Britain, Political Pressure and the Cowardice of a Nation Afraid of Its Own Symbols

There is something profoundly revealing about a country that begins to regard the public display of its own national flag as a political problem. A flag is, after all, only a piece of coloured cloth arranged according to a particular design, yet throughout history such pieces of cloth have acquired meanings far beyond their physical existence. They have represented nations, families, armies, institutions and memories; they have been carried into battle, placed upon coffins and raised above ships returning from distant seas. The Union Flag belongs to this category. It is not merely decoration. It is one of the most recognisable symbols of the United Kingdom and, whether one admires what it represents or regards parts of Britain's history with disapproval, its presence in public life is an entirely legitimate expression of national identity.

The disturbing development in modern Britain is therefore not that some individuals or organisations dislike the Union Flag. They are perfectly entitled to dislike it. In a free society people must be allowed to dislike symbols, traditions and historical institutions. The disturbing development occurs when private or communal disapproval is transformed into political pressure upon public authorities to restrict the ability of others to display that symbol peacefully. At that point the matter ceases to be a question of taste and becomes a question of liberty. The issue is no longer whether someone is offended by a flag, but whether his offence should confer upon him a political power which the ordinary citizen does not possess.

This distinction ought to be so obvious that it hardly requires stating, yet much of contemporary political language has become adept at making obvious distinctions disappear. We are repeatedly told that certain actions must be discouraged because they might cause offence, disturb community relations or make somebody feel excluded. Such arguments sound reasonable until one asks what their practical conclusion is. If the mere possibility of offence becomes sufficient justification for restricting peaceful expression, then the most easily offended citizen becomes the most powerful citizen. If an organisation can obtain political concessions simply by declaring that a symbol is offensive, other organisations will inevitably learn the same lesson. The consequence is not tolerance but competitive sensitivity, in which every group discovers that its political influence can be increased by demonstrating how deeply it objects to somebody else's freedom.

There is nothing unusual or illegitimate about religious or cultural organisations participating in democratic politics. An Islamic council has as much right as a Christian organisation, a secular pressure group, a trade association or a political party to petition government, make representations and express its views. Freedom of speech includes the freedom to campaign against things one dislikes. But the right to object cannot logically include a corresponding right to prevent other citizens from exercising lawful freedoms. That is the boundary which a democratic government is supposed to defend. It should listen to the complaint without automatically becoming the instrument of the complainant.

This principle becomes especially important when the objection concerns a national symbol. The Union Flag is not the private property of a political party, nor does it belong exclusively to the monarchy, the armed forces, the English, the Scots, or any particular social class. It is the national flag of the United Kingdom. It has flown through centuries of extraordinary change and has therefore accumulated meanings which cannot sensibly be reduced to a single political interpretation. For some it represents military service and remembrance; for others it represents family, birthplace and childhood. Some associate it with parliamentary democracy, while others associate it with the maritime history of the country. There are undoubtedly people who associate it with imperialism or other aspects of British history which they condemn. All of these interpretations can exist in a free society because a symbol does not acquire a single compulsory meaning merely because one political faction has decided that it should.

Indeed, the demand that the Union Flag should be understood exclusively through the darkest episodes of British history is no more intellectually respectable than the demand that it should be understood exclusively through Britain's achievements. History is rarely so convenient. Britain has a record containing slavery, colonial exploitation, religious persecution, class inequality and military adventures which can and should be examined critically. It also possesses a history of parliamentary development, scientific discovery, industrial innovation, the abolition of slavery, the extension of democratic participation, the development of legal institutions and resistance to dictatorships which threatened the entire European order. A mature society is capable of remembering both without believing that one cancels out the other.

The modern tendency to turn history into a permanent moral tribunal has created another difficulty. The dead are continually summoned to answer for the political arguments of the living, although they are conveniently unable to defend themselves. A soldier who fought at Waterloo, a sailor who served in one of Britain's fleets, or a young man who landed on the Normandy beaches in 1944 may now be assigned motives and political attitudes which bear little resemblance to the circumstances in which he actually lived. The past is then reconstructed to serve contemporary ideological purposes, and the national flag becomes guilty by association with every action ever committed under it.

