A Different Kind of Patriotism
Today, more than ever, America needs its veterans to remember that their oaths to the Constitution do not expire.
By Ken Harbaugh
It has been twenty years since I left the Navy. Thirty since I raised my right hand and swore the oath. Today is Veterans Day, and I will hear “thank you for your service” more times than I can count. I appreciate the sentiment. But our past service is not enough – America needs us to stand up and meet this moment, to remember that our oaths did not expire simply because we took off the uniform.
Three decades ago, I never imagined where that oath would take me. I felt I owed my country something, and was drawn to the adventure of it all. On that front, the Navy did not disappoint. I led reconnaissance missions off Russia and China, and flew patrols along the Korean DMZ. I learned to lead, and served alongside some of the best Americans I have ever known.
But the patriotism that led me there came far too easily. I grew up in a comfortable, middle-class family, the son and grandson of military pilots. I thought love-of-country was about gratitude, about giving something back. That, it turns out, was not the kind of foundation that could survive the tests to come.
The “Global War on Terror” challenged everything I thought I knew, as the lies piled up and my friends paid the price. There were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Even our “good war” in Afghanistan was becoming a quagmire. How does one believe in a country that lies so easily, that breaks promises to its own defenders?
Real patriotism, I learned, is complicated. The kind I grew up with was too easy, too simple. It revolved around what America was. Genuine devotion, the kind able to endure a nation’s failings, demands something deeper and truer. I learned that from someone whose love for America cost him nearly everything.
Mike Washington’s friends call him “Top,” a nickname he earned after rising to the highest enlisted rank in the U.S. Marine Corps. That drive to serve runs deep in his family. Top’s son, Mike Jr., followed in his father’s footsteps, joining the Corps and deploying to Afghanistan. When Top left active duty, he became a firefighter to continue serving his community and his country.
On June 14, 2008, as Top was finishing a shift at his firehouse, a dark sedan pulled into the driveway. It was the day before Father’s Day. Two Marines in dress blues stepped out of the car. Mike knew, before they even spoke, that his son had been killed. He stood at attention as the awful news was relayed. It registered in fragments – “roadside bomb…Farah Province…on behalf of a grateful nation…” Top stood at attention as the Marines left. He was a Master Sergeant at heart, and felt compelled to set an example for those around him. Inside, he was falling apart.
Grief consumed him. After months of spiraling, Top found himself on a bridge in Tacoma, Washington, ready to jump. One step would end the pain. But he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard his son’s voice. “Dad,” it said, “you’ve got work to do…you’re not done yet.” Top stepped back. Over the coming months, he found his way through the anguish. He sought therapy, and learned how to push through the dark days. Eventually, he pursued his own degree in counseling, and focused on serving other first responders dealing with trauma.
I met Top in 2013, as part of veteran-led disaster relief organization. He was a larger-than-life figure even then. As a former Marine Corps Master Sergeant, he commanded the attention of any room he entered. Little did I know that his new mission, serving disaster victims and first responders, began on a bridge in Tacoma, with his son’s voice compelling him to carry on.
Top and I deployed together many times over the years, to flood-, fire- and storm-ravaged towns across the US. After long days in the field, our team of vets would gather to decompress, often around a campfire. The conversations always began with the work, but went deeper. Grief, guilt, purpose—everyone carried something.
Top became our steady center. Never lecturing, just listening. He once told me that grief can make you bitter, or it can make you wise. Top chose wisdom. To many of us, Top became a mentor. To me, he became much more. His most enduring gift has been to restore my faith in America. I have come to believe in my country again, not for all it is or was, but for all it can become. The naive patriotism of my youth has grown into something a thousand times stronger.
As a Gold Star Father, and as a black American, Top knows what it means for his country to fall short of its ideals. But that does not undermine Top’s devotion. It fuels it. Master Sergeant Washington has given more to this nation than most of us can imagine, yet he loves it still. Not for what it is or was, but for the promise it holds.
That is the kind of patriotism we need now. It is not easy, but it is enduring. On this Veterans Day, I pray that everyone who served remembers that our duty does not end when we take off the uniform. Real patriotism is not comfortable. It is not easy. It provokes, it tests, it demands. It means seeing America for what it is, and fighting to make it better. And when America stumbles, it whispers, You’re not done yet.
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I hope they remember their oath to the Constitution. They are our last defense.
Happy Veterans Day to you Ken and To All Our Veterans across America. You are our heroes.