I have always been drawn to the flag of St George. Its bold simplicity — a blood-red cross on a white background — is instantly recognisable, and its history connects England to Milan, Georgia, Barcelona and Jerusalem.
St George himself was a complex figure: a Roman soldier of Greek or Turkish origin, later adopted across cultures, even appearing in the Islamic tradition as al-Khidr.
For me, the flag is not a symbol of exclusion, but of an England I am proud of: one defined by tolerance, diversity, inclusion and community. It is the England of the Red Roses, the Lionesses and the Three Lions; of the NHS, music and the arts, Glastonbury and the Notting Hill Carnival. It is also the England of great beer — and we really are good at beer. My England embraces difference, because that is both where we come from and what makes us strong.
Yet I also recognise that symbols are contested. For some, the flag of St George represents something very different — a defensive emblem, even a comfort blanket, in a world where they feel left behind. While I do not share that meaning, I believe it is important to understand it. Listening matters. People who feel threatened or excluded understandably seek belonging, and symbols can become powerful vessels for those feelings.
That is why I believe flags should not be used to intimidate or to score political points. They should be a celebration of what we have in common, not a way of deepening divides. The flag of St George, to me, represents an England confident enough to welcome difference — and to find unity in diversity.
