By George... a new type of dragon

 

 "Upon this charge, cry God for England, Harry and Saint George!"

(from Shakespeare's Henry V)

 

Yesterday, 23rd April, was the anniversary of William Shakespeare's birth and death; also the feast of St George, patron saint of England. I wanted to post something nice and uplifting for St George's Day, but first I wanted to check the outcome of Sunday's march through Brighton by the interestingly named English Defence League. "Interesting", because of course England as part of the United Kingdom has a ready defence in her armed forces. The British Armed Forces are a professional force to be reckoned with: a combined strength of around 190,000 regular personnel and more than 35,000 volunteer reserves: the British Armed Forces constitute the second largest military body in the European Union. Charged with the defence and protection of the UK as a whole plus her "overseas territories and Crown Dependencies", they also promote her wider security interests and support international peacekeeping efforts. Nearly 10 percent of all serving members are from ethnic minorities.
Now, the English Defence League have a mission statement which I have taken the time to read: I was particularly interested to clarify the origins of their name and their obviously proud use of the cross of St George in their logos and promotions. Apparently, the EDL see themselves as "a Human Rights organisation that was founded in the wake of the shocking actions of a small group of Muslim extremists who, at a homecoming parade in Luton, openly mocked the sacrifices of our service personnel without any fear of censure".  I see.  Surely the key here is that this was a small group of extremists? I well remember the reportage of this inexcusable and pathetic behaviour, and the condemnation it drew from British Muslims. The web page does indeed appear to condemn racial prejudice and race-based violence; it acknowledges that there are personnel from ethnic minorities making an invaluable contribution to Britain's armed forces. But it also suggests that Halal restaurants and fast-food establishments should serve non-Halal dishes, out of respect. Hmm. Should pizza establishments be obliged to offer pie, mash and bread and butter pudding? Would I really go to my favourite Indian restaurant and enthusiastically demand egg, chips and a nice fried slice? Or is this simply directed at our Muslim population; and isn't that exclusively targeting? Somewhere, something in my head is still beeping "Racism". However gentle and bland the mission statement and their other formal publicity aims to be, I have read some of the forum comments on the website.
It was important to me as a Christian to be able to include St George's cross in this post, yet I was a bit apprehensive. In this week's New Statesman, George Eaton quotes from a recent poll that only six out of ten of those who describe themselves English associate their national flag with pride and patriotism, compared with eight out of ten in similar polls in both Scotland and Wales. Even more depressing, one in three of the English interviewees under the age of forty think of racism and extremism when they see St George's Cross. This sad attitude has been attributed to the reputation for appalling behaviour of some of our football supporters, but also to the toxification of the flag by the extremism and sometimes "street hooligans" membership of some semi-politicised, socially divisive groups. The red cross on a white background has been associated with St George since medieval times, adopted in the coat of arms and flags of several countries and cities of which St George is patron, notably England, Georgia, Aragon, Greece, Genoa and Barcelona. For centuries, and notably as carried by crusaders throughout Europe during the crusades, it has long been referred to as "God's Flag". This interpretation was carried to America by the early Church of England and Anglican communities. Recognised as God's Flag rather than representing any nationality, it is the only flag allowed to fly (in pennant form) higher than the United States national flag in certain restricted circumstances: specifically during church services for naval personnel when masses are conducted by a naval chaplain at sea.
During the first Crusade, the Pope decided that knights of different nationalities should be distinguished by different crosses. English crusaders originally wore a white cross on red; French crusaders a red cross on white, Italian knights a yellow cross on a white. However, at some stage, English crusaders began wearing the red cross. In the late twelfth century, Phillip II of France agreed to the English claim to the red cross on white. Subsequently, as the majority of Christian crusaders had been associated with the symbol, it became the standard flag of the crusaders. Already in widespread use, in 1277 St George's cross officially became the flag of England, with the three lions retained as the coat of arms of the monarchy. The cross may also be formally displayed by churches of the Church of England.

