ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND
Sarfraz Manzoor used to fail the Tebbit test — but now he is wrapping himself in the flag of St George
IT was a wet Friday afternoon in Luton, and I was standing outside a Burton menswear store feeling confused. There was a T-shirt that I wanted to buy, but I was unsure if it suited me. I picked it up, then put it down; I held it in front of my chest; I walked towards the full-length mirror, but saw only my confusion reflected. Finally, I phoned a friend, 'Do you think it's acceptable,' I asked her, 'for me to wear a T-shirt with an England flag on the front?'
I have spent my life proudly failing the Tebbit test. Born to Pakistani parents but brought up in England, I have always supported Pakistan in cricket; elsewhere my allegiance has varied according to who was playing the most exciting football, had the fastest serve or the most fearsome jab. But it mostly depended on who was playing against the home nation. Anyone playing against England could count on my support — unless, of course, it was Germany.
That might seem suspiciously like disloyalty. After all, I left Pakistan at the age of three, and have no memories of it or, indeed, affection for it. My father came here because he considered it a better home for himself and his children. Everything that I have achieved has been because of the opportunities given to me by England, not by Pakistan.
And yet there has always been a troubling dishonesty in my attempts at patriotism. The simple fact is that it is hard to support England when you do not feel English, and I have never felt English: at best, I feel British, but mostly I just feel confused. It's not that I don't want to belong, but rather, to misquote Groucho Marx, that I don't want to support any club that would not include me as a member. It is not a question of intentional disloyalty; the sad fact is that no matter how British British Asians feel, they believe that they will not be fully accepted by the nation of the team that they're expected to cheer.
Take Nasser Hussain. Last year, this Indian-born captain of the English cricket team voiced his disappointment at how few British Asians supported England during the cricket and instead cheered for India, Pakistan or Sri Lanka. Unfortunately for Mr Hussain, a recent poll on attitudes to race revealed that a significant number of respondents did not consider Mr Hussain himself to be English.
The other major hurdle in persuading secondand third-generation immigrants to be more patriotic is that many of the images, sounds and symbols of patriotism have been associated with the more unpleasant fringes of the far Right. It might be commonplace to see a Stars and Stripes fluttering outside a front porch in the United States, but anyone who waves the flag of St George in a similarly enthusiastic manner would, perhaps fairly, be condemned as a xenophobe; until this summer.
This has been a summer of red-andwhite. Waved by the million outstretched
hands in the Mall, planted on white vans, painted on pink faces and draped across the nation's windows, the English flag is everywhere. The Jubilee ignited the revival, but it is the World Cup that has largely been responsible for the resurrection of St George because, for once, football has offered a vision of an England that is progressive and inclusive rather than intolerant and bigoted. The impeccable behaviour of the fans in Korea and Japan, the international appeal of the iconic Beckham, and even the manner in which defeat against Brazil was accepted have done more to encourage pride in this country than any government inquiry or advertising campaign. This has been an Indian summer of English patriotism, and it is infectious.
Which brings us back to me standing outside Burton's with my mobile glued to my ear. Earlier that day, England had beaten Argentina, and suddenly all seemed right with the world; strangers exchanged smiles, cars horns tooted in jubilation. I wanted to be a part of the celebration. My dilemma was not whether or not I wanted to wear a shirt bearing the flag of England, but whether someone might question my right to wear it. This is a fear as old as I am, and it helps explain why some choose to embrace their ethnic culture so vociferously: why try to integrate when you know that you will never be truly accepted?
I did buy the T-shirt, and wore it later that evening when I went out with my friends in Luton town centre. Naturally, the pubs and clubs were packed that night. In the bar where I spent most of the evening one man was wearing a huge England flag as a cape; an Indian friend had on his head a white plastic bowler hat painted with a red cross. At a certain point in the evening the opening bars of 'Three Lions' floated across the bar, and within seconds we were a sea of smiling faces and linked arms. Whites, Asians and blacks joined together, tunelessly and passionately, in this modern anthem to England's dreaming. This, I thought, must be how it feels to be patriotic; to be English. I could sing the lyrics to a song about English football with more conviction than I could ever muster singing about my hopes for the monarch. Sometimes football reaches the parts that politics cannot reach. This summer has proved that it is possible to forge an English patriotism that is about pride without prejudice.
The hooligans and the racists have not gone away; the outstretched hand offering this new benign patriotism can so easily become the clenched fist of ugly nationalism. I hope, of course, that this does not happen, but even if it does, there is one weapon the racists can no longer deploy. For so long the preserve of the fascists, St George is now there for everyone who wants him: it is my flag, too.
Satfraz Manzoor is a journalist on Channel 4 News.
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