What’s in a flag?

You're more likely to see a Palestinian flag than an English one in today's Britain

I distinctly remember flicking through a small book that contained the flags of the world when I was young. These symbols conjured exotic images in my mind of places I had never been and which, at the age of eight, I had no knowledge of. Nevertheless, each flag represented something – a people, a history, a culture. For whatever reason I found it engrossing beyond description.

Flags embody the nations they represent. They are the emblems which have inspired people to commit acts of incomparable acts of bravery and derring-do. By the same token, they have fluttered above some of humanity’s most grotesque excesses.

Although many modernists claim to have moved beyond the base sentimentality attached to emotive symbols such as flags, these assertions are a lie. For each Europhile who distains our national flag – to kowtow to such primitive symbology is a distinctly plebian activity – upon seeing the EU flag they would inevitably find themselves prostrate on the ground and cooing like imbeciles before you could say ‘Herman Van Rompuy’.

Certain flags are a definite no-no, some perhaps more justifiably than others. Yet in most countries it is not uncommon to see the national flag. The more a nation has been under the cosh of some external oppressor in recent history, the truer this becomes.

Having not been conquered in about a millennia, perhaps this is why the English are unreasonably terrified of the St George’s cross. So rare is it to see an assertion of English national pride outside the plastic patriotism of football (is it still coming home?) or rugby that to see the English flag in the wild is an occasion itself.

Driving through Newport Pagnell the other day, the entire high street was bedecked with England flags. This was on occasion, in case you missed it – for there is not the same synthetic hysteria associated with, say, St Patrick’s Day, after all – of St George’s. It conjured in me a sense of wonderment, almost a glimpse into another world where celebrating one’s Englishness is not the societal equivalent of treading in freshly laid dog muck.

Newport Pagnell

Yet, life has a way of bringing you back down to earth. Not a week later I had the misfortune of driving through Northampton. Going through the town centre I spotted a Palestinian flag. My assumption that it was a one-off was quickly dashed, counting altogether at least ten (I did not survey the entire town, surely there were even more).

The flags, cable-tied to lampposts throughout the town, served as a severe black pill moment. I cannot claim to know who put them up, but it is nevertheless indicative of the growing clefts in British society. Another sectarian conflict thousands of miles away brought to these shores, serving as a proxy for the broader changes rapidly underway in these isles.

One of Northampton’s many Palestinian flags

Unlike most I feel no burning allegiance to either side in the Israel/Gaza perennial disaster. No longer a world power, such matters should not concern us overly. We are in such a degraded state that to indulge in geopolitics is foolishness itself. We assume to be able to sway world events while failing to even repair our potholed roads.

The springing up of foreign flags points to the rapid changes taking place, most notably the inexorable increase of Islam’s influence upon our daily lives. Other recent occasions of the idiotic flying of foreign colours – notably Ukraine’s – are indicative of other imbecilities in our national life (for, sadly, they are numerous).

Nevertheless, recent decades have seen the gradual but relentless shift towards accommodating the ever-growing Muslim demographic in our country. Much of the food we eat is halal. In Sheffield’s Meadowhall shopping centre the map in the food court is overlayed with large ‘halal’ signs to indicate which eatery conforms to the ritual slaughter of animals.

We have de facto blasphemy laws, with public figures and average citizens alike frightened of the repercussions of voicing concern about the transformation taking place. There is no actual debate on the topic, for to disagree vehemently is to single yourself out for potentially violent retribution. Those who pretend otherwise are nothing but liars.  

Hadiths are shown in public spaces such as train stations – unthinkable but a few years ago. Mosques spring up across the land, even at Piccadilly Circus. Swathes of our cities are unrecognisable – quite literally unrecognisable. For those who do not agree, I encourage you to take a drive through parts of towns like Leicester, where the odds of seeing a pale-faced Anglo-Saxon is, quite literally, 100:1.

As I write, the results of various elections across the UK are coming in. Reported turnouts linger as high as 20-30%. Seven or eight out of each ten voters cannot be bothered to go out and vote. And why should they? An entrenched elite poses us the fraudulent opportunity of change. It is a charade, a sham.

And what is the point in democracy if nothing is ever allowed to change? At least in autocracies they know they aren’t free. Here, we douse ourselves in the fragrant scent of ‘western liberal democracy’ in a bid to cover up the stench of social decay and politicians’ vile deceit.

In recent weeks I have been listening to historic speeches. When one ventures into the darker alcoves of the 20^th century one hears leaders speaking of the ineffectiveness of democratically elected leaders amid a backdrop of national humiliation, inflation and unemployment. They were societies riven by ideological differences. What followed in their wake was unparalleled disaster.

The subsequent post-war settlement spoke of ‘learning lessons from the past’. Yet, our modern equilibrium is so violently disjointed and rushing so headlong into disaster that any pretence of maintaining a stable, peaceful society is mere hot air.

What is perhaps most astounding is the rapidity of change that has overtaken us. Our only saving grace may be that the backlash, if it comes, may be as sudden in its amelioration of our condition.

But for now we live in a country where it is more surprising to see the English flag than the Palestinian.

What did my grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather put their lives on the lines for in the trenches and on D-Day? What was the point? What are we becoming? A democracy where nobody can be bothered to vote because they know it will mean nothing and where the country becomes more unrecognisable by the day?