Patriots, expatriates, and scoundrels

THEY are down to the last sixteen in the tennis tourna ment at Wimbledon; and the British, who have not turned out champions of late, now believe they have a man worthy of their loyalty. That he is a Canadian with a Slavic surname who claims to be British through his mother cannot deter his fans. Desperate for success, they do not just wave the Union Jack, they wear it on their heads and paint it on their faces: they are patriots we are given to believe. Their man is playing an American, California-born, of Greek de scent, who beats the newly coined Briton in three straight sets. As an American expatriate in England watching the pro ceedings, I hate the displays in the stands and in the press of what the reporters call "patriotism." Yet, when the American wins, I feel a deep satisfaction, almost a gloat, which I sup press as unworthy. At a slightly more subtle level than international sport, the idea of patriotism comes into conflict with cosmopolitanism as the English, French, Germans, and Scandinavians confront the difficulties of retaining their national identity if subject to a European parliament, a European court of justice, and a common currency administered by a central bank in Frank furt. Political parties, entire nations indeed, are riven as mystical visions of sovereignty are challenged by stubborn economic realities. Meanwhile the United States Congress resolves that no one may desecrate the American flag. Such patriotism, just about the only kind left now, is suspect to a great many people of more or less open mind, a cheap slogan to urge us to fight wars or to get our votes. Yet one's skepti cism is also uneasy. We remain aware, however dimly, of innocent, decent, obscurely pastoral associations with the