This is an absurd standard when applied consistently. Almost every national symbol in the world could be subjected to the same treatment. Every country has wars in its history, injustices committed in its name, minorities mistreated by its governments and politicians who behaved disgracefully. If a national symbol is to be judged solely by the worst conduct ever associated with it, then very few nations would be entitled to possess symbols at all. The sensible approach is to recognise that a flag represents a historical community rather than providing a moral certificate for every action committed by every government that has ever flown it.

There is also a profound misunderstanding of integration in the idea that established British customs should be suppressed whenever they cause discomfort to somebody who has arrived from another cultural or religious tradition. Britain has been a country of immigration for generations, and many people who came here from elsewhere have made substantial contributions to British life. They have established businesses, worked in hospitals and factories, served in the armed forces, contributed to universities and public services, and raised children who regard Britain not as a temporary destination but as their home. None of this is incompatible with the proposition that integration requires some degree of mutual accommodation.

The newcomer should be free to maintain his religion, language, family customs and cultural traditions within the law. Equally, the existing population should remain free to maintain its own customs, historical memories and national symbols. That is the essence of pluralism. It cannot mean that one community's traditions are automatically protected from criticism while another community's traditions are treated as embarrassing relics which must be concealed whenever somebody objects. Nor can it mean that the host society must progressively erase its own public identity in order to demonstrate its tolerance. A society which demands that only one side adapt is not practising integration. It is practising submission and calling the result harmony.

The question of religious offence makes the matter still more important. Britain has traditionally maintained a difficult but essential distinction between respect for individuals and immunity for ideas. A person should not be persecuted because of his religious faith, but religious beliefs themselves cannot be granted an unlimited exemption from criticism. The same principle must apply to national symbols. If someone believes that the Union Flag represents historical wrongdoing, he is free to make the argument. If someone considers it outdated, he may say so. If he dislikes seeing it flown, he may explain why. What he cannot reasonably demand is that another citizen be deprived of the freedom to display it simply because he finds its existence objectionable.

Otherwise, the country enters the territory of what might be called the new blasphemy. The old blasphemy laws attempted to protect religious beliefs from insult. The modern equivalent does not necessarily protect a particular religion; instead, it protects people from the psychological discomfort of encountering ideas and symbols which contradict their preferred understanding of society. The language has changed, but the underlying temptation is familiar. Someone claims that a symbol is offensive, officials fear controversy, politicians fear being accused of insensitivity, and eventually the simplest solution appears to be removing the offending object.

This process need not begin with a formal prohibition. Indeed, the most effective censorship often begins without one. The council does not necessarily announce that the flag is forbidden. Instead, officials become concerned about possible demonstrations, complaints or communal tensions. Politicians begin to speak of "sensitivity". Administrators begin to recommend caution. Schools become reluctant to display national symbols. Public institutions decide that neutrality requires the absence of anything which might be interpreted as controversial. Citizens observe what is happening and conclude that perhaps it is wiser not to display the flag at all.

The result is self-censorship.

Nobody has technically been forbidden from doing anything, and yet something has nevertheless disappeared from public life. This is one of the more subtle forms of political control because it allows those responsible to insist that no censorship has taken place. The citizen has merely chosen not to exercise his freedom. But if he makes that choice because he understands that exercising the freedom will bring accusations, complaints or institutional consequences, the distinction becomes increasingly artificial.

This is why political pressure must be examined rather than merely obeyed. Government exists partly to protect minorities from majorities, but it also exists to protect individuals from organised minorities. The principle must work in both directions. A religious community should not be bullied by a majority simply because it is small, but neither should the majority be expected to surrender lawful freedoms because an organised minority threatens to complain. Democracy cannot operate on the principle that whichever group can generate the greatest political embarrassment gets its way.

Nor should the answer be hostility towards Muslims, immigrants or any other group. Such a response would merely reproduce the very error being criticised. The proper defence of national identity is not collective hostility but equality before the law. The same rules must apply regardless of religion, ancestry or political affiliation. If an Islamic organisation can criticise the Union Flag, a secular organisation must be able to criticise Islam. If Christians may defend religious symbols, Muslims must be able to defend theirs. If a citizen may display the national flag, another citizen must be free to display another country's flag, provided the law permits it. Freedom becomes meaningful only when it is applied consistently, particularly when consistency produces results that one dislikes.

