St. George who? A man with a flag and an identity crisis. By Natalie Armitage
Natalie Armitage is an Earth Justice Consultant at JMB Consulting, who works presently between the UK and Jamaica, resourcing Caribbean-led regenerative solutions to prioritise indigenous land-based practices. Having worked in the Charity and Philanthropy sector in the UK and internationally for over 15 years, she is committed to clarifying the overlap of racial justice, climate justice, extractivism, land justice and indigenous wisdom.
George is on the board of a charity; that’s how you know that he is a supportive ally. To whom, we are not sure. Everyone who isn’t like him. In George’s spare time, he loves football, bacon sandwiches and a pint. Irrespective of class or race we all get down with George’s hobbies every so often, because we grew up surrounded by the cultural rituals of the UK. If things weren’t awkward when he started selling poppies at work during a live streamed genocide, they are now. He has an England flag pin on his coat. He got the whole set from Sainsbury’s, discounted after the Euro finals finished, so there is also a sticker on his car and laptop, bunting across his mum’s garden, two big flags to stick on a pole, and face paint waiting in the cupboard for the right moment.
England's historic Women's Euro final was the most watched television moment of 2025 across all TV broadcasters. The whole country came out to see women win. The Lionesses did exactly that, and flags were out in celebration. Seeing women in positions that are reserved almost exclusively for men was surely a great reason to celebrate? Isn’t this what all that MeToo stuff was about? Don’t forget, George is an ally. He did that! Engerrrlannd. In-ger-leeeeerrrnnd In-ger-leeernndd In-ger-lerrrnd. Why wouldn’t we be proud of our country?
George asked himself that, as he put his five for the price of three England flags away. What is wrong with being proud of where you come from, anyway? George reflected on a mandatory all-staff anti-racism training he’d recently suffered through recently where a mixed-race person described the confusion of belonging in the UK and to a community of immigrants whose families were called to come here. Confusion- maybe that is what he is experiencing? After all, his identity is wrapped up in where he does and doesn’t come from, too. It is clear, no one seems to care what he is going through right now. No one cares that half of his family are up North, and the rest are down South. No one seems to realise being 5% Irish meant experiencing a lifetime of discrimination from his Nan.
All George knows is that his entire family tree originates from the UK and Europe and he keeps being made to feel guilty for who he is. This is his country, people should be proud, no, grateful to be from England. And white people are different too! Why aren’t we talking about that kind of diversity? Why can’t he, too, be proud of where he comes from? What about his culture? Wait, what is his culture? The brief moment of conscious consideration was over before it had even begun. A deep unexplored longing for connection, to remember, quietly called out to him. Grief. George pushed it down.
This was a pointless distraction. The point is, unlike the Caribbean islands, which are basically all the same; America, Canada, and Australia are all very different. And the English? The English are not like anyone. They are unique.
The three things that once defined his character - his sense of humour, being a cyclist, and drinking pints - are no longer the pinnacle of English culture. The pandemic completely dismantled his pub crew, his best jokes are now deemed offensive and now everyone rides bikes. Once, he was the progressive guy in the meetings who advocated for the NHS; now the women roll their eyes every time he brings up the influx of migrant men. When the world jumps for joy at Chloe Kelly scoring better than most men, you have to wonder why feminism needs to be so dismissive and hurtful about his own non-existent football career. What about him? They’ve taken so much from him already. Now, all that’s left is this flag.
George barely recognises himself anymore; but he does recognise his flag. The flag that represents a country and sport that means so much to him. This flag he has taken with him as a sign of home all over the world. The flag that allows him to maintain a parasocial connection with members of sports teams and a monarchy who don’t even know that he exists. But they would recognise his name. The very common name he inherited from past kings of England and the saint of the flag himself: George.
Recently, George was informed that St. George was Turkish and Palestinian, which felt very aggressive and threw him into a second stage of an identity spiral. It was quite serious. So he consulted the internet for help, to see if it was true. It was the worst thing to do. Already in an extremely delicate state of questioning his own life, he couldn’t get past the endless streams of photos and videos of children being blown up by weapons the UK supplied. Most of the headlines made no sense or really explained what was happening in the pictures. This didn’t help his confusion, especially as he was now forced to look at more Muslim people when he was trying to find himself!