There were about 150 marchers from the EDL at Brighton station on Sunday, rather fewer than the official defence forces of these islands. Several were wearing the cross of St George in their insignias, although some had their faces covered. They were met by more than 400 anti-fascism protesters: as one of my neighbours said, we may be a bunch of latter-day, seaside hippies in Brighton, but we don't take kindly to this kind of thing. Of course, the long-suffering police and their poor beleaguered horses were in the midst of it all. There isn't a chapter of the EDL in Brighton, but they've marched here before and I sense they will do again. Brighton doesn't have a history of racial tension and it's not what we want for the future of the city. The most recent census shows that nearly ninety five percent of the population is white with less than five percent of mixed race backgrounds or from ethnic minorities. Around sixty percent of the population call themselves Christian: less than two percent are Muslim. The EDL gathering on their mission in Brighton reminds me of the invasive presence of the despicable National Front when I was growing up in south London. They were times that grounded me and bonded me to my beliefs, but they're still unpleasant memories.
I wonder just how much these staunch self-appointed defenders and crusaders know about the man beyond the flag. George wasn't England's first patron saint. His veneration spread to the Roman empire from the Middle East during the fourth century. He was canonised in 494AD by Pope Gelasius, but his popularity as a militant Christian martyr and a medieval man's man really developed from Richard the Lionheart's devotion to him. Richard believed that the saint appeared to him to encourage him and his despondent crusaders. In 1222, the Council of Oxford declared 23rd April to be St George’s Day and he eventually replaced St Edmund the Martyr as England’s patron saint in the 14th century. In 1415, 23rd April became a national feast day.
St George is now probably globally known as the patron saint of England and legendary slayer of the dragon. He's also the patron protector of soldiers, archers, knights, saddlers, sword-cutlers, scouts, of horses, of those suffering from fevers and plagues... He's regarded as one of the most prominent of the military saints and is venerated in the Anglican and Eastern and Oriental Orthodox churches as well as Catholicism. Something of an exception amongst Christian saints, St George is also known and respected in the Muslim faith: his standing in the Middle East derives from a composite character pieced together from Biblical and Qu'ranic sources as well as folklore. Most Muslims revere Saint George, identifying him with the Prophet Elijah, and have long allowed Christians to celebrate an annual mass at his supposed tomb in Palestine, in what is now a consecrated mosque. The first church in the Middle East to be dedicated to St. George, in 514AD, was also sited in an existing mosque. In fact, the first recorded "George and the dragon" legend tells that he killed the beast at the seashore in Beirut; a popular shrine grew up there in the early 20th century.
Traditionally, George lived between  275 - 303AD, a Roman soldier in the guard of the emperor Diocletian. Disappointingly for the EDL, it seems very unlikely his feet walked upon England's green and pleasant land. There seems to be strong historical evidence that he was born to a noble Christian family, either in Syria or Turkey, and that he died in Nicodemia, about sixty miles east of the modern city of Istanbul. His father was a famed Roman officer named Gerontius and his mother Polychronia was from Palestine. The Latin name "Georgius" means "worker of the land". By the time he was in his late teens, both his parents had died; at this point he decided to travel to Nicodemia to present himself to the emperor for military service. Within ten years, George was promoted to the rank of tribunus, an imperial guard. However, Diocletian's favours were fickle: in 302AD, he issued an edict that all Christian soldiers in his army should be arrested and that his soldiers must make sacrifice to the Roman gods. The strength of George's faith came to the fore: he publicly renounced the edict and proclaimed himself a Christian. Nor willing to lose his best tribune and the son of a legendary warrior, the emperor offered George money, land and slaves if he would bow to the Roman gods and make sacrifice to them. George resolutely refused all his offers and bribes. Exasperated, Diocletian ordered his execution. Before his death, legend tells that George gave away everything he owned to the poor. He was tortured horribly at length, including laceration on a wheel of swords. He was resuscitated three times before he was finally beheaded, on 23rd April in 303AD. Apparently, witness reports of his torture and death led to the conversion to Christianity of the empress, Alexandra, and a pagan priest named Athanasius. The latter would become St Athanasius the Great and one of the acknowledged pillars of Christianity. George's body was taken to Palestine, where a cult of veneration quickly grew up around his story.

