What is it to be British or English?

The truly patriotic must reject ethnonationalism

January is a really common month in which to reflect on life, to reassess where you’re going and how you got to this point. For me this is always a dangerous time as regrets can easily turn into an overwhelming flood! My big sister has always been less of a ruminator than me and talking to her helps me feel like I have some anchors in any impending mental tsunami. In one of our recent chats I raised the subject of ‘identity’ with her. It’s something I reflect on a lot in my writing and the philosophical atmosphere of starting a new year makes this a good time to reflect further. Also during the last year some hostility and outright abuse I have received online has made me more conscious than ever before that a small but vocal number of British/English people do not see me as British/English like them. Throughout my childhood my fellow schoolmates, as well as other children in the church and clubs I attended, never made me feel any different to any other English kid because I was the child of two immigrants. Of course the fact I had German grandparents made for interesting discussions in history lessons. Likewise my school friends loved my Mum’s German baking! A few initial barbed comments early on in high school about the Second World War were quickly shut down and there was never any sense that having a German Mum and Peruvian/Italian Dad stopped me being English. My sister suggested our upbringing in leafy, middle class north Oxford, with its high proportion of liberal academics, people with family overseas connections and cosmopolitan tendencies, undoubtedly somewhat sheltered us from prejudice and othering. She shared with me that she had been asked more about ‘where she comes from’ since moving up north, first to Sheffield and then to Leeds, and also more in recent years than before.

   Face to face, these identity questions are overwhelmingly asked from a position of curiosity rather than hostility. However, whilst my sister wisely stays off social media, my online life has shown me that an increasing number are becoming drawn to an ethno-nationalist view of Britishness and Englishness. These people insist that the only ‘real’ Brits are ‘indigenous’ or ‘native’ Brits. By that they mean white Anglo Saxon. I’m never quite sure whether this means that those whose ancestors came over with William the Conqueror as Normans (or European Jews) aren’t seen as ‘British enough’. And what about those descended from the Vikings, the various European migrants that came during the Middle Ages, 16^thand 17^th century migrants from the Low Countries and North Africa or gypsy travellers and Protestant refugees from France? Do they ‘count’ as ‘indigenous’ English or British? Of course the Industrial Revolution and wars of the 20^thcentury also lead to plentiful migration into England. It makes me chuckle that a sadly now deceased member of our village church may have not met the ethno-nationalist ‘indigenous’ standard because, whilst she could trace one side of her family back to the 14^th century Black Prince she was also descended from 17^th century Dutch migrants. It was actually while I was chatting to her about her fascinating family tree some years ago that I realised how difficult it would be for anyone in England today to prove they were 100 percent Anglo Saxon. This lady did better than most with her research and yet just got back to the late Middle Ages. How far back does one have to go? Perhaps some will recoil at this comparison but nonetheless I can’t help thinking of my German Grandfather’s Ayran passport which proved his Aryan bloodline back 4 generations. Would the English ethno-nationalists accept Hitler’s standard for identity? Of course our Royal Family would clearly fail to qualify as English or British by that defintion.

   There has clearly been a great shift in perceptions of identity since my sister Heidi and I grew up in the 80s and 90s. We now have a pervasive ‘identity politics’ that has certainly gripped much of the professional, media and political class. The cornerstone of what one might call ‘woke liberalism’ is to see the defining feature of someone’s identity as race, gender or sexuality. Martin Luther King’s dream of a colourblind world is often rejected in favour of seeing skin colour first and foremost. Parallel to this we have had increasingly high, out of control levels of legal and illegal immigration into the U.K. This has clearly put pressure on public services and also resulted in cultural change, especially in certain geographical areas. ‘Multiculturalism’ has generally manifested itself as different cultural and ethnic silos without a unifying British culture to bind us all. This was always going cause concern, resentment and sadly even hatred. People to the right of politics and small ‘c’ conservatives, (in which groups I still include myself despite some misgivings!), fairly criticise the way the word ‘hate’ is now widely misused. Causing offence to any degree can now be depicted as ‘hate speech’. Similarly legitimately criticising someone of a non white ethnicity can sometimes be twisted and falsely portrayed as being racially motivated, indeed being racist. However legitimate grievances at the cynical weaponisation of ‘hate’ and ‘racism’, increasingly high rates of immigration, lack of integration and the degredation of our British culture doesn’t mean we should be complacent about the very real hate and racism that exists. Furthermore it has become ever more clear to me that there’s both a growing blindspot and even a growing tolerance of racism on the anti woke right. Conservative commentators and even politicians from certain right wing political parties are quite content not to challenge vile racist comments supporting their posts on social media.

