BlitzSpirit: Did invoking wartime fortitude help or hinder a deeply divided nation?
The chipped Formica table in the village hall feels strangely apt. Around it, faces are etched with the same stubborn determination you might have seen in a photograph from 1940. Only this isn’t about rationing or Luftwaffe raids. This is a post-Brexit referendum meeting, and the talk is of “taking back control,” of “standing firm” against perceived enemies – Brussels, Westminster, “the elite.” The rhetoric, jarringly, is wartime. It begs the question: when did national division start sounding like national unity, and can a spirit forged in shared sacrifice truly be summoned on demand?
The Language of Last Resort
From the very beginning of the referendum campaign, the language of the Second World War was increasingly deployed. Brexit supporters, particularly, framed leaving the EU as a modern-day struggle for national survival – a new Battle of Britain. Leaving was painted as an act of defiant independence, echoing Churchill’s unwavering resolve. Slogans invoking national pride and a ‘spirit of Britain’ became commonplace.
This wasn’t accidental. The “Blitz Spirit” – resilience, stoicism, community spirit in the face of relentless adversity – had been carefully curated as a national identity marker for decades. The iconic “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster, originally designed but largely uncirculated during the war, was resurrected in the early 2000s, becoming a symbol of British fortitude sold on mugs and tote bags. It proved remarkably pliable, a blank canvas onto which anyone could project their own version of national character. Brexit campaigners seized on it, arguing that the same courage and adaptability that saw Britain through the Blitz were now needed to navigate the turbulent waters of European integration.
A Divided Front
Yet, this invocation of the Blitz Spirit was always…complicated. The wartime experience, while undeniably marked by remarkable community solidarity, wasn’t universally shared. Evacuees suffered trauma. Class inequalities persisted – some felt hopeful, others were angry about authorities making decisions for them. Colonial subjects contributed enormously to the war effort but remained second-class citizens. Nostalgia tends to smooth over such complexities.
More crucially, the Blitz Spirit was forged in the face of a shared external threat. The bombs falling on London didn’t discriminate based on political affiliation or Leave/Remain preferences. Brexit, conversely, was fundamentally internal. It pitted citizen against citizen, family member against family member. To portray it as a similar kind of existential struggle felt – and to many, was – a cynical distortion of history. Applying the language of unity to a profoundly divisive issue simply amplified the anger and resentment on both sides. Suddenly, ‘taking back control’ could sound like ‘excluding those who disagree with me.’
Beyond Nostalgia and into the Present
The uncritical deployment of wartime rhetoric also conveniently overlooks a more nuanced reality of the 1940s. The post-war consensus, born from hardship and a desire for a better future, saw the creation of the NHS and a commitment to social welfare – policies that might seem at odds with some of the ideological underpinnings of Brexit. The post-war desire for collective security arguably led to engagement with Europe, not away from it.
The Brexit experience showed us how easily a powerful symbol like the “Blitz Spirit” can be co-opted and weaponized. It’s a salutary lesson in the dangers of romanticizing the past, of selectively remembering history to serve present-day agendas. It reveals the fragility of national identity and the importance of acknowledging the full spectrum of lived experience, not just the heroic narratives.
Today, as we face new challenges – climate change, economic uncertainty, global instability – it’s tempting to seek solace in comforting myths of past resilience. But genuine resilience isn’t about blindly invoking a nostalgic past. It’s about honest self-reflection, acknowledging our divisions, and working together – not as a uniformly ‘strong’ nation, but as a diverse community facing a complex world.
Ultimately, the “Blitz Spirit”, at its best, wasn’t about stoic silence. It was about neighbours helping neighbours, communities supporting each other, and a collective refusal to be defeated. Perhaps that is a sentiment worth reclaiming – but only if we’re willing to apply it to all those around us, regardless of where they stood in the referendum booth.
Sources:
* (Further reading could include historical analyses of the Blitz, studies of national identity in Britain, and contemporary commentary on the Brexit referendum).
