Operation Raise the Colours
Based on Wikipedia: Operation Raise the Colours
In late November 2025, a man in South Bristol climbed a ladder to affix a Union Jack to a lamppost, a routine act of civic decoration that would end in tragedy. He fell. By early December, he was dead in a hospital bed, his life extinguished not by the grand political machinations of a movement he likely believed in, but by the simple, physical danger of the task itself. His death is a grim footnote to Operation Raise the Colours, a campaign that swept across the United Kingdom with startling speed, transforming public spaces into battlegrounds of ideology and exposing a deep fracture in the national psyche. What began in August 2025 as a call to display the flags of the United Kingdom and its constituent nations has evolved into one of the most contentious social phenomena of the mid-2020s, blurring the lines between patriotism, intimidation, and far-right extremism.
The movement, ostensibly born from a desire to reclaim national pride, arrived at a time when the fabric of British society was already under strain. The St George's Cross had recently been flown with genuine, unadulterated joy across the nation in the summer of 2025, a celebration of the England women's national football team during the UEFA Women's Euro 2025. That wave of unity, however, was short-lived. By the following month, the same symbol was being draped over lampposts, painted onto mini-roundabouts, and plastered on zebra crossings by a different set of hands. The context had shifted. The flags were no longer just symbols of sporting triumph; they were being weaponized as markers of territory in a culture war that had gone hot.
The stated aim of Operation Raise the Colours was deceptively simple: to promote patriotism and national pride by encouraging the public display of the Union Flag, the St George's Cross, and the flags of Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. An online campaign launched in August 2025 called for this visual reclamation of the streets. But the execution of this aim quickly revealed a darker undercurrent. Activists did not merely hang flags from balconies; they engaged in a coordinated effort to saturate the visual landscape of towns and cities. They tied flags to street furniture, painted them onto traffic islands, and in some cases, defaced public property to make their point.
The human cost of this saturation is not limited to the tragedy in Bristol. The movement has been characterized by a palpable sense of aggression that has spilled over into real-world violence and vigilantism. Reports emerged of members of flagging groups engaging in anti-migrant vigilantism not just on British soil, but extending their reach into northern France and the streets of Paris. These were not isolated incidents of rowdy nationalism; they were coordinated actions that targeted vulnerable populations, creating an environment of fear for asylum seekers and ethnic minorities. The flags, intended by some as a symbol of welcome and unity, became, in the eyes of many residents, a signal of exclusion and threat.
The Architects of Division
Who, exactly, is pulling the strings behind this sudden resurgence of flag-waving? The movement is not a monolith; it is a chaotic tapestry woven from various groups, individuals, and opportunists, all claiming credit for its inception while operating with a shared, often unspoken, agenda. Among the many figures vying for the title of founder is Andrew Currien. Currien is a polarizing figure whose public persona is inextricably linked to the fringes of British politics. According to the advocacy group Hope Not Hate, Currien has alleged links to the English Defence League (EDL) and the fascist political party Britain First. The evidence of his alignment with these groups is not subtle; Currien has publicly thanked Britain First for donating flags to the campaign, a direct admission of collaboration with an organization known for its Islamophobic and anti-Semitic rhetoric.
Currien is not alone in this ecosystem. The movement has seen the emergence of localized groups across the country, each with its own name but a unified methodology. In Birmingham, a group calling themselves the Weoley Warriors claimed responsibility for raising flags in Weoley Castle, Northfield, and Bartley Green. They, along with a group simply named Raise the Colours, which operated in south Birmingham and north Worcestershire, both claimed to be the originators of the national movement. This competition for credit suggests a decentralized structure, yet the coordination suggests a unified direction. In Yorkshire, a group called Flag Force UK installed flags across York and went so far as to create a live map of their activities, turning the campaign into a gamified spectacle of territorial marking.
In Worcestershire, the Wythall Flaggers launched their own offensive, while in Greater Manchester, the group Churchill's Lions took a more aggressive stance. The name itself evokes a specific, militaristic nostalgia, but the reality on the ground was far more troubling. Churchill's Lions claimed responsibility for the majority of the flags in the region, and an investigation by a journalist at the Manchester Mill uncovered the group's deep ties to the far right. The group's co-leader was identified as Ashlea Simon, a known figure in the leadership of Britain First. Even more disturbing was the presence of a man in the group who had been convicted of participating in a five-person illegal immigration operation. This individual had been sentenced to 20 months in prison in 2016 after being stopped at the border with four migrants in his van. Here, the contradiction is stark: a movement claiming to uphold the law and national borders is being led by individuals with a history of criminality related to the very issues they claim to oppose.
