Driving back north on Wednesday I saw a lot of flags but one St George’s flag was emblazoned with the words ‘All welcome’. Which I think captures well the powerful emblem at the heart of England’s story, one capable of both division and unity. Beneath the flag’s simple red cross on white is a turbulent history of meaning: chivalry, resistance, exclusion, revival, appropriation, and hope. For decades, the flag has oscillated between representing inclusive civic pride and marking out territory for exclusionary identity politics.
When identity politics infects symbols like the St George’s flag, balance collapses into threat. Time and again, the flag has been seized by particular movements or parties, often the far right, and weaponised against ‘outsiders’. Suddenly, the flag’s presence can signal anxiety, hostility, and political confrontation, a coded message of unwelcome. Recent rallies and protests, especially those challenging immigration, have made the red cross synonymous in some communities with division and fear, rather than broad belonging. This is not unique: anywhere a symbol is monopolised, it stops representing a collective story and starts policing boundaries.
Such capture is especially corrosive in Britain, where identity has never been one-dimensional; when the flag is wielded as an exclusive badge, it hardens the oscillating debate into antagonistic camps. It provokes reactive opposition, deepens divides, and risks turning patriotism into nationalism.
Yet behind the flag lies a deeper narrative. St George’s cross first entered English heraldry amid crusades, then evolved through centuries as a sign of bravery, sacrifice, and national aspiration. It has flown in the context of sporting triumph, commemoration, regeneration, and even in multicultural solidarity, when British Pakistani communities decorated their homes with the flag during the World Cup as a mark of shared pride, not division.
Restoring balance means anchoring the symbol not in ownership but in story, recognising that the flag only becomes inclusive when its meaning is held in trust by all, and when its display resists the urge to exclude. The phrase ‘All welcome’ challenges us to claim the flag for the many stories of Englishness: the Windrush generation, football fans reclaiming the flag from the BNP, and new citizens asking to belong.
British identity has never been a fixed point but a rhythm, oscillating around the core values of democracy, the rule of law, individual liberty, and mutual respect and tolerance. Sometimes leaning inward, sometimes outward, always negotiating plural meanings. The St George’s flag, when balanced by an inclusive story, becomes a mirror for this oscillation: both pride and humility, belonging and questioning, celebration and critique.
Identity politics, at its worst, corrupts this balance by locking the flag’s meaning to one group’s fear or resentment. But when the entire story of the flag replete with change, struggle, and inclusion is reinserted by the words “all welcome” the flag becomes a space, a canvas for every citizen’s tale and this dynamic, not static, understanding of identity is the true heartbeat of Britain.
