Operation Raise the Colours: What Patriotism Really Means

Across the country, we are seeing a sudden rise in the St George’s Cross and Union Jack draped across lampposts, painted onto roundabouts, and hoisted above streets. “Operation Raise the Colours,” as it has been dubbed, is presented as an act of patriotism—a call to reclaim the nation.

On the surface, reclaiming a country may sound noble, even stirring. But in truth, the last thing one needs to reclaim a country is to wave a flag. Patriotism is not paint on a roundabout. It is not bunting strung between lampposts. It is not a gesture made of cloth and slogans.

The story being told is simple: Britain is being “lost” to immigrants, and therefore it must be reclaimed. This narrative is powerful but misleading. The reality is very different.

• Economic struggle: The family that must have both parents work long hours just to afford rent and bread is not suffering because of immigration. They are suffering because of deep-rooted economic problems, a cost-of-living crisis, and policies that consistently favour the wealthy over the working class.
• Social insecurity: The woman who fears going out at night, stalked, harassed, or worse, is not endangered because of immigration. She is endangered because society continues to fail in addressing violence against women, toxic masculinity, and an underfunded justice system.
• Political choices: Defence spending rises year by year, billions poured into weapons and war, while public services crumble and ordinary people shoulder the weight of austerity. That is a political problem, not an immigration one.

Yet the anger of the public is redirected. Immigration is cast as the villain, even though the money spent on immigration support is a fraction compared to defence budgets, corporate subsidies, or government waste. The flag becomes a tool to misplace sentiment—frustration is channelled not at those truly responsible, but at the most vulnerable.

A Word to the Muslim Community

For Muslims in Britain, this moment should not be met with panic or shallow responses. It is not about running onto social media to boast how the flags don’t intimidate you, or to declare that you too “own” the flag, or to threaten to take them down. These are low-level reactions that reduce the conversation to playground exchanges.

Patriotism is not a solution—it is a tool of control. Time and again, it has been used when governments find themselves in a precarious position, unable to address the real problems of society. In those moments, a convenient scapegoat is found, and the rallying cry of “patriotism” is raised. And almost always, it means blaming immigrants.

This is not new. The Irish in the 19th century were treated as second-class citizens in Britain, caricatured as criminals and drunkards, accused of stealing jobs and dragging down wages. Caribbean migrants, who came to rebuild Britain after the Second World War, were met with open hostility, told they did not belong, and eventually betrayed by the Windrush scandal. Pakistanis in the 1970s and 80s bore the brunt of racist attacks and were vilified in the press as a threat to “British values.” The Chinese community has faced waves of suspicion and stereotyping—from being blamed for economic undercutting in the 19th century to scapegoating during COVID. Even the blue-eyed, blond-haired Polish workers—fellow Europeans—were painted as intruders during the Brexit debate, accused of taking jobs and straining services.

As for its legacy abroad, the British Empire’s legacy is one written in blood and greed. In India, the East India Company bled the country dry through exploitative trade and heavy taxation, culminating in famines that killed millions while grain was exported to Britain. In Africa, entire regions were carved up at the Berlin Conference, with no regard for people or cultures, leading to decades of violence, looting of resources, and the imposition of brutal colonial rule. In Kenya, the Mau Mau uprising was met with concentration camps, torture, and mass killings at the hands of British forces. Ireland endured centuries of occupation, famine, and repression, with its population cut in half by death and forced migration. From the Caribbean slave plantations to the plunder of Egypt and the crushing of resistance in Palestine, the pattern was always the same—extraction, domination, and dehumanisation. Yet instead of apologies or accountability, Britain continues to celebrate its empire with blind pride, teaching future generations to view conquest as glory rather than atrocity.

So when someone today asks you to be “patriotic,” understand what is really being asked. It is not about justice, or dignity, or solving the problems ordinary people face. It is about sweeping those problems under the carpet, blaming the vulnerable, and waving a flag instead of demanding real change.

Operation Raise the Colours is not a show of strength but a symptom of weakness—a distraction from the real crises facing the British people. The Muslim community must see beyond the symbols, beyond the noise, and engage at the level of ideas. Because the philosophy behind patriotism cannot be found in a flag—it lies in a broken system that hides behind symbols of pride, while its history and present both reveal a Pandora’s box of empire, exploitation, and inequality.