The involvement of high-profile far-right figures further complicates the narrative. Tommy Robinson, the anti-Islam campaigner, has been a vocal supporter of the campaign, lending his massive online following to the cause. The presence of such figures inevitably drags the movement into the orbit of extremist ideology. While supporters of the campaign argue that they are simply patriots and that the involvement of figures like Robinson does not define the whole, the optics are undeniable. When the loudest voices promoting a movement are those with a history of inciting racial hatred, the movement itself is judged by those associations.
The Geography of Intimidation
The campaign did not remain confined to England. By September 2025, the movement had spread to Scotland and Wales, bringing with it the flags of those nations—the Red Dragon, the Saltire, and the Lion Rampant—alongside the Union Jack. The intention may have been to show unity across the United Kingdom, but the reception in Scotland and Wales was one of confusion and alarm. In Scotland, flags appeared in Falkirk, Maryhill, and Tollcross in Glasgow, as well as in Peterhead, Edinburgh, Inverness, and Aberdeen. Parts of North Lanarkshire were also affected.
In Glasgow, the group responsible was the Tartan Team. While they presented themselves as a patriotic outfit, the Daily Record uncovered a disturbing reality behind the scenes. One of the men organizing the effort in Glasgow had a history of making racist posts on social media. In a chilling display of the ideology driving the movement, he replied to a video of an alleged fight between asylum seekers in Spain with the comment, "gas them all." He also shared content claiming that "the answer for America lies… in Germany with a man named Adolf." When confronted by a journalist, he did not recant. He initially claimed mistaken identity, a common deflection tactic, but when pressed, he offered a defense that revealed the depth of his extremist views. "Everybody is entitled to their own opinion," he said. "I understand that Hitler went nuts at the end. No wonder, the drugs do that to most people. But at the start he had good intentions. Maybe they slipped a bit but he had good intentions for his country."
This is not the rhetoric of a patriot; it is the rhetoric of a neo-Nazi, rationalizing the atrocities of the Holocaust as a case of "slipped intentions." The fact that such a figure was organizing the flag campaign in Glasgow exposes the movement as a vehicle for the normalization of fascist ideology under the guise of national pride. The flags were not just decorations; they were a signal to the community that the people putting them up viewed the presence of minorities as a threat to the nation's very existence.
In Wales, the situation was equally fraught. Welsh flags and Union Jacks appeared in Anglesey, Carmarthenshire, Conwy, and Denbighshire. However, the movement also saw the intrusion of the English St George's Cross in areas like Pembrokeshire, Llandudno, and Cwmbran. The appearance of the English flag in these locations caused bemusement and protests among local residents, who viewed it as an imposition of English nationalism on Welsh soil. The movement, which claimed to celebrate the four nations of the UK, was instead highlighting the tensions between them. The flags were not symbols of unity; they were markers of dominance, reminding Welsh and Scottish residents that their distinct identities were secondary to the overarching narrative of English nationalism being pushed by the far right.
The Battle for the Narrative
The response to Operation Raise the Colours has been a fierce battle over the meaning of patriotism itself. Supporters of the campaign, including members of the Conservative Party, Reform UK, Advance UK, and even some in the Labour Party, argue that the movement is a genuine expression of national pride. They deny any links to the far right or any racial motivation, stating that they only wish to promote patriotism and welcome volunteers from any political, racial, or ethnic background. For them, the flag is a symbol of belonging, a way to reclaim public spaces from what they perceive as a culture of guilt and self-loathing.
"We've heard predictable claims that the flags are just a display of pride in a British or English identity. This is an easy claim to make as it clearly is, in part, to do with nationalistic pride. The point is that they are being hung in particular places, by particular groups of people and in a particular way that clearly links them to the ongoing debates and hostility to migration."
These words, spoken by anthropologist Dominic Bryan, who has researched the use of flags in Northern Ireland for over 20 years, cut through the noise. Bryan's insight is crucial: the meaning of a flag is not inherent; it is contextual. When flags are hung by groups with known extremist ties, in areas with high immigrant populations, and in a manner that resembles territorial marking, they take on a new meaning. They become a tool of intimidation. The location, the method, and the messenger all matter. A flag on a balcony during a World Cup final is a celebration; a flag painted on a roundabout by a group linked to Britain First is a threat.
