A flag is politically equivalent to any piece of iconography; its meaning is malleable, defined by the context in which it’s deployed. Lately, we’ve seen the deliberate co-option of national flags by far-right movements, allowing hate groups to disguise their intentions and maintain an element of plausible deniability. Tommy Robinson and his contemporaries’ fringe ‘free speech’ cesspits see tens of thousands of St George’s Crosses and Union Jacks strewn across London, spewing hatred – but displays here in Glasgow often appear more innocuous.
For months now, across the city from Maryhill, Summerston, and Milton, and in the east end in Bridgeton, the Saltire has been strung up on lampposts. For the untrained eye, it’s easy to assume classic, old-fashioned patriotism, or perhaps enduring calls for Scottish independence. On closer inspection, you might raise an eyebrow at its being placed alongside the Lion Rampant and Union Jack. Turn over the stone, and you’d be disappointed, although perhaps not surprised, at who’s doing this and why.
The “Tartan Team” group coordinating the flag effort are as vague in political stance as the invocation of the flag itself; distancing themselves from English anti-immigration efforts flown under the St George’s Cross, protesting poor local living conditions and political dissatisfaction. This ambiguous nationalism seemingly attracts, to say the least, a diverse cohort. In reality, a key organiser and fundraiser of the group publicly outed himself as a neo-nazi and refused comment when approached by The Glasgow Bell, with the Tartan Team continuing to maintain that “immigration is not a problem.” Go figure.
Local responses have included efforts to “change the narrative” of the Scottish national flag to oppose exclusion and hate, flying the Saltire at counter-protests against explicit anti-immigrant displays. The vagueness of the Saltire comes to a head here, with now three opposing factions representing themselves under the same symbol. Firstly, the dissatisfied and apparently “well-meaning” Tartan Team types, consisting largely of loosely-connected Facebook groups, campaigning over “local issues” and against the “politicians” handling them. Second are the overtly Tommy Robinson-adjacent types, flying the flag in opposition to the inclusive nationalism traditionally embraced by Scotland, employing the Saltire to invoke ideas of blood, soil, skin colour, ethnicity, rather than diversity, nationality, global community. As mentioned, there’s a documented overlap between these first two groups, and given the former’s defence of the latter’s anti-immigration demonstrations in Falkirk, I’d argue group two are largely saying group one’s quiet part out loud.
Finally, we have the counter-protestors, flying the Saltire against hatred and reaffirming Scotland’s reputation and identity as broadly inclusive and humanitarian, at least relative to our downstairs neighbours. This is where things get fuzzy; just how far has the Saltire been co-opted by the far-right? To what extent can we continue to identify with it, demonstrate with it, take pride in it as a symbol of inclusion?
In the counter-protest example, things seem clear. A literal dividing line, with those politically and physically opposing asylum housing on one side, interspersing Saltires with Union Jacks and cardboard-printed, venomous slogans. The other side surrounding Saltires with phrases like “We’re No Island of Strangers”, “Say No to Racist Reform UK”, and “I Was a Stranger, and Ye Took Me In.” The Saltire demonstrably represents something completely different to each side.
With the scale of anti-immigrant nationalist rhetoric, and the precedent set by the Reformers and those further right including Tommy Robinson’s crowd, flying the Saltire in isolation in 2026 is no symbol of progressiveness. If you hang the flag on a lamppost with no contextual symbolism attached today, the unfortunate truth is that the overt message received by passersby in minority groups is “you are not welcome.” But just as this wasn’t always the case, neither does it have to remain this way. The reason the Saltire can now signify xenophobic exclusion is for the same reason it stood almost exclusively for Scottish independence a decade ago. Repeated association of a symbol to a particular movement or ideology ingrains it within it, making its meaning concrete.
For the Left, this means that the only response is to not back down. The Saltire may be increasingly entangled with discrimination and hate, but this can only be changed by associating it with something better. If you may now be hesitant to fly the flag alone, this is all the more reason to fly it more, alongside robust, explicit progressive symbols which protect it from co-option or misinterpretation. Take inspiration from the likes of the Scotland-Palestine solidarity flag, merging the Saltire and pan-Arabic colours, or the Saltire-themed gay pride flag, or the emerald saltire of the Scottish Greens. Much can be learned from Falkirk’s anti-hate counter-protestors who reaffirmed their meaning of the Saltire even in the face of its corruption, unwaveringly linking Scottish identity with progressiveness and inclusion. Hanging flags from your windows or lampposts won’t fix Scotland, but it’ll at least keep Scotland’s most important and valuable symbol safe from the hands of the far-right.
Author: Isaac McCrory
qmunicatemagazine.co.uk 