Given the knee-jerk patriotism of recent war movies, it's

The words of Elvis Mitchell—“Given the knee-jerk patriotism of recent war movies, it’s discouraging to see Windtalkers evade pertinent facts that could have recast the double-edged issues of racism and loyalty and made them relevant to contemporary times.”—sound like the voice of a seer lamenting a missed opportunity. He reminds us that patriotism, when portrayed without depth, becomes a hollow gesture, a reflex rather than a reflection. True patriotism is not merely the celebration of victories or the glorification of soldiers, but the honest telling of the whole story, with all its shadows and contradictions.

Mitchell speaks here of Windtalkers, a film about the Navajo code talkers of World War II, whose sacred language was used as an unbreakable code in battle. Their contribution was immeasurable, saving countless lives and aiding Allied victory. Yet the film, in its embrace of conventional heroism, failed to explore the profound truths of the story—the tension between a nation that needed Indigenous people in war, yet still oppressed them at home. In this, Mitchell sees a tragedy not of history, but of storytelling: the chance to confront racism and loyalty together was lost.

For the Navajo code talkers embodied the paradox of loyalty in the face of injustice. They served with courage, though their people had suffered generations of displacement, cultural suppression, and discrimination at the hands of the very government they now defended. To portray their service without this truth is to strip away the deeper heroism they displayed: not only the bravery of war, but the greater bravery of offering loyalty to a nation that had not always been loyal to them. This is the double-edged issue Mitchell calls us to face.

History is filled with similar paradoxes. During the American Revolution, enslaved African Americans were offered freedom by both British and American forces if they would fight. Many chose to serve, not because their loyalty was reciprocated, but because they saw hope for liberty in the struggle. Their sacrifices, too often erased from the grand narratives, reveal that true patriotism is not always clean or uncomplicated. It can be layered with pain, betrayal, and yet still, astonishing faith in the possibility of a better future.

The wisdom here is this: patriotism without truth is propaganda. To ignore the wounds of racism or the contradictions of loyalty is to dishonor those who bore them. By confronting the full complexity of the past, stories gain not only depth but power. They remind us that real patriotism is not blind allegiance, but love tested by hardship, sharpened by injustice, and yet strong enough to endure. Mitchell’s lament is not simply about a film—it is about the need for art, and for society, to tell the stories that matter in their fullness.

The lesson for us, children of a later age, is to resist the temptation of knee-jerk patriotism—that unthinking pride which praises the nation while silencing its flaws. Instead, we must cultivate a patriotism that is honest, reflective, and courageous enough to face the darker truths of our history. Only then can loyalty be meaningful, only then can remembrance be just.

In our daily lives, this means listening to the voices too often forgotten, honoring the stories left untold, and questioning narratives that glorify without questioning. It means teaching our children not only of victories, but of the struggles and contradictions that gave those victories meaning. It means loving one’s country enough to demand that its art, its history, and its memory embrace truth, even when painful.

Thus, let Mitchell’s words echo in us: racism and loyalty, pain and devotion, betrayal and service—these are not opposites but intertwined realities of the human spirit. To tell them truly is to honor the dead, to instruct the living, and to prepare future generations for a patriotism not of reflex, but of wisdom. For in truth, the deepest love of country is not the one that ignores its flaws, but the one that dares to face them.