Eastern Orthodox depictions of St George slaying a dragon often include a young maiden, looking on from a distance. Traditional iconographic interpretation of the tale is that the dragon represents Satan or evil itself; therefore in this instance the Roman Empire. The maiden is presumed to be Alexandria, the emperor's wife. The legend of St George and the dragon originated during the Crusades. The western version evolved as the thirteenth century poem "The Golden Legend", originally an epic in Latin with a distinctly courtly romantic flavour that tinctures the holy narrative. This widely popular poem was recited in many versions, resulting in the localising of the adventure in very different places. Where and how this poem originated remains a part of The Golden Legend itself. Essentially, a dragon or perhaps a crocodile nests at the site of the water-spring at the city, possibly in Libya or the Holy Land. The people cannot collect their water because of the terrifying reptile; to pass to the spring, they have to offer it a sacrifice of a sheep, or failing that a maiden. Having drawn lots, one day the king's own daughter is the elected unfortunate. Enter St George, who faces the dragon, slays him and rescues the princess. The king and his people are so grateful that they immediately convert to Christianity. There are obvious parallels with ancient tales pre-dating Christianity, of Perseus' rescue of Andromeda from the sea-monster and even with Zeus' defeat of Typhon the Titan: yet George's dragon may often represent pagan cults. There have been various suggestions that George's tale is a Christianised version of that of older deities in indo-european culture. From the time of Hercules, wherever there has been a dragon, there has been a George.
St. George and his dragon sometimes surface around rural England in "Mummers plays" at Easter and Christmas: traditional folk dramas based on tales championing Christendom. On 23rd April, English scouts and guides groups often organise local parades and attend mass in honour of their patron. Traditionally, St George's Day is the day to wear the red rose of England in your button-hole. However, England does not celebrate it as Americans celebrate 4th July. In fact, you're more likely to see a St Patrick's Day parade in England than you would a St George's Day celebration. Personally and as a Christian, I would welcome the revival of his feast day as one of national festivities. I'm not so sure of St George's pleasure as a figurehead of groups like the EDL. St George was traditionally unafraid and intolerant of bullies and oppressors;  a defender of those unwilling to compromise their right to practise their faith. I wonder where he would have seen the dragon on Sunday outside Brighton station? As a peaceable vegetarian and Catholic, I do hope the EDL members managed to grab a tasty kebab before they caught their trains back home.

"Now order the ranks, and fling wide the banners, for our souls are God's and our bodies the king's, and our swords are for St George and for England"

(Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

"Jerusalem"  sung by Paul Robeson

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Blood and Soil: Nationality

"Our true Nationality is Mankind"

HG Wells

It's often said that you can choose your friends but not your family. I would go further still: your truest friends become family. By this token, surely a man's nationality has far more to do with a feeling of personal allegiance and belonging than with the stamp on his birth certificate or passport? Since writing about Irishness around St Patrick's Day, I've been considering what is formally implied by nationality, and what the word might evoke for you and me.
My brother-in-law and I are polar opposites politically. I know he likes to wind me up about things I'm passionate about: I suppose I would think something was very wrong if he suddenly started to sing from my hymnbook. Recently we've crossed words on the subject of nationality. My brother-in-law is a Yorkshireman who would possibly make his home county a republic if he could. Years of living and working overseas have done little to dull his Northern accent and I believe he still thinks Britain has an empire. He would prefer his nationality to read as English, rather than British. I've told him that I respond very little to the nationality on my passport: it simply relates to the place of my birth. I have always felt part Irish and part Belgian. The Irish part is not further dissected into northern or southern for me, yet the Belgian side is strongly Walloon (French). Absence has failed to dilute my brother-in-law's sense of belonging; and I can easily empathise with this view, although I'm be looking through the opposite end of the telescope.
I believe I've inherited the strongest ideals, fears and passions of my parents and their ancestors; including people I never knew. That's what I believe runs through my veins. There is no English blood there, yet I don't feel "foreign" or "estranged". Born in south London, I will always have an affection for the region: my childhood memories and significant people and places are still stitched to that backcloth. But in Brighton, I feel I've found a home: beyond the obvious bricks and mortar and roof tiles. In an area where I knew no-one and have no family links or formative memories, I feel I've found a place which will nurture my future. The Brighton I live in is far from glamorous: employment, always seasonal, could now be described as rare. Property prices are high and living costs roughly the same as in the capital, but the average wage in Brighton is currently several thousand pounds a year less than the National Average Wage. Previously grand period houses sit derelict while homelessness becomes more visible in every quarter of the city. It doesn't take much for traditional British seaside-glamour to become rundown and seedy. But I love it here. It doesn't feel as though I've started a new life here as much as just woken up to who am and where. When I visit London I feel like a fish out of water. Here, I feel that I might find just the right size pond for myself.

