It’s almost the fourth of July. Soon, in America, the Stars and Stripes will be draped, painted, projected and printed on every surface, pole, and screen within eyeball range. Meanwhile in Oxfordshire – if I have this right – the County Council is asking the High Court for an injunction against hanging the flags of England and the United Kingdom on lampposts because they’re intimidating and unsafe.
I’ve been living in the UK for over a year now, and amidst the so-called “flag wars”, I am struck by how different our reactons are to a piece of cloth.
I was six years old when my country threw American flags over everything for its 200th anniversary. Four years later, Ronald Reagan’s campaign helped the American right turn patriotism from a national inheritance into a partisan sport. After Vietnam, Watergate, stagflation, malaise, and the Iran hostage crisis, the flag offered absolution. Since then, it has appeared on absolutely everything: napkins, wallpaper, dog collars, cereal boxes, candy wrappers, socks, ties, suits and even, God help us, flagpoles.
Shorts
Fifty years later, you may notice we still fly a fair few on our shores. It is not just because of our 250th birthday or because we’re doing well in the World Cup. We are like this all the time, far worse on certain holidays.
