The Aliveness of Symbols by Xochitl Alvizo

This is an embarrassingly revealing post, please forgive my younger self for her naiveté.

I grew up a proud American. I even had a collection of American flag pins, one of which said “1o1% American!,” and a giant 4×6 foot size U.S. flag hanging in my bedroom wall, which I took with me when I went off to college for undergrad. I was part of the glee club in my junior high school and proudly performed Neil Diamond’s “America” as we all process into the auditorium waving flags from all around the world. Convinced this was a beautifully diverse country of immigrants. My parents were both recent immigrants and were vocal about their appreciation of the opportunities this country provided for them. My dad always said this country gave him more than his country of origin ever did. And I bought the narrative, “hook, line, and sinker!”

But today, I’m more likely to wave a flag of whatever country from Abya Yala is playing in the World Cup, than the one of this country. I reflected on this as I watched all the different people celebrating the World Cup and waving the flags of their various countries during and after each game.

I think my younger self’s love for the flag was possible because I never had first-hand experience of this symbol being used against me or my community (a very insulated experience!). I had only positive associations tied to it, both within my family and my broader context, including my educational one. Even at school, my educational system was able to successfully sanitize the country’s origins such that I could still hold its flag in high esteem. My schooling was able to somehow frame the reality of our country’s violent, racist, and genocidal roots as if it was a thing of the past and was now redeemed and transformed. It fundamentally failed me, for this country’s roots are alive and well, and flouting its ugliness with ever more boldness.

Sociologists of religion Michael O. Emerson and Glenn E. Bracey II lead a three-year research project conducting over 100 interviews with “scholars and practitioners with expertise in religion and race,” followed by the creation of a national survey of over 100 questions that resulted data from almost 3,000 people across the United States. Their research resulted in the publication of their book, “The Religion of Whiteness: How Racism Distorts Christian Faith” (Oxford University Press, 2024). In the book they argue and show evidence that “two-thirds of white practicing Christians are not following Christianity. They’re following a different religion. And [they’re] calling it the religion of whiteness,” or ROW for short. As with other religions, Emerson and Bracey outline the beliefs and practices of ROW, six beliefs and five practices. I’ll offer just three of each here:

• belief that whiteness is to be venerated, worshipped, and defended
• belief that whiteness is natural, normative–God’s ordained order
• belief in White Christian Nationalism, the “political ideology and cultural framework that idealizes and advocates a fusion of symbols of Christianity with American civic life, including nativism, white supremacy, divine sanction for authoritarian control and militarism, and allegiance to a national–red white racial–identity” (pg. 51).
• practice a highly selective use of Christian scriptures (52)
• practice epistemology of ignorance – not knowing as a tool of preserving the status quo (53)
• practice the veneration of sacred symbols, key of which are a white Jesus and the merging of the cross and the flag (whether U.S. or Confederate) (53)

The last practice is the point I’m trying to get to, the one that most changes my experience with the flag today. Images of the cross and the flag fused into a single symbol abound—online, at MAGA rallies, and on T-shirts and hats—with the flag waving behind the cross or draped across it. Today, this is the dominant image the U.S. flag evokes for me: its merger with the cross as a visual representation of white Christian nationalism. This fusion embodies a central tenet of the Religion of Whiteness, one that reinforces and sanctifies the racist and colonial foundations of the United States. This is what the symbol of the U.S. flag has come to represent.

Symbols are meaningful because we infuse them with meaning as they point us to something beyond itself. The U.S. flag is currently a symbol actively being used against so many of us. It is negatively storied, and far from the meaning it had for me in my youth.

There is one place, though, where seeing the U.S. flag being carried in stirs, if not positive, at least neutral feelings for me…in the grand entry of a Powwow.

For 40 years now, CSUN (where I teach) has been host to an annual Powwow. I have been attending Powwows since I was exposed to them as a first year undergrad at my alma mater, USC. And there, when carried by indigenous people, the flag is transformed and takes on an entirely different meaning. The context making all the difference.

There is much more to say about this, but for now, I’ll continue to enjoy the festive celebrations surrounding the World Cup—where flags can still be expressions of joy, belonging, and play—and take comfort in the fact that the cross and the flag fused into a single symbol is nowhere to be found.