Homeless

 It's been quite a week.

I'm done with all this hatred and violence. 

I look at the Union Jack and feel no pride. Not because I hate where I come from, but what it represents: conquest, power, injustice, oppression. 

I was born British, yet I feel strangely homeless within it. Patriotism asks me to celebrate a story that contains extraordinary achievements, but also centuries of domination, exploitation, and suffering. And it continues. 

I refuse to have anything to do with a culture where so much hurt has been caused and continues to be caused in the name of Britishness.  It's not the Britishness I associate with. I cannot relate to these campaigns at all.

The suspicion and vitriol directed at those who look different, sound different, pray differently, or simply arrived later. The constant need to decide who belongs and who doesn't. The instinct to punch down rather than reach out.

My type of British embraces diversity and I use discernment to decide if a person is decent based on their attitude rather than nationality. That's how I grew up. That's me. 

The flag is a tribal marker. Its intimidation. Its not flown to welcome community and celebrate culture but purely to indicate if you're welcome and safe. Pieces of cloth turned into battle standards for grievances, rivalries, and identities so fragile they require constant defence. 

Maybe what I hate is not the Union Jack itself, but that it matters more than compassion or that belonging should be granted only to those who fit a narrow definition of who counts as "one of us."

I don't want a nationality to be proud of. I want a country that gives people a reason to be proud without demanding loyalty to myths, symbols, or old divisions. Dignity and empathy matter more than identity. No one should have to prove they belong.

Until then, I find it difficult to stand beneath any flag and feel at home. So I'm British 'cause that's the only passport I'm currently able to get, and I need that... to get out of Britain.