For the children of immigrants in Britain, patriotism isn’t about allegiance to history, it’s about laying claim to a future we help build.
 

A Different Kind of Inheritance
Patriotism has long been painted in the colours of flags, hymns, and anniversaries. In Britain, it often arrives wrapped in centuries of monarchy, wartime remembrance, and the weight of empire. For many, it is a bond with a long, continuous history — a connection to ancestors who tilled these fields, fought in these wars, and built these institutions.

But for the children of immigrants, the inheritance is different. We didn’t arrive to find our family names engraved on war memorials or our stories embedded in the national curriculum. Our connection to this country is less about a shared past and more about a shared present — and the future we’re determined to shape.

To us, patriotism isn’t a debt owed to history. It’s an investment in possibility.


The Myth of a Single Story
Britain’s national story, as told in classrooms and political speeches, can be narrow. It celebrates moments of unity — wartime resilience, the creation of the NHS, the Olympic Games — but it often sidesteps the experiences of those who arrived later, who rebuilt bombed cities, drove buses, staffed hospitals, and raised children in unfamiliar streets.

Children of immigrants often grow up fluent in two narratives: the official British story, and the one told at home in the kitchen over simmering pots of jollof, dhal, or chicken adobo. One is filled with royal jubilees and cricket matches; the other with stories of migration, sacrifice, and the peculiar ache of being far from where your childhood began.

The tension between these narratives is where our own definition of patriotism begins to take shape.


Patriotism as a Claim to Belonging
When you are the child of immigrants, the question “Where are you from?” rarely accepts “Here” as a complete answer. Your accent may be British, your education British, your pop culture references shaped by Saturday night television — but your features, surname, or skin colour can mark you as someone whose belonging requires further explanation.

That’s why patriotism, for us, becomes an act of claiming. Not in the loud, flag-waving sense, but in the everyday ways we insist on being part of the national conversation. It’s speaking up in a classroom when history is taught as though the British Empire was simply a benevolent project. It’s applying for jobs in industries where our communities are underrepresented. It’s voting in local elections and volunteering at food banks, even when the political rhetoric makes it clear we weren’t the imagined audience.

Our patriotism says: We are here. We belong. And this country’s future belongs to us, too.


The Danger of Nostalgic Patriotism
Traditional forms of patriotism often lean on nostalgia — the idea that Britain was at its best in a past that is both romanticised and selective. This version is dangerous, because it can exclude those whose ancestors weren’t part of the “golden age” being celebrated. It can also blind us to the country’s current challenges: inequality, racism, climate change, and the pressures on public services.

For the children of immigrants, nostalgia can feel like an invitation to a party we weren’t at. We can acknowledge the courage of soldiers in the Second World War without needing to pretend that our families were part of that fight. We can respect the achievements of past generations without feeling bound to their worldview.

Our patriotism is forward-looking. It asks: What kind of country can we become? rather than How do we preserve what we once were?


Patriotism in Practice
For second-generation Britons, patriotism often plays out in spaces far from political rallies. It happens in classrooms where teachers encourage multiple perspectives, in community centres where migrants and locals share meals, in art and music that blend influences from Lagos, Lahore, Kingston, and Cardiff.

Consider the young doctor in Manchester who treats patients in an overstretched NHS ward. Her parents may have arrived as refugees with little more than determination and hope. Her pride in Britain comes not from the grandeur of Westminster, but from the institution she serves every day — a public healthcare system built on the belief that everyone, regardless of wealth or origin, deserves care.

Or the poet in Birmingham whose verses weave Punjabi proverbs into the rhythms of British spoken word. His work doesn’t reject Britishness; it expands it.

These are acts of patriotism because they strengthen the fabric of the country. They are commitments to the wellbeing of the people who live here, not just to the symbols that represent it.

The Role of Critique
A crucial element of our patriotism is the willingness to challenge the country we love. For many in majority populations, criticism is sometimes seen as unpatriotic — a betrayal. But for those of us whose families fought for the right to be here, critique is a form of care. We challenge because we believe Britain can live up to its promises.

When we speak out against racial profiling, against policies that make life harder for migrants, or against cuts to schools and hospitals, we do so because we want the nation to work for everyone. That’s not disloyalty. That’s investment.

The immigrant experience teaches us that a country is not static. It can open its doors or close them. It can expand its definition of “us” or shrink it. Patriotism, for us, is pushing for the better choice.


Multiple Loyalties, One Home
Some assume that having ties to another culture — speaking another language, celebrating another nation’s holidays — means divided loyalties. But identity is not a zero-sum game. Loving Britain does not mean abandoning the cultures that shaped our parents. Nor does celebrating Diwali, Eid, or Ghana Independence Day diminish our commitment to the place where we live, work, and vote.

In fact, these dual heritages often deepen our appreciation for Britain’s diversity. They make us aware of what is possible when cultures meet with mutual respect.


Why the Future Matters More Than the Past
If you have roots in this country that go back centuries, patriotism can feel like a trust fund — an inheritance you’re simply stewarding. But for children of immigrants, it feels more like a start-up. We are building something new, something that will outlast us. Our allegiance is not to an unchanging past, but to the idea that the future can be fairer, more creative, and more just.

That’s why conversations about climate change, affordable housing, education, and equality resonate so deeply with us. These are not abstract policy debates; they’re the blueprint for the Britain we will hand to our own children.


Reclaiming the Word
Patriotism has been weaponised in recent years, used to draw lines between “real” citizens and those deemed less deserving. But we have the right — and perhaps the responsibility — to reclaim the word. Patriotism should be about commitment to the people around you, not the purity of your lineage. It should be about the health of the society you live in, not the homogeneity of its past.
For the children of immigrants in Britain, patriotism is building the roads that others will travel, planting the gardens others will enjoy, and ensuring the country is stronger, fairer, and kinder than the one we inherited.


A Final Thought
The truth is, patriotism cannot be defined once and for all. It shifts with the generations, shaped by the challenges and possibilities of the moment. For some, it will always be bound to memory and tradition. For others — especially those of us whose families came here chasing the promise of a better life — it will be about the work we do now to make that promise real.
Our patriotism is not quiet acceptance. It is active participation. It is not allegiance to a frozen past, but a hand extended to the future.
Because we are not just guests in Britain’s story. We are authors of the chapters yet to come.