Anti-racist organizations have been quick to highlight this distinction. Stand Up to Racism and Hope Not Hate have expressed strong opposition to the movement, arguing that it is a cynical attempt by the far right to promote their ideas and inflame tensions. They point to the support from figures like Tommy Robinson and the involvement of Britain First as proof that the campaign is a Trojan horse for extremist ideology. Stand Up to Racism has organized counter-protests, standing in direct opposition to the flaggers, to protect the communities they claim are being targeted. They argue that the movement is designed to intimidate immigrants, asylum seekers, and ethnic minorities at a time of rising anti-immigration sentiment in the UK.
The public's perception of the campaign aligns more with the critics than the supporters. Opinion polling conducted in October 2025 revealed a startling consensus: both white and ethnic minority adults surveyed tended to view the campaign as primarily an expression of an anti-migrant or anti-ethnic minority message, rather than of patriotism. This suggests that the far-right's strategy has been effective. By wrapping their ideology in the trappings of patriotism, they have managed to confuse the public narrative, but the underlying sentiment remains clear. The public sees the flags for what they have become: symbols of division.
The Political Fallout
The political ramifications of Operation Raise the Colours have been significant. Political figures and public organizations have been forced to take a stance. Nick Ireland, the Liberal Democrat leader of Dorset Council, warned in August 2025 that the campaign had been "hijacked" by the far right to promote their extremist agenda. He argued that flying flags in this manner could intimidate residents, particularly those from minority backgrounds. The Socialist Worker echoed this sentiment, stating that the far right had "co-opted" the movement. Guardian writer Esther Addley described the campaign as "an organised and well funded movement that, while certainly galvanising support among many individuals, has been driven and encouraged by figures with links to the far right."
Despite these warnings, the movement has found support from across the political spectrum. The involvement of members from the Conservative Party, Reform UK, and even the Labour Party suggests that the issue of national identity and immigration has become a cross-party concern, albeit for different reasons. Some see the campaign as a necessary reassertion of British values, while others fear it is a slippery slope toward authoritarianism. The fact that the campaign has drawn support from such diverse political groups highlights the deep divisions within British society and the vulnerability of public discourse to manipulation by extremist elements.
The tragedy of the man who fell from the ladder in South Bristol serves as a somber reminder of the human cost of these ideological battles. His death was not a political statement; it was a preventable accident that occurred in the pursuit of a political goal. It underscores the danger of turning public spaces into stages for ideological warfare. The flags he died to put up are now a symbol of a movement that has consumed lives, not just in the abstract sense of social cohesion, but in the very literal sense of physical safety.
The Future of the Colours
As the campaign continues to evolve, the question remains: where does it go from here? The movement has shown a remarkable ability to adapt and spread, moving from England to Scotland and Wales, and from online campaigns to physical occupation of public spaces. The involvement of far-right figures and the evidence of anti-migrant vigilantism suggest that the movement is unlikely to dissipate on its own. Instead, it is likely to become a permanent feature of the British political landscape, a constant reminder of the tensions that lie beneath the surface of national unity.
The response from anti-racist groups and community organizations has been vital, but it is not enough. The movement has tapped into a deep well of anxiety and anger, and addressing it requires more than just counter-protests. It requires a genuine engagement with the issues of immigration, national identity, and social cohesion. The flags of Operation Raise the Colours are a symptom of a larger disease, a disease that has festered in the UK for years, fueled by political rhetoric, economic inequality, and a lack of trust in institutions.
The lesson from history is clear: when the far right is allowed to co-opt symbols of national identity, the result is always division and violence. The flags of Operation Raise the Colours are not just pieces of cloth; they are weapons in a war for the soul of the nation. And as the man in Bristol discovered, war always has a cost. The question is whether the British public is willing to pay it, or whether they will stand up and demand a different kind of patriotism—one that includes everyone, not just those who fit a narrow, exclusionary definition of what it means to be British.
The movement continues to raise the colours, but the question is no longer about the flags themselves. It is about what they represent. Are they a symbol of unity and pride, or a banner of hate and exclusion? The answer lies not in the fabric of the flag, but in the hearts of the people who wave it. And right now, in the towns and cities of the UK, the hearts of many are breaking under the weight of the division being sown by Operation Raise the Colours.