For most of us, our identity – and our loyalty – is clear. We belong to our families, our local communities, and our country. And our behaviour reflects this fact. We work hard and make sacrifices for our loved ones. We observe social norms and do what we can for our neighbours. And we respect the law, pay our taxes, and are willing to put more into the system knowing that others – our fellow citizens – may benefit more than we do. But we are not talking about a cold exchange of contracts. Identity, loyalty and citizenship are based on love – and a clearly recognised common culture.

This is why so many modern political conceptions of identity fall short. Those intimidated by the relationship between history and today and between ethnic and civic conceptions of identity often like to say our British identity is about “British values”. But while we might share some broad values, and reject others, this is of course nonsense. For in a large and complex society, the clash between different values and interests is never-ending. If we settle on those values about which we agree – democracy and the rule of law are usually given as examples – we would be no different to Belgium. And we are clearly not Belgium.

The other way modern politicians obfuscate about identity is by claiming we have always been a “country of immigration”, implying that our population has for a thousand years been in constant flux, and our true identity is about diversity and inclusivity. If this were true, we would be nothing more than a vacuum to be filled by others. And the claim is anyway quite obviously historically illiterate. Our population was, until Tony Blair, notable only for its stability. But since he was elected prime minister, there has been more immigration into Britain every single year than there was in the entire period from the Anglo-Saxons in the fifth and sixth centuries until the Second World War.

The inconvenient truth about identity is that it is stronger when we know we have more things in common, and it is weaker when we have less. So radical diversity necessarily weakens our shared identity, and with it the reciprocity we anticipate and the willingness we have to do things for others. This should not be surprising, because a shared identity is what allows us to recognise familiarity in strangers – ultimately to the point that we are prepared to fight and die for them and the land we share.

There is no single description of a national identity, but it is a complex mix of the places we have in common, our history and shared stories, institutions large and small, language, culture, and norms and rules that set out our expectations of decent behaviour. It is an organic thing, encompassing history, language, traditions, collective memories and shared places. Just as a family’s identity is about memories and achievements and jokes and holidays and joy and arguments and tragedies and loss, so a national identity is formed along similar lines.

This is why integration can be difficult even when it is what a newcomer and their family really want. But this prompts a different question. What if it is not what the newcomer and their family really want? What if rival identities and obligations make it difficult for a newcomer to embrace the responsibilities of British identity and citizenship?

Nick Timothy

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