The deeper problem is therefore not the flag itself but the growing inability of British institutions to distinguish between disagreement and danger. A democratic society cannot promise that nobody will ever be offended. It cannot prevent citizens from encountering opinions they dislike, symbols they reject or historical interpretations they find insulting. Such a promise would be impossible to fulfil without destroying the freedom it supposedly protects. The proper purpose of government is not to eliminate offence but to prevent coercion, intimidation and unlawful discrimination.

A flag flying peacefully from a public building or private home does not constitute coercion. It does not prevent another person from worshipping, speaking, voting, protesting or living according to his own convictions. Its mere visibility is not an act of oppression. To treat it as such is to give an extraordinary political power to the subjective feelings of the observer. Once that principle becomes accepted, there is no rational stopping point. Almost anything can become offensive to somebody.

The consequence would be a public realm emptied of meaning. Statues would disappear because somebody objected to the historical figure they represented. Religious symbols would disappear because somebody considered them exclusionary. National symbols would disappear because somebody associated them with historical injustice. Books would disappear because somebody considered their arguments dangerous. Eventually the safest public space would be one in which nothing could be seen, heard or remembered strongly enough to offend anyone.

That would not be a tolerant society. It would be a frightened one.

Britain should not become frightened of Britain. There is no virtue in teaching a population to regard its own history as something shameful that must be hidden whenever somebody complains. Nor is there virtue in pretending that British history is flawless. The sensible position lies between those two extremes. A nation can acknowledge its failures without repudiating its existence. It can welcome newcomers without abandoning its inheritance. It can permit religious diversity without granting religious organisations a political veto. It can allow fierce criticism of the Union Flag while simultaneously defending the right of others to fly it.

Indeed, that last point is perhaps the most important. The strength of a national symbol in a free country lies partly in the fact that nobody is compelled to love it. A citizen who hates the Union Flag is free to say so. A citizen who regards it as a symbol of oppression is free to make that case. A citizen who believes it represents a proud and difficult history is equally entitled to say so. A citizen who wishes to fly it outside his home should not have to submit an application for permission from the people who dislike it.
The proper response to a flag is therefore not compulsory reverence but freedom.

Let those who dislike it criticise it. Let historians examine what was done beneath it. Let politicians debate its meaning. Let religious organisations petition against it if they wish. Let citizens answer them. Let the arguments continue in newspapers, Parliament, council chambers, universities and public meetings. That is what political liberty looks like.
What must not happen is the quiet transformation of objection into authority.

For once that transformation occurs, the flag is only the beginning. The same principle can be applied to any symbol, tradition, book, opinion or historical memory. The question will always be the same: who is permitted to object, and who is required to yield?
A free country cannot survive if the answer is that the person who objects most loudly automatically wins.

The Union Flag will continue to carry contradictory meanings because history itself is contradictory. It can represent sacrifice to one person and empire to another, childhood memories to one and military service to another. It can remind someone of a parent who served, a grandparent who endured a war, a ship that carried men across the sea, or simply the place where he was born. None of these private meanings requires permission from a political council.

Nor should a citizen be required to demonstrate that he possesses an approved interpretation of his own national history before he is allowed to display its principal symbol.

There is nothing inherently hateful in loving one's country. There is nothing inherently racist in possessing national pride. There is nothing inherently oppressive about displaying a national flag. Such things can certainly be accompanied by hatred, racism or oppression, just as religion, political ideology or any other human institution can be abused. But the possibility of abuse does not make the peaceful expression itself abusive.

The distinction matters.

It is the distinction between judging an individual by what he actually does and judging him by what someone else imagines he might mean. Britain should retain that distinction.

The flag should therefore be allowed to fly, not because every Briton must admire it, but because no organised pressure group, religious council or political faction should possess the authority to determine which peaceful symbols other citizens may display. The rain will fall upon it, as it has upon generations before us. Some will salute it, some will ignore it, and some will curse it. That is perfectly compatible with freedom.

What is incompatible with freedom is the belief that the last person to object should have the final word.

A nation that has confidence in its democracy does not need to hide its flag. It does not need to apologise for its existence every time someone disapproves of it. It does not need to demand that every citizen share the same historical interpretation before permitting him to express attachment to his country. It simply applies the same law to everyone and allows the argument to continue.

That is the proper answer to political pressure: not another form of political pressure, but the refusal to surrender the principle of equal liberty.

The flag can fly because the citizen is free. And if Britain is still a free country, that should be reason enough.

By John Shenton