“Flags themselves are not the problem,” said one Bradford youth worker. “But when they’re used to mark territory or frighten neighbours, they become weapons of division.”
Across towns and cities in England, the red cross of St George has become an increasingly common sight this summer. While for some it is an expression of national pride, Muslim communities and anti-racism campaigners warn the surge in flag-waving has coincided with a darker trend: a spike in far-right mobilisation and anti-Muslim hostility.
In the last week, mosques from Essex to Yorkshire have reported heightened fears for safety as far-right groups exploit asylum protests to stir nationalist sentiment.
In Epping, where the Bell Hotel is housing asylum seekers, demonstrators have repeatedly marched with flags and placards, prompting mosque leaders to tighten security. “It’s no longer just protests against government policy,” one worshipper told Hyphen. “It feels targeted at us.”
The symbolism is particularly raw in areas with painful histories of racial tension. In Bradford, scene of violent clashes in 2001, residents say the growing presence of flags in certain neighbourhoods evokes the National Front parades of previous decades.
Brick Lane in east London, long a target for racist attacks, has seen similar unease. “It has cycled back around,” one community organiser told the press.
“The same slogans, the same atmosphere – only this time it’s wrapped in the flag.”
A Guardian investigation this week warned that Britain’s far right has been emboldened, with networks coordinating online under banners such as “Operation Raise the Colours”.
The campaign encourages activists to display the St George’s flag as a show of dominance while staging protests outside asylum hotels and pressuring food banks to restrict aid to migrants. Community leaders describe it as a deliberate attempt to fuse patriotic symbols with exclusionary politics.
The consequences are already measurable. The monitoring group Tell MAMA, which now operates as an independent, non-governmental organisation after government funding was pulled earlier this year, reported earlier this year that Islamophobic assaults in 2024 jumped by 73% – the highest annual total on record.
While social media abuse remains widespread, the sharpest increase was in physical attacks, underlining fears that rhetoric is spilling into violence. Mosques have responded with visible measures: CCTV upgrades, volunteer patrols, and closer cooperation with local police. Yet imams say the sense of vulnerability remains acute.
The Muslim Charities Forum (MCF) has condemned attempts by “some right-wing media” to fuel divisive culture wars that marginalise British Muslim communities. In a statement, it warned such narratives aim to “limit or even exclude” Muslim voices from civic participation and reaffirmed its commitment to a cohesive society.
The comments follow the launch of the ‘Civil Society Covenant’, a framework for stronger collaboration between government and civil society. MCF, which served on the advisory group shaping the Covenant, described it as “an opportunity for renewed relationships” that puts communities at the heart of policymaking.
Fadi Itani OBE, CEO of the Muslim Charities Forum, said: “The Covenant reflects the tireless work of diverse voices across civil society and government. We must guard against rhetoric that divides us and instead focus on making the Covenant a success in serving communities.”
The government insists it is responding. A Combatting Hatred Against Muslims Fund was launched in April, with the British Muslim Trust appointed in July to oversee new national reporting mechanisms. Ministers say the scheme will ensure faster support for victims and better tracking of incidents.
Critics, however, argue that these steps are reactive and slow, while intimidation continues on the streets. Analysts warn the convergence of national pride, political polarisation and economic strain could fuel further tensions ahead of a likely general election next year.
Historical context
In the 1970s, it was the Union flag, the red, white and blue of Britain, that became the favoured symbol of the far-right National Front. Marchers wielded it as they promoted openly white supremacist views, using the flag as a shorthand for exclusionary nationalism. For many Black and Asian Britons at the time, seeing the Union Jack on a demonstration meant intimidation rather than pride.
By the 1980s and 90s, the Cross of St George itself took on a similar charge. English football hooligan firms and extreme right-wing groups adopted it as their banner of choice, parading it at matches and street rallies alike. What should have been a sporting emblem of unity often became linked to violence and racism.
Those memories linger. For many Muslim and migrant communities, today’s rise in St George’s flags across England, particularly when clustered around asylum hotels or flown during anti-immigration protests, recalls that earlier era of menace
