If we love our country, we should also love our countrymen.

Ronald Reagan, in words as simple as they are profound, once declared: “If we love our country, we should also love our countrymen.” In this saying is bound a truth as ancient as civilization itself: that a land is not its soil, nor its borders, nor its banners alone. A land is its people. To love one without the other is to love only half a nation, to embrace its image while despising its heart. Thus, Reagan teaches that true patriotism is not only devotion to the flag but compassion for those who walk beneath it.

The origin of this quote reflects Reagan’s vision of unity in a time when America was deeply divided by politics, economics, and culture. He spoke not to exalt one faction over another, but to remind the people that the Republic stands not because of unbroken agreement, but because of shared humanity. Countrymen, he reminds us, are bound together by fate: to share in prosperity and in trial, to argue yet still belong to one another. To love the land and yet hate its people is a contradiction that can only tear a nation apart.

History gives us countless lessons that prove the wisdom of this truth. During the American Civil War, both North and South claimed to fight for the country. Yet in their zeal, many forgot the deeper truth: that their countrymen were also Americans, not enemies. The war was won, but the scars endured because love for the land was severed from love for the people. It was only through the vision of leaders like Abraham Lincoln, who urged “malice toward none, charity for all,” that the nation could begin to heal. Without such love, liberty would have been a hollow word.

Nor is this teaching confined to America. Consider the story of Mahatma Gandhi in India. He loved his country, not merely as a patch of earth, but as a fellowship of souls. His struggle for independence was marked not by hatred of the oppressor, nor by vengeance against his own people who disagreed with him, but by a great love that encompassed all. It was this unyielding compassion that gave him strength, and that ultimately gave India its freedom. Here again, we see the truth: a nation is preserved not by love of land alone, but by love of countrymen.

The danger that Reagan warns against is subtle but deadly: the false patriotism that exalts soil and symbols while despising neighbors. It is easy to wave a flag, yet hard to show mercy to those who differ from us. It is easy to sing of freedom, yet hard to extend kindness to those across the street. But if the nation is divided into enemies within, then love of country becomes an empty cry. Only when we love one another—across party, across race, across creed—does patriotism take on its full and noble form.

The lesson is clear: to love your country, begin with your neighbor. Let patriotism be measured not by the volume of your words but by the breadth of your compassion. Feed the hungry in your community, comfort the grieving, work alongside those with whom you disagree. Speak not of your homeland’s greatness while despising those who share it with you, for they are the living threads of its fabric. Countrymen are the nation; to honor them is to honor the land itself.

In your own life, remember this teaching. When anger rises against those who differ from you, recall Reagan’s words. Ask yourself: can I truly love the soil beneath my feet if I despise the man who walks beside me? Choose instead to sow unity where there is division, to practice charity where there is bitterness, and to embody the patriotism of love rather than the patriotism of scorn. For in doing so, you strengthen not only your countrymen, but the very foundations of your country.

So let these words live beyond their moment. “If we love our country, we should also love our countrymen.” Carry them as a banner in your heart, and pass them to your children as wisdom. For a land divided cannot endure, but a people bound by love is unbreakable. Let love of country flow outward into love of neighbor, and the nation will not only endure, but flourish.