In praise of the British way of patriotism

Even the silly asses at the Proms allow a hint of self-mockery to enter proceedings

It has been a week of flags – proud and tattered flags, saluted flags, little plastic flags held tightly in the hands of citizens for whom it is suddenly an emblem of all that is good, strong and worth fighting for. Then, on a considerably jollier occasion at the Albert Hall on Saturday night, there will be flag-waving of a heartier, more traditional kind to mark the Last Night of the Proms.

There was a time when the sight of those rosy-cheeked, big-boned members of the upper-middle class, bobbing up and down in their silly hats to the "Sailor's Hornpipe", bellowing out "Land of Hope and Glory" and "Rule Britannia", pulling their party-poppers and shouting out asinine comments as the conductor made his speech, was merely embarrassing and bewildering. Where did they all come from, these people? Where did they go for the rest of the year? Had they no idea what a disservice their public school japes were doing to classical music on one of the rare occasions when it was broadcast live?

Surely there was something sad and ludicrous about closing a festival of all that is transcendent and unifying with a display of crass, exclusive nationalism.

Recently, though, the fun has gone out of flag-waving. Patriotism has become a serious business. In America, where they have always been more formal and serious about swearing allegiance to the flag, love of country has taken on a dangerous, revivalist fervour. There, if you are not with us, you are against us; if you do not love America, and love it without conditions, you may be aligning yourself with its enemies. A flag not only expresses pride in one's country; it conveys faith, defiance, threat.

Until recently, the British way of patriotism has been rather different – less emotional, overt and bellicose, more self-conscious and critical. Even the silly asses at the Proms allow a hint of self-mockery to enter proceedings; no one, they seem to be implying, should take their mock-imperial shenanigans too seriously. Occasionally – during the World Cup, for instance – a more leery and impassioned patriotism emerges briefly, but the mood soon passes and the flags are quickly put away. Too much patriotism is unseemly, we seem to think; it is noisy and vulgar.

In a recent interview, Norman Mailer actually held up our kind of nationalism as a model from which his own country could learn. "The British have a love of their country that is profound," he said. "They can revile it, tell dirty stories about it, give you dish on all the imperfects who are leading the country. But deep down, it's their country. Their patriotism is deep." America, by contrast, has become riven by a compulsive, uncritical, self-serving patriotism, in which civil rights are easily sacrificed to security and democracy itself is imperilled. "In America, it's as if we're playing musical chairs, and don't get caught without a flag or you're out."

There is certainly a striking contrast between the pride in their way of life, so frequently and tediously expressed by Americans, and the disgust and disappointment so many Britons seem to feel for their own country. When recently I wrote a piece around the new eagerness of Britons to emigrate, and dared to suggest that their motives might have more to do with personal than social dysfunction, I was startled by the rage and generalised bitterness of those writing to disagree.

In e-mail after e-mail, the litany of complaint about life in this country was repeated. The British people have become loutish and uncivilised. The streets are dirty and dangerous. Crime is all around. The infrastructure is falling apart. Political life has been taken over by mediocrities and marketing types. The obsession with celebrity has become unhealthy. A general, debilitating air of pessimism and defeat has descended on the nation.

One is used to this catalogue of despair being recited by the professional grumps of the right-wing press, but it was surprising to discover quite how cheesed off so many intelligent and articulate people had become by the way life is led in these islands.

"A good British man has a certain sense of the complexity of life," says Mailer. The British, he argues, are aware of not only the positives of their history, but of the bad and ugly things it contains as well. Perhaps this insight should be turned on its head for the great army of malcontents in our midst. As they moan about the boorishness of TV or the rudeness of people in shops, they might just consider the alternatives.

For example, there may be something to be said for a nation where patriotism is hidden deep below the surface of everyday life, that does not need to declare itself and seek to impose itself on others. Ours may seem to be a mild, passionless, Church-of-England form of nationalism, with fewer bells and candles – and flags – than some would like, but it has quite a lot to offer other, flashier faiths.

terblacker@aol.com