On Beyoncé’s ‘Cowboy Carter,’ the U.S. Flag and the Reality of Multiple Meanings
By stacy lee kong
Beyoncé photographed with a U.S. flag in 2015. Image: Ryan McGinley for BEAT magazine
In 1975, Maya Angelou sat down with James Baldwin for a 30-minute interview called “Conversation With A Native Son” for Thirteen/WNET’s interview series, Assignment America. At the time, Baldwin lived in the South of France, while Angelou lived in California, so perhaps it’s not surprising that the duo—not just intellectual contemporaries but close friends—started their conversation by talking about what it felt like to come home. This wasn’t just small talk; a decade earlier, Baldwin had famously debated William F. Buckley, the public intellectual who is widely considered the father of modern American conservatism according to The Atlantic, on the notion that “the American dream is at the expense of the American Negro.” In his argument, Baldwin delivered what would become one of his most famous quotes: “It comes as a great shock around the age of 5, or 6, or 7 to discover that the flag to which you have pledged allegiance, along with everybody else, has not pledged allegiance to you.” By the time he and Angelou spoke in the ‘70s, he’d spent years living outside of America for exactly that reason: it didn’t matter if he loved his homeland—represented in his statement by the flag—because it did not love him back. Still, as he told Angelou, that didn’t make France home.
An excerpt of their conversation:
Angelou: When you leave your house in France and come to the United States–when you leave your adopted home and come to your real home—what kind of response do you have inside yourself?
Baldwin: When you say my home, it’s not exactly my home. It’s a kind of asylum. It’s a place where I can work. I have a lot of work to do. And if you are in the situation where you’re always resisting and resenting, it’s very hard to—
Angelou: It takes too much energy.
Baldwin: Well you can’t write a book. You can’t write a sentence… I asked my brother, David. We were driving through Harlem the other day, and I said to him, ‘I wonder what will happen to me if I’d stay.’ I also wanted to stay. I didn’t want to go. David laughed. He said, ‘You’d be dead. Everybody else is.’ David is 43. I’m 50… Neither of us know anybody our age. My nephew, my oldest nephew, is 27, knows one person his age. This is a high-price country.
I bring all of this up because the conversation we’re about to have—about the symbolism of the American flag, and how it not only means different things to different people, but can also mean different things to the same person—isn’t new. But it’s worth having again, since we’re in the midst of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter roll-out, and her use of the flag, and Americana motifs in general, has sparked a contradictory, complicated discourse. The takes I’ve seen variously ask what the flag on the album cover is about—reclamation? Imperialism? Resistance? And the answer is… yes.
The American flag as reclamation
In classic Beyoncé fashion, there are a lot of visual markers to parse—and to debate—on the Cowboy Carter album cover. In addition to the nostalgic, country-influenced hallmarks of Americana—the flag, cowboy hat, boots and red, white and blue colour palette—there are clear references to Black cowboy culture; rodeo queens; maybe even Eadweard Muybridge’s “Horse in Motion” photographs, which were also a reference for Jordan Peele’s Nope. Thematically, it’s clear that she’s interested in not only establishing her own long-running connection to this genre and cultural space, but also to remind everyone that Black people have always belonged there. It’s very aligned with the way we she linked her own personal liberation as a Black woman in her 40s with ideas of collective liberation on Renaissance.
That is not my interpretation, btw; she said as much in the caption under the album cover reveal, alluding to an instance where she “did not feel welcome.” (This was almost certainly the 2016 Country Music Association Awards, when she performed “Daddy Lessons” with The Chicks to the profound displeasure of racist white people everywhere.) “Because of that experience, I did a deeper dive into the history of Country music and studied our rich musical archive,” she said. “The criticisms I faced when I first entered this genre forced me to propel past the limitations that were put on me. act ii is a result of challenging myself, and taking my time to bend and blend genres together to create this body of work.”
As New York Times reporter Gina Cherelus points out in the paper’s deep dive into the cover image, “it’s fascinating, how it’s gotten to the point that Beyoncé seems to believe she has to position herself as a cowgirl on a horse, wearing red, white and blue, holding the American flag on an album cover to drill it into people’s heads that her interest in country isn’t a fad. This is something she cares deeply about, and I can’t think of any other artist at her level who would have to do so much convincing.”
