Birds of a feather…
A nybody wandering around Madrid these past few months might be forgiven for thinking they had just missed a state celebration of some kind. Red and yellow Spanish flags adorn the balconies of houses across the city as if to welcome a conquering hero on return from battle or the football team with another trophy.
Of course it would be difficult to not have read about the standoff between Catalan nationalists and the Spanish state which last October lead to a poorly thought out referendum and a chastening lesson in police violence. Yielding a predictable result, it seemed more like playing to the gallery than a meaningful exercise in democratic expression and victory was declared with 92% of the 43% who took part giving it the thumbs up. The result was a foregone conclusion but the campaigning revealed a clear division in which most flocked contentedly to the side of the fence on which they were born and this made the issue far more binary than it is. Much like religion, most of us are born into the beliefs of parents and forbears and wear the colours with little question.
From the point of view of a person whose roots are not particularly deep, claims of national pride and patriotism leave me unimpressed. 
Catalan flags calling for independence and Spanish flags in response are perhaps predictable but still beg the same question of each; what did anybody do to influence the situation of their birth? US comedian Doug Stanhope said nationalism allowed people bragging rights to accomplishments they had no part in and to hate people they have never met, and there is much in history to flesh out such a claim.
A person who made the journey to another country to live as an immigrant, likely put in more effort compared to a native born citizen, in that they at least made a choice. What choice was open to anybody regarding the circumstances of their birth? Nobody chose the location, moment in history, the economic landscape or even the people they would have as parents. Given the arbitrary nature of being born, a more honest sentiment albeit an unlikely one to hear, should be ‘lucky me’ if the dice fell favourably.
In a cartoon meme that appears on Facebook from time to time, a young man sits beneath a tree overlooking a picturesque landscape.
He muses to himself how good everything is; the wine, food, landscape, the language and people. In surmising that they are surely the best, he goes on to reflect on how it would all be crap but for the fact he was born there.
It is probably deep within our genetic programming to be tribal and cheer on our team but this is usually in a zero sum game of winners and losers and just because something may be innate, it doesn’t make it desirable, especially with a world population of over 7 billion. The old platitude of it being hard to shake hands with a clenched fist ought to be extended to holding flags as well.