My passport says I'm British: I feel I'm the blend of my parents' and of my own encounters on my way to Here. I understand what it means to be European; I'm choosing stay with Britain because of familiarity and fondness, and Brighton has become my new hometown. Other places around the world have touched me and maybe more will in the future: I haven't had a chance to revisit Australia for a few years now, but a particular shot of Mrs Macquarie's Point or the streets of Paddington in Sydney can move me to tears. Places can be great loves as much as people. And no matter where you originated from, have emigrated to or gained citizenship of, ideally you should be able to belong to and take pride in that country, county, town or community that moves you. "Belonging" can be as broad or is intrinsically intimate as you need it to be.
Traditionally, nationality has been based on "Jus Soli", right of the soil or territory, or on "Jus Sanguinis", right of blood; or a mixture of both. Jus Soli grants nationality by place of birth; Jus Sanguinis, by virtue of where one or both parents were born. The textbooks will confirm that nationality is the status of belonging to a nation by origin, birth, or naturalisation. I understand naturalisation by experience: my father lived and worked in England for more than fifteen years to attain British nationality by naturalisation. Following World War II, the huge rise in population due to globalisation and the sharp increase in numbers of refugees suddenly created a class of stateless persons. My mother and father referred to them respectfully as "displaced". Naturalisation laws were created because recovering western democracies were simply not equipped or prepared to accommodate massive de-nationalisation, nor the mass expulsion of ethnic minorities from newly created states. My father's situation wasn't quite as dramatic: he held a Belgian passport and found work in Britain interpreting and translating for consuls and embassies; he also taught French and English. He was informed that his professional status and reputation could only benefit from his naturalisation. In fact, my Dad worked constantly while I was growing up and he achieved British nationality only the year before he died, aged fifty nine. His accent was as strong as ever, and his professional reputation was such that Mum was still receiving letters of condolences from overseas students and ambassadors two or three years after he died.
My sister was born in Belgium and spoke nothing but French until she landed in South London at the grand age of seven. Her nationality was given as Belgian, although I assume she was included on our mother's British passport at that age; even though Mum would have argued that she herself was Irish! When my sister was over the age of twenty one, she was offered dual nationality - she promptly chose British sole nationality. My sister seems to have shed her Belgian skin quickly and easily: by the time I was born, she had forgotten her first language completely; by her own admission, she cannot master French to this day. Forever bonded by good, loving parents, we are very different. My sister is quintessentially English, rarely even expanding to call herself British. She doesn't share my interest in Belgian politics or Irish folklore, and I feel the absence of that. Yet her identity is strongly self-determined.
Paradoxically, I may not feel innately British, but my own nationality is qualified by both Jus Soli and Jus Sanguinis; I was born in Britain and at that time, one of my parents was defined as British in her passport. In fact, my mother always maintained that she was Irish by birth and I would never refer to her as Northern Irish. When Mum was born, in the north of Ireland, Britain hadn't yet claimed six counties; Ireland hadn't agreed the treaty that effectively created Northern Ireland. I don't wish to get too political here, but I feel this scenario illustrates the complexity of nationality. Incidentally, having already touched on the enigma of Irishness elsewhere on this blog, my Catholic cousins and their Protestant spouses in that region refer to themselves and each other simply as Irish.

