A few friends have taken me to task for the nationalism that occasionally creeps into my columns. To varying degrees, they have suggested that I should be more attentive in acknowledging America’s failings.

They make a good point. I am proud of my country, and I would assert that we have been one of the greatest forces of good in human history. But I am troubled by those who maintain that America is a land without fault. For me, declaring our flag untainted only serves to imbue it.

So I decided to sit down and try to personally resolve my feelings of pride and guilt: Horrible things happen in this world, but for which horrors do we as Americans bear responsibility?

First, I grappled with the notion of historical culpability. In gauging our nation’s responsibility, my first inclination was to go back as far as the generation of my parents — and that of many of our nation’s leaders. It was in the 1960s that the baby boomers discovered their political power and that our nation developed much of its present character. Many of today’s Americans were participants in the decisions of that time, and far more of us were direct beneficiaries.

Second, I considered the ramifications of American isolation in this period.

We could not, I decided, be held responsible for our failure to act. The world has always been a violent place, and we have no duty to imperil our own stability by acting as a global police force. The carnage in Kashmir and the oppression in Lukashenka’s Belarus are deplorable, but they are not our fault. I recognize an interest in intervention — not an obligation.

But what about those instances when we fail to act in a situation we helped create? Our proxy wars with the Soviet Union were fought with American weapons that have long outlived our enemy. These forgotten guns and landmines have brought misery to millions caught in regional conflicts in which we choose not to intervene. There is a huge humanitarian difference between violent thugs with machetes and violent thugs with advanced weaponry; our brief foray into Somalia horrifically illustrated the latter.

When we supply bullets without regard for their eventual targets, we are responsible. Similarly, we cannot simply demand that a populace rise up against a vicious despot that we helped arm and then fault them for failing to do so.

Third, I considered American intervention. In defining such a broad term, I decided that for a country of America’s stature, interaction implied intervention. Any nation is invariably impacted by our relation with it.

But when do we incur culpability through our interactions? Since we must operate in a world that we do not singularly control, I rejected the oft-articulated notion that we endorse the actions of a despicable government simply by interacting with it.

In contrast, I concluded that a decision to refrain from political or economic interaction is a far more deliberate act than pursuing such interaction. America’s power affords it the discretion to impose isolation on another nation. When we misuse this discretion, we are culpable.

Fourth, I considered our enemies. Our duty is to protect ourselves from those who would harm us. In practice, this is never fair. During the Cold War, we brazenly threatened the Soviet Union from our bases in Europe and Turkey, yet we brought the world to the brink of nuclear holocaust when Khrushchev reciprocated in Cuba.

And we were right to do so. When it comes to our defense, we cannot be faulted merely for being a bully. We do, however, bear responsibility for the consequences of this bullying.

We do not bomb ideologies. While we are justified in using our military and economic might as legitimate instruments of defense, we remain responsible for the human damage. However, if we seek only to punish people for their leadership, we are responsible for our maliciousness.

Fifth, I considered our choice of friends. We are, I reasoned, responsible for the acts of those we call allies. We provide them with support, and for many leaders this support has meant the difference between dining in an opulent presidential palace and dying in the midst of an angry mob.

Thwarting public will is in itself not reason for culpability. But if a leader is nothing more than our proxy, then his actions are even more our own. During the Cold War, we chose our friends not because of what they were, but because of what they weren’t: Communist. We must shoulder the legacy of these “friends” and the tunnel vision that permitted their death squads and reigns of oppression throughout Latin America and Africa.

This responsibility extends to the actions of those we call “friends” today.

Sixth, I considered our treatment of our true friends. We owe allegiance to those non-Americans who recognized our potential for good and who risked their lives to further our shared vision of freedom. If we stood by those friends, we behaved honorably. If we abandoned them in a moment of our own weakness, we are culpable for gross betrayal, and we should be ashamed.

Seventh, I considered our ethical culpability. Did we do the right thing?

On this point, I was unable to provide answers; I could only produce more questions. Could I explain my country’s actions to my future children? More significantly, could I explain these actions to those who were most affected? What would I tell a young child in Cuba? Saudi Arabia? Vietnam?

Finally, I applied my criteria.

Bryant Walker Smith (bsmith@badgerherald.com) is a senior majoring in civil engineering.