T
ribal as people tend to be, the display, or not, of flags, banners and emblems tends to be a contentious affair, even in the most liberal of democracies and usually tolerant of populations. Even in states where the burning or other desecration of the flag is illegal, such as France, disrespect is sometimes shown as a gesture of political dissent or defiance. As with statues and historical monuments, flags have the power, often as not, to divide as well as to unite communities. When political parties attempt to appropriate a flag to themselves, the reaction among others can be especially severe.
Such is the case with the sudden popularity of the union flag among British ministers and other Conservative politicians. In the past, the Tories, the party of empire, were happier than most to drape a union flag over a trestle table at a public meeting or decorate a manifesto with a few, to remind the voters of their opponents supposed and implied lack of patriotism. But it was a trick sparingly used, even by the likes of Margaret Thatcher, who once semi-jokingly draped a hanky over a model of a British Airways plane featuring one of its then new international ethnic designs, rather than the traditional red, white and blue. No longer. Cabinet ministers now seem to compete as to who can manage to jam the most and the biggest union flags into a Zoom call. When the communities secretary, Robert Jenrick, was gently teased about his union jack “rating” when he appeared on BBC Breakfast, the presenters, Naga Munchetty and Charlie Stayt, were publicly reprimanded by BBC management. A Tory backbencher even asked the BBC why it didn’t have more union flags in its annual review.
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