I will not fly their flag. There is no pride
In what this island has become. Just shame
As all humanity is cast aside
To pass some loathsome law. Not in my name.
How can I feel affection for a place
Hell-bent on showing those in need who dare
Approach our door we’ll slam it in their face
And if nobody likes us, we don’t care?
No. I will not commemorate that saint
Or vow to this, my country. There must be
One pure thing left in England free of taint
Unblemished by their lies and cruelty.
And happily, he is among us still
In soul and spirit. Happy birthday, Will.
Today is St George’s Day, supposedly a national celebration of our patron saint here in England. I have never flown the white flag with the red cross (which has long been associated with the nastier end of English football, as well as more straightforward nationalism) and can see no circumstance in which I ever would. It is especially distasteful given that last night, the Tory government passed a law that will enable it to deport asylum seekers to Rwanda, in defiance of international law as well as common human decency. Since 2016 there have been many reasons to be ashamed of my passport, but rarely more so than today. So I take bittersweet consolation in the fact that it’s also William Shakespeare’s birthday. Just a shame I have to go back to 1616 to find something I can feel any pride in today. N.
Gonecycling (again) 