   My Dad was both the victim of racism and a racist. He was an immigrant, born of Peruvian and Italian parents, with dark brown skin, ethnically Peruvian features and he was British. From my earliest memories of him he adopted a stereotypical middle class English gentlemen persona, even down to his tweed blazers, college ties and a love of expensive cigars after formal dinners. This was all aided by having gained a DPhil in history from Oxford University and living in a posh Oxford suburb. He adored England and all her rich traditions, customs and history. He was more proud of his British passport than most people born here. However somehow that pride and patriotism became ever more tainted by extreme racist and xenophobic views. In particular he used to rant against Muslims, Arabs and, (ironically since he was one), immigrants. These rants were also not contained to the private sphere. Growing up I had to learn to manage my Dad’s public racist outbursts by desperately trying to get him onto another topic, distracting him in some way and apologising to those within earshot, (sometimes blaming his drinking). Often I just avoided going out with him altogether. And yet I loved him because he was my Dad and he loved me, albeit tainted by selfishness. My love for Dad and my hatred of his beliefs and behaviour were mixed together in permanent battle with each other. The burden of this ate away at my sense of self worth. How could I have the same genes as someone who had such abhorrent views? Then I also had to witness Dad being racially abused and mocked, sometimes by the very people he was trying to fit in with i.e. well heeled, well educated, middle class types. There were also some awful encounters with yobs on the street, British National Party sympathisers and then English Defence League ‘lads’ wrapped in the cross of St George. ‘Go home’ etc., none of it was original or unique. Sometimes those idiots assumed he was a Muslim and his ‘foreign’ appearance was enough to rile them. Such public hatred wasn’t at all common but it nonetheless hurt me and I think it hurt him far more than he let on.

   I saw in a very painful way how patriotism can be distorted and reformulated into a repulsive substance comprised of prejudice, racism and even violence. Moreover I observed this dark deception being deployed by the most respectable and affluent in society as well as football hooligans, and the smorgasbord of human life between these. Perhaps it was because I saw patriotism being abused that I grew up into the most patriotic adult you could find! I was determined to reclaim national pride from those for whom DNA was the most important factor in being English or British. Younger people than me won’t really remember that the British National Party, with a manifesto stating only white people should be British citizens, got 3 candidates elected to Burnley council in 2002 and had a total of 55 councillors nationwide by 2008. They also got well over half a million votes in the 2010 general election. Forced by equality law, the BNP eventually had to change their ‘white members only’ rule but this cosmetic gloss didn’t alter their ethno-nationalism. We should never forget that there was a time when such was the association of our national flag, especially the St George’s cross, with far right groups that displaying it in public would make some think you were a racist. Nowadays politicians of both left and right seem welded to the Union Jack, using every speech and press conference to display it in order to proclaim ‘I am patriotic’. However already there has been a creeping tendency of some on the ‘woke left’ to latch onto the Union Jack and St George’s Cross emojis on social media profiles of clearly racist individuals as a way of tainting patrotism. Caring about pride in our country, (which those on the anti woke and right wing side of politics claim to do), means caring about rooting out those who use our national symbols and national pride as cover and vehicle for racism and other prejudice.

   I’ve only visited Italy twice but that was enough for me to fall in love with the country and people. Rome overwhelmed me with its epic history and Florence stole my heart with its beauty. Having the surname Cerratti meant that the hotel staff first assumed I spoke Italian. Indeed even just having sun kissed olive skin, black hair and brown eyes meant that I was occasionally mistaken for an Italian. I did undoubtedly have a special interest and some heightened emotions in visiting Italy due to my father’s partly Italian ethnic roots. During the football World Cup I tend to support Italy if England and Germany have been knocked out. (However that’s largely motivated by self interest i.e. claiming a connection to a generally good quality team!) But having never lived in Italy or Peru, not having even met any of my Italian or Peruvian relatives/ancestors and Dad not passing on any Italian or Peruvian culture means that I have no meaningful kinship with those nations. My sister feels the same. Despite being regularly mistaken for a Peruvian during her recent trip to Peru and her fascination at exploring the culture of her ancestors she doesn’t feel and indeed isn’t Peruvian. Having known no other home than England means we are English and British to our core. The really strong German cultural influence from my mother, growing up bilingual and spending every school holiday in Germany with my beloved German grandparents means we also feel and are German, (Bavarian!). Speaking for myself, if I had to choose between my two nationalities I would have to choose England because it is and always will be my home. However I still feel visceral emotion when hearing German Christmas carols, seeing the stunning Bavarian mountains and contemplating Germany’s troubled 20^th century history. In the same way my heart pounds every time I sing the British National Anthem and Jerusalem and I feel connected to the English history I studied at Oxford University in a way I never could to the magnificent heritage of Ancient Rome or the Incas.

    Ethnic roots and family history can be incredibly interesting and important. However they do not define our national identity. To be British or English is not to be a certain race, it’s to be a citizen with a shared culture. It’s only through accepting that all British citizens have an equal stake in their nation and share a national identity that we can hope to overcome the divisions of multiculturalism and unite in a proud, rich, historic British culture. Ironically it’s often those who despair at the lack of integration in our society who actually champion the ‘othering’ of all immigrants and even their children who are born on this ‘sceptred isle’. We need to realise that the real threat comes from those who hate our country, reject its culture and see its history through an exclusively negative prism. Those people could have families containing recent immigrants, less recent immigrants or they could be able to prove English ancestory centuries back. I write this fully realising that some generally ‘on my side’ on many other issues may take some umbrage with my words. However to quote the great Bard, ‘to thine own self be true,’ and my true self is English and British through and through.