Nationality can be defined as being part of a nation: a collective of people sharing a national identity. Recognised forms of belonging can be based on ethnic and cultural similarities and ties; including self-determined ones, if a nation has no state, such as the Scots, the Tamils, the Basques. In the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 15 states that "Everyone has the right to a nationality - No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his nationality nor denied the right to change his nationality." But what if someone doesn't particularly want to be restricted to one? In some cases, over-riding a state's law, determination of nationality can be governed by Public International Law applying treaties on statelessness and by the European Convention on Nationality. As Swiss-born poet and philosopher Henri Frederic Amiel said: "If nationality is consent, the state is compulsion". His own family were driven from their native France into Switzerland within the expulsion of Huguenot Protestants. It seems that religion and nationality can be uneasy bedfellows, yet inexorably linked.
Technically, Judaism is not a race because Jews do not share one common ancestry: some Jews hail from Europe, others from the Middle East. People of many races have become Jewish over the centuries. So, although Judaism is a cultural as well as a religious identity, Jewish nationality has been dispersed throughout the world for two thousand years. Yet the country of Israel is seen to be the Jewish homeland, and "being Jewish" certainly means you are part of the Jewish people, whether you were born into a culturally Jewish home, or because you choose to practise the Jewish religion. Jewish identity is automatically bestowed on babies of Jewish mothers according to Orthodox Judaism, and of Jewish mothers or fathers according to Reform Judaism. This Jewish identity can endure throughout life even if someone subsequently doesn't practise Judaism as a religion. Still with moi??
Jewish ethnicity, nationality, religion and culture are clearly strongly interrelated: definition of Jewishness can be based on nationality or religion. As the only faith of the Jewish nation, converts to Judaism hold the same status as Jews by birth within the Jewish ethnos, traditionally absorbed into the Jewish people. In 2010, the Jewish population was estimated at more than thirteen million across the world. It's estimated that only about forty percent of the global Jewish population live in Israel. Judaism literally means of the land of Judah, and all Jews are said to be descended from the Israelites. In fact, most Jewish people have lived in diaspora since the legendary destruction of the First Temple, in the sixth century before Christ. Israel aside, they've formed a minority in every country they've lived in. Throughout Jewish history, Jews have been repeatedly expelled from their original homeland and areas they've settled in; from the Roman Empire, through the Crusades, to the dreadful Holocaust of World War II. During that state-organised persecution and systematic genocide, six million European Jews were slaughtered, for being Jewish.
Israel was established as an independent, democratic Jewish state in May 1948. In the following ten years, the Jewish population rose from 800,000 to two million. There was a mass immigration of Jews who survived the Holocaust and those subsequently fleeing from Arab countries, Ethiopia and the collapse of the Soviet Union. Apart from the West Bank area over the river Jordan, modern Israel is roughly located on the site of the kingdoms of the ancient Israelites and Judah, later Palestine. This area is historically the birthplace of Christianity and Judaism, also sacred to Islam. World War II had left the surviving European Jews in as displaced persons and refugees; miserably, many were then held in internment camps organised by Britain and other powers. More than ninety percent of these Jewish refugees asked to live in their own state, in the region of Palestine. The Jewish people believe this land was promised to the patriarchs of their faith by God Himself. In response to the crisis, the United Nations recommended partitioning Palestine, with land given over to form a new Jewish nation. Obviously, Palestinian born Arabs would not be happy with this; neighbouring Arab states tried to invade the day after the state of Israel was declared. In 1950, citing Jus Sanguinis, the Law of Return granted all Jews protected and immediate citizenship of Israel if they wanted it. More than sixty turbulent years later, the West Bank and Gaza Strip have been declared Palestinian Territories since 1988, although this identity remains unrecognised by the United Nations and a quarter of the world's countries, including Israel and the United States.
National identity can be a glorious and unifying thing; disputed or mistaken identity of land or boundaries can be ugly, destructive and unending.
Friedrich Johann Schiller was another (German-born) poet and philosopher; he wrote that "It's not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons." Sometimes bonds form inexplicably but seemingly inevitably, with places as much as people. He also expressed his idea of Utopia as somewhere where everyone could be content and everything could be found beautiful. Sadly, no passport stamp will ever read "Utopia", but it may be sought by or carried within every human being. Nationality is not purely ancestry or heritage, DNA, religious or social allegiance, blood or soil: it can be any or all of these things. Ideally, it is "home is where the heart is" on the largest and yet most personal scale. So spare a thought for those who feel they must leave everything familiar to them to find refuge, social acceptance and financial security. People not welcome in their homeland; evicted by war or nature, displaced by new governments and flags. While some people may emigrate; others simply flee. It's as negligibly easy as it was in the 1930s to blame today's incoming displaced people for the losses and hardships of an established community. For every individual we feel may have played the system like a fiddle, there are so many others whose nationality has been abused or stripped from them. I may not refer to myself as English, but I'm deeply distressed when helpful people suggest I should give up my home in Sussex and look for a good job overseas. I moan that my house is falling down around my ears, but it's still my little haven. To dismantle it and leave it behind would rip the middle out of me. What if you or I had no choice? What if choice was made by a government or a gun?
When I tried to find a suitable piece of music to add to this post about nationality, I found countless beautiful songs, in every genre, praising and idealising particular cities, countries or continents. I found very few which simply evoked a feeling of unmapped belonging; if anyone reading this has suggestions, I would be interested to hear them. If I've offended anyone by saying that I don't readily describe myself as English or British; whatever I think of the bankers, the public sector cuts and the higher tax threshold, I'm totally appreciative that the land I was born in accepts that I call myself half Irish and half Belgian. For that, I am wholly grateful.

"After the spiritual powers, there is no thing in the world more unconquerable than the spirit of nationality."

George William Russell

"This is Your Land"  Simple Minds



"Land" 
(Carol Ann Duffy)
If we were shades
who walked here once
over the heather, over the shining stones,
fresh in our skin and bones
with all of the time to come
left to be us,
if we were dust,
once flesh, where a cloud
swoons on the breast of a hill,
breathing here still
in our countable days,
the words we said,
snagged on the air
like the murmuring bees,
as we lay by the loch,
parting our clothes with our hands
to feel who we were,
we would rather be there
than where we are here,
all that was due to us
still up ahead,
if we were shades or dust
who lived love
before we were long dead.