He searched high and low to see where other victims like him are speaking out: Murray, Fox, Farage, Robinson. Auto-queue to the next video. And the next. And the next. Refreshingly, they looked familiar, sounded familiar and were speaking up for him and people like him in his country. He remembered who he was at that moment. He was a white man called George. Have we forgotten that is exactly who everyone wants to be? George shared his name with the name of an English King who ruled all the colonised lands of the Commonwealth, you can’t get more English than that.
On his friend’s social media profiles, he sees them having their bank holiday BBQs and beers, before being forced to return to work on Monday, with their own England flag bunting out too. This is who he is. Why is everyone obsessed with the Palestinians? It’s not like they are the only people who are suffering - what about the English working class? Didn’t they vote in a terrorist organisation anyway? The Palestinian flag is taking over the streets for protests, across the world, everywhere- like they don’t already dominate every news channel?! What’s that got to do with me? With England? In that moment, he found his new cause. This flag is about a reclamation of St George! Not the Palestinian saint, the English one, the one who never existed. Through reclaiming this flag, he could rewrite history and rebuild racism!
All he would have to do is: deny St. George is anything but English, ignore Palestinians now (whilst continuing to pretend they never existed to begin with) and keep reinforcing that the flag is only about England, not racism. He would remind people, he isn’t hurting anyone by being patriotic but helping them. Helping them find their way out of their confusion, to find themselves, like he did. Through connecting with the newly invented English St George and channelling his namesake King George VI - Head of the British Commonwealth, overseer of Partition across India and Pakistan, and the first Palestinian Nakba - he decided to take charge and stand up for his birth right to rewrite history for his own purposes.
He empathises with Israelis, as he knows that race relations in the UK are also complicated. Even though he can go basically anywhere without question, unlike Black men who are surveilled, profiled, arrested and detained for no reason. Some places aren’t for everyone and the streets are actually safer without men hiding in hats and hoodies anyway, especially for women. Don’t forget, George is an ally.
Cuffing season is around the corner and right now, George is still getting no swipes on Tinder. There are too many George’s like him, and he is becoming so average and mediocre that most women don’t even notice him. It really bothered him that all the women he finds sexy were more interested in going to Notting Hill Carnival, without him. He went anyway. He drowned his identity confusion by getting horrifically drunk at a party he wasn’t actually invited to. As he proceeded to insert himself everywhere, he reminded himself: it’s not unwanted, everyone wants to be George, and everyone wants to be with George. There were flags there too. More of them.
At Notting Hill Carnival though, he was inspired. Look at all the majestic colours, people, laughter and fun! How could it be, that they were able to fly their flags with pride despite what the British do to them, and yet he still felt so… inferior? Was it the 5% Irish in him talking? Isn’t his flag meant to represent greatness? More and more flags united along the West London streets, a reminder that everyone can find happiness apart from him. More Palestinian flags; a reminder that the one-sided connection he had with his, was created alongside a history of untruths. Can he not just get a break?
Red and white are amazing colours; they are the exact palate of ‘English’ skin at any point in summer. White as A4 sheets of paper, then red as angry lobsters once the sun comes out for approximately 8 hours on a Saturday. Lathered in sun cream, yet protected by white supremacy all year round. We voted red for Labour, and still got a white man telling us we are the best. White bread, with red ketchup. White as milk, red as the blood we spill. For England. There is no denying this flag was meant for the English, only.
The St. George’s flag belongs to me, he decided. He went home and hung every last one from his Sainsbury’s package deal from anywhere he could. It felt exhilarating to be a part of something, anything, even if it made absolutely no sense. Being a part of this hanging flag movement has given George a sense of purpose and access to a wider dating pool of blonde girls with blue eyes who might finally like him. Finally, his personality was coming back. Finally, he was relevant again. Finally, he remembered who he was and where came from and why is it his destiny to continue to insert himself everywhere unwanted, uninvited, and unashamedly. He is a white man called George, with nothing else to live for but a campaign for white supremacy culture to live on.
Every single flag that you see, remember George and his complete desperation.