It is fascinating that Bey, who grew up in Houston immersed in cowboy culture, and who performed at the Houston Rodeo four times between 2001 and 2007, feels like she needs to make such a clear and strong argument about her claim to this cultural space. I mean, has that lady ever written such a long caption before?! I don’t think so, which makes it even clearer to me that she wants to ensure her message is received. And that’s not surprising; contemporary country culture has largely erased the genre’s roots in Black music, as well as the contributions of Black people, and especially Black women, to its development.
In that context, centring the flag is kind of a no-brainer. There’s not really a stronger way to signal your right to exist in a culture than to hoist its primary symbol over your head in a power pose, except maybe to literally wear a version of it. And… she did both. None of this is subtle! In that NYT article I referenced earlier, Styles editor Marie Solis argues that, “Since Renaissance, [Beyoncé has] clearly been trying to reinscribe images of Black women into the history of the cowboys and the West, which is a quintessential part of the American mythology—and a terrain ripe for patriotic and nationalist symbols.”
Cherelus agrees, pointing out that this feels deliberate in an election year, and going on to say, “given the American flag’s associations with the right and how it has recently been customized to represent conservative passions, I think it’s her way of reminding us that the flag doesn’t belong to one specific group.”
(Also, for the culture nerds, the limited-edition vinyl cover art references Lady Liberty, “Liberty Leading the People” by Eugène Delacroix, Marie-Guillemine Benoist’s “Madeleine (Portrait of a Negress),” her own family history and, if you ask Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu.)
The American flag as tool of resistance
Beyoncé would hardly be the first to subvert or remix the American flag to critique America, call attention to the hypocrisy of valuing life, liberty and freedom for some people but not others, express hope for a better future or simply provoke a reaction. A short list:
Artist Jasper Johns embedded newspaper clippings about the Vietnam War in his 1967 painting “Flag,” which he made at the height of the anti-war movement.
In 1990, artist David Hammons created “African American Flag,” which replaced the red, white and blue palette with red, black and green, inspired by the pan-African flag. (And in fact, Beyoncé showed Hammons’ design in 2020’s Black is King at the end of “Already.”)
In 2000, OutKast’s Stankonia cover art featured a black-and-white American flag, “hinting at a separate America—a place that exists apart from the country experienced by the masses. A place called Stankonia,” as Paste put it. (Also, tons of other rappers have used the flag as a motif on their own album covers and/or visuals, to varying degrees of politicization. The list includes A$AP Rocky, Jay Z and Kanye West, Killer Mike and Wu-Tang Clan, among others… And there’s also that whole thing with the Confederate flag.)
In 2002, Jenny Ann Chapoose Taylor’s beadwork “Nations: A Mourning Tribute” replaced the stars on the U.S. flag with state abbreviations; the red and white stripes contain the names of 456 American Indian tribes.
The American flag as a symbol of U.S. empire
But, a question: what exactly is being reclaimed here, and perhaps more importantly, now?
In Ms. magazine this week, Janell Hobson questions whether critiques over Beyoncé’s use of the flag are fair. “The question of politics mostly focused on… whether or not she sanctioned some kind of violent imperialism that this flag supposedly signifies—while riding atop a white horse that typically symbolizes ‘conquest’ in the revolutionary paintings of leaders like George Washington and Napoleon—or if she is simply asserting her African American citizenship once historically denied until the 14th Amendment in the U.S. Constitution,” she writes. “We must [also] consider especially her choice to crop the flag so that only the red stripes are depicted, thus conveying the possibilities of other flags of colonized and occupied spaces, like Liberia and Puerto Rico. This could even signify the ‘bleeding red stripes’ of Black citizens and enslaved ancestors, as artist Faith Ringgold once visualized through her artwork ‘The Flag Is Bleeding.’”
I see where Hobson is coming from—the album cover doesn’t feature the entire flag, and Beyoncé does imbue her work with layers of meaning, and has incorporated the language and imagery of liberation to great impact in the past. However. The American flag does not ‘supposedly signify’ violent imperialism; that is one very valid meaning among its myriad of meanings. And the question isn’t ‘does Beyoncé sanction violent imperialism?’ It’s ‘to what degree is Beyoncé interested in recognizing and assessing her own complicity in upholding the American empire?’ It has become increasingly clear that whatever Beyoncé’s personal politics, her staunch refusal to take a stance on contentious issues (ahem, Palestine) and tendency to stick to palatable version of political action means she is, functionally at least, politically moderate. So… it also might not be as deep as Hobson is speculating. We actually can’t know, unless she explicitly says the words decolonization and sovereignty, I guess.
… But in the meantime, the American flag holds all these other meanings, too, you know? There are many places where the American flag is far more likely to communicate oppression, systemic violence, resource extraction, colonization, imperialism and/or occupation than unity, belonging or peace—both inside the U.S. and outside of it, and especially in the global south. I mean, there is a reason Congolese protesters burned the U.S. flag last month in front of the American embassy: America’s complicity in the violence in eastern Congo. Per one protester, “The Westerners are behind the looting of our country.” According to another, “The international community remains silent while Congolese are being killed.” Similarly, Iranian protesters burned the flag in January following American airstrikes on Yemen. Also similarly, protesters in Ferguson, Missouri burned the flag in 2017, after a white former police officer, Jason Stockley, was acquitted of murder for the 2011 shooting death of a 24-year-old Black man, Anthony Lamar Smith. And okay, this doesn’t directly have to do with the way the flag is perceived by many people, but it’s also making me think about how Haitians are deeply suspicious of international, and especially U.S., political intervention—because America occupied Haiti from 1915 to 1934, and since then has consistently interfered in its political process, including its current plan to ‘restore order’ to the country, which has been experiencing a humanitarian, political and security crisis since the assassination of president Jovenel Moïse in 2021.
So… what it does it mean when one of the most powerful Black women in America seeks inclusion and belonging in an empire that not only historically oppressed and currently oppresses her own community, but is also actively funding genocide, overthrowing, helping to overthrow or installing U.S.-friendly foreign governments (something it has a longggggg history of doing), imposing punishing economic sanctions and otherwise contributing to the oppression of racialized and often poor people around the world?
That’s not a rhetorical question, btw. There’s a strain of this discourse that says paying any attention to this album roll-out is silly because what’s happening to Palestinians right now is unthinkably horrific. (Which it is.) I don’t personally agree that it’s ‘bad’ to pay attention to pop culture at this time—but if we’re going to have any conversations about Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé and art in general, I think politics has to be part of it. As I’ve said before, the point of art criticism is to situate the work and the artist in a wider context—and all art is deserving of critique. I also think it’s useful to consider Bey a proxy for ourselves, or maybe a tool for self-reflection: In what ways do we personally uphold empire? What are we willing to overlook in pursuit of connection, validation and community? How do our actions, personal and political, reflect our stated values?
All of which is to say, I don’t think it’s possible—or honest—to only consider the message Beyoncé wants us to when thinking about her use of American iconography. Flags are powerful symbols because of patriotism and jingoism. Read: because of us. They are simultaneously symbols of inclusion and exclusion, freedom and oppression, democracy and empire, and each of those meanings is equally accurate and valid. So, it doesn’t make sense to prioritize Beyoncé’s interpretation over all other interpretations. Instead, we should think critically and constantly interrogate the messages we are being fed. It’s our responsibility to synthesize all the information.
This doesn’t invalidate her meaning, interpretation or even the labour and artistry that went into making this work—it just complicates it. And that’s okay.
Coming Soon: Friday Talks, S2: Not Bad For Some Immigrants
We are super close to the next season of Friday Talks! This season is all about ‘the immigrant experience’—and, as you might guess from those scare quotes, what that even means. Over the course of six episodes, I’ll be chatting with brilliant guests, including former MuchMusic VJ Hannah Sung, journalist Pacinthe Mattar, writer and media personality Bee Quammie and filmmaker v.t. nayani, about the specific ways diasporic communities move through the world, navigate our identities and relate to our families (or don’t). The goal: complicating what’s often a very simple narrative. The first episode will be dropping in early April—follow Friday Things on YouTube so you don’t miss it!
And Did You Hear About…
Author Sally Rooney’s perfectly sharp op-ed on the Irish government’s hypocrisy when it comes to Palestine. (This Toronto Star story about a Canadian nurse’s experience in Gaza is also worth a read.)
This sobering take on the stay-at-home-girlfriend trend.
Vox’s smart analysis of Justin Timberlake’s waning appeal, and what it has to do with current ideas around masculinity.
Rose Hanbury, Marchioness of Cholmondeley’s newly minted fanbase. (I’m not sure how long that will last, though.)
These quote tweets, and also these ones.
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