When I was growing up in Cincinnati, I was reminded every day of my “un-Americanness.” The first time I had to think about something like this came when I was in kindergarten, and a fellow classmate of mine asked me if I was adopted. He assumed I was, probably, because why else would an Asian American find herself surrounded by mostly white students at a Midwestern elementary school? Years later, my high school social studies teacher would ask in front of the entire class if I spoke Chinese. The humiliation and self-doubt felt exactly the same.

Recently, an interesting trend has risen up in our president’s discussion of national news — specifically, his commentary on patriotism: on who is a patriot and who isn’t, who loves this country and who doesn’t. On my own end, I always felt a small tinge of uneasiness when I thought about traditional patriotism, when I looked at the American flag: No matter how much I championed it, there would always be a subtle split between what the flag represents and who people think I am.

Recently in the Washington Post, reporter Eugene Scott referenced President Donald Trump’s recent comments toward the Pittsburgh Penguins, who were invited to the White House after winning the Stanley Cup, in an article titled, “What does Trump mean when he calls someone a ‘true American patriot?’” The president called the teammates “incredible patriots,” and told them that they “embody the values of dedication, discipline, and hard work.”

His emphasis on patriotism seems like an obvious, invisible nod toward the protest displayed by the Golden State Warriors — whose player Stephen Curry sparked the president’s fury after “hesitating” (in Trump’s words) on accepting an invitation to the White House. This has come into play at a time when sports and its potential for political protest has leapt to the top of the news cycle. Just on Monday morning, a recent presidential tweet read: “Two dozen NFL players continue to kneel during the National Anthem, showing total disrespect to our Flag & Country. No leadership in NFL!”

Curiously, Trump’s tweet just after that one referenced something of an entirely different nature: his controversial phone call with the widow of a recently killed sergeant, during which Trump apparently said, “Well, I guess you know he knew what he was signing up for,” but it still hurts. It was a confounding and startlingly cold line to someone who just lost her husband.

In a very certain sense, that sentiment is deeply unpatriotic: the dehumanizing of a soldier and his family, that humongous rift of empathy. It demonstrates an uneasy double standard: The president will condemn athletes for their own right to protest under the accusation that they are disrespecting military members, but then go on to treat real military families with extreme disrespect. Trump also continues to do so, responding to the widow’s assertion that he didn’t even remember Sgt. La David Johnson’s name: “I had a very respectful conversation with the widow of Sgt. La David Johnson, and spoke his name from beginning, without hesitation!”

I grew up without a strong idea of what patriotism meant for me, and how I could be included in displaying my love for my country when it so clearly believed I did not belong. When the NFL protests began, starting with Colin Kaepernick kneeling during the playing of the national anthem, I knew instantly that the pushback was — as the Washington Post article points out so aptly — because of race. To Americans who have the privilege of being considered normal and everyday citizens, the ones who get to decide what patriotism means and what it doesn’t, it is the person’s race in protest situations that matter the most.

And yet, so simply, no one decides what patriotism means, and whose needs it suits — for that is the opposite of democracy, and the opposite of a free-minded and free-spoken country. I know this because I’ve always felt like a patriot, even when every reason otherwise has told me I shouldn’t — my parents are immigrants who arrived in the United States to partake in the American Dream, and for my whole life I have always felt that my accomplishments mattered in that regard. They mattered for my own sake and for my family’s. Each good thing I do is a reflection of my and our potential to break through every stereotype. Maybe in a perfect world I wouldn’t feel that every single move of mine counts and has ripple effects, but in this world I do.

I love my country because of its potential to love me. And I will continue to assert my love and faith in this country until it turns around and does the same for me, and for everyone else who has never felt entirely protected by the American flag. To me, there is nothing more patriotic than fighting for your own right to be recognized as an American, one whose voice and actions count just as much as everyone else’s.

Zoe Cheng is a junior majoring in writing for screen and television. Her column, “Cross Section,” runs Tuesdays.