Raise the Colours, Gaza, and the Fragile Space Between Tradition and Progress

Over the past weeks I’ve found myself reflecting deeply on the discourse surrounding Raise the Colours and the ongoing crisis in Gaza. As a person of colour, and as a musician who holds community at the heart of my work, these conversations have not only been intellectually challenging but also personally painful. They touch nerves that run through my identity, my work, and my understanding of what music and art should represent.

The initiative to “raise the colours” has been framed by some as an act of patriotism, but it is increasingly clear that what is really at stake is the attempted hijacking of the Union Flag for racist and exclusionary agendas. Patriotism, when rooted in love, unity, and shared responsibility, can be a beautiful force. But when it is used as a shield for intolerance, it corrodes the very values it claims to protect. I cannot help but feel saddened by the way in which something that once represented safety and belonging for me as a veteran is being weaponised against communities like mine.

This sadness is amplified when I think about cultural landmarks like the Last Night of the Proms. For generations, this event has been a place of music, celebration, and togetherness. At its best, it unites audiences under a shared love of tradition and art. But when voices attempt to turn it into a battleground for division, it risks betraying its purpose. The Proms should be a place of harmony, not hostility; of inclusion, not exclusion.

These debates are not abstract for me. In conversations I’ve had within the community, I’ve heard first-hand how triggering these topics can be for marginalised people. When national symbols are co-opted by divisive movements, the message to those of us who live outside the narrow definition of “acceptable” Britishness is stark: you don’t belong. Those words may not be spoken outright, but they are heard nonetheless, loudly and clearly.

In my work as a conductor, I feel these tensions acutely. Music carries with it history – some of it glorious, some of it deeply problematic. To conduct certain pieces is to step into a moment in time, often with all its complexities. Our role is not only to perform these works with integrity but also to educate audiences about their contexts. We must make sure history is not whitewashed, nor repeated. Yet, this responsibility comes with a difficult balance. If we allow the likes of Raise the Colours to push us towards cancelling or eradicating music because of its associations, then they have already succeeded. They thrive on erasure and fear. What we must do instead is engage critically, shine a light on uncomfortable truths, and ensure that through art we teach, reflect, