In the late spring of 1969 at U.S. Army Europe headquarters in Heidelberg, West Germany, a young second lieutenant, not long outside the ivied walls of Harvard College, was summoned into the office of his company commander. With the inferno in Vietnam and the growing unrest in cities and campuses across America, the major was concerned about the lieutenant’s attitude. Did he, perhaps, sympathize with the protestors? He called him over to the window, which looked out on the entrance to the headquarters, and put his arm on his shoulder. “Love that flag, boy,” he said. “Love that flag.”

We Americans have a fetish for our flag. We fly them by the dozens in small towns across the country. They shine on the lapels of politicians from the county seat to the halls of Congress. You must fold it in a certain way. You cannot let it touch the ground. Government agencies are prohibited from purchasing a flag that was not made in the United States from materials grown or produced in the United States. Our flag flies at every sports event from Little League to the Super Bowl, and woe to him who fails to stand at attention when the band strikes up the Star Spangled Banner. Schoolchildren pledge allegiance to it every morning.

And yet, we have the Constitutional right to burn it. This, to put it mildly, is not popular with a lot of people. All 50 states have adopted resolutions demanding that Congress pass a Constitutional amendment to criminalize burning our flag. Currently, a proposed amendment reads in full: “Congress shall have power to prohibit the physical desecration of the flag of the United States.”

Yet it was Antonin Scalia, the most conservative member of the Supreme Court, who cast the fifth and deciding vote that declared burning the American flag a fundamental right protected by the First Amendment. The case was Texas v. Johnson, the year was 1989. Even Scalia wasn’t thrilled about the outcome: "If it were up to me,” he said later, “I would put in jail every sandal-wearing, scruffy-bearded weirdo who burns the American flag. But I am not king.”

Where else would that happen? This election is, among other things, to ensure that it continues to happen here.

So, here we are, Election Day Eve 2024, and none of us has a clue about what will happen tomorrow. Donald Trump has promised his followers that, if he wins, there will never again be such uncertainty on Election Day – which is one more reason to vote for Kamala Harris.

We are told that this is the most divisive presidential election since 1860, when Abraham Lincoln was elected with 39.7% of the vote in a four-man race. He handily won the Electoral College, however, with 180 of the 303 electoral votes cast – this despite the fact that he got no (zero) votes in 10 Southern states because no ballots carrying his name were distributed in Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, or Texas. There is much talk these days about getting rid of the Electoral College, but I’m glad they still had it in 1860.

“The United States is a nation founded on both an ideal and a lie,” Nicole Hannah-Jones wrote in the introductory chapter to the 1619 Project. The land of liberty was built on a foundation of slavery. That is what makes this country such a complicated place. It’s what makes patriotism a far more complex emotion than just saluting the flag and falling in line. This election, I believe, is about embracing the ideal. It is also about embracing the lie. This is who we are.

That is why I am voting for Kamala Harris.