My Palms Are Less Sweaty Then Yours But My Ar*e Cheeks Aren't (Patriotism)

Member Name: Peakly

Product:	Patriotism
Date:	30/10/01 (114 review reads)
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Patriotism, like Roy Chubby Brown, Alkaliguru and the secret track on Hed PE’s album ‘Broke’, is hilarious. It’s funny funny fun fun. Not that my intentions are to trivialise the subject because I have nothing intelligent to say, but it is. Hilarious. I think patriotism, I think people waving British flags, dreaming of shaking royal palms and using expressions like ‘best of British’ or ‘good old Blightly’. Hehe. Royalists, xenophobes… y’know what I’m saying. Fundamentally, it’s the notion of being proud of one’s country, which, even through the most innocent and forgiving eyes, implies a inherit superiority based on race. Big sweaty testicles to that my friends.

St. George killed a dragon. Great. Take a creature of rare beauty, plunge a sword deep into its scales and become a hero. Think of all David Attenborough could have mused over. Think of the tourist trade such a spectacle would have attracted. Local business’s would have benefited, and England would have had a gigantic fiery beast as it’s representative, rather then a unhappy family twiddling their thumbs in a palace. It’s a joke. I’ll warm my hands on the flames of the flag, and dump all over your traditions and values until they don’t smell pretty anymore. Woohoo.

I was born in Germany. I lived there till I was four, then moved to Kent. I guess this excludes me from being a true Brit. Pity. I guess I don’t have that ‘sophisticated’ sense of humour, or that refined taste, or that mentality that puts appearance ahead of reality.

Call me a hippie, call me naïve. Call me young and foolish. Call me a flower-smelling idealist. Call me honest. I don’t give a flying French connection about my place of birth, nor about this country. At least no more then anywhere else. What makes me proud, if anything at all, is what I’ve acco
mplished as an individual. The strength of my identity does not rely upon something I could never have determined and have not chosen. I don’t represent Britain, I represent Peakly. I won’t take credit for our nation’s success, nor will I apologise for it failures. My interest is in the people I love, and in humanity and the world. Awww.

Being patriotic, even in small doses, defies all logic to which I adhere. It’s a stale, fruit-less way to think, docile and useless. In sport, I support the man I warm to, not the man wearing a union jack. In war I support the cause I believe in, not the cause of my government. A fallen Brit is no more a tragedy then a fallen Arab, or a fallen Swede, or a fallen Frenchman. If we don’t all think this way, we’ll never hold hands and skip merrily across the oceans, and holding hands skipping across oceans should be our ultimate collective aim. Patriotism is nicely dressed racism – celebrating yourself for belonging to a country is no less shameful then condemning someone else for belonging to theirs. It’s clothed in tradition, and notions of innocent competition, but in reality it’s something else that separates man from fellow man. Quite simply, it’s a means by which to segregate. You’ll look to nationality when deciding who to ‘support’. You’ll look favourably on the actions of your country, because somehow it’s part of you, and then you’ll never see the world through the unbiased eyes it so dearly needs to be seen through.

Every generation is told they’ll rule the world some day. Every child is told they can make a difference. Drop the attitude. It’s my single greatest wish for the world. Don’t be proud of your country, be proud of yourself. Don’t consider the interests of those within shared borders, consider the collective interests of mankind. Every country in the world ha
s it’s skeletons, every country in the world has acted in a shameful, unjust way to another. That’s because they’re made up of individuals. Doh.

You might not agree. You might feel it’s harmless. If you’re smart, you might argue it’s a part of human nature that must not be defied. Poor you. I still have enough burning in there to consider the way I think and try to change it. British people pass faceas/facaes/fiaceases/shit through their anuses just like everyone else – the sooner we all realise that, the better.

And when they’ve realised that, I’ll recommend a Union Jack as a cleaning utensil. We’re all citizens of Planet Earth. That’s what I believe.


Hold my hand… won’t you?

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