merely reflect our beliefs and intentions. Therefore, if we must find our reflections within an object, we must also make room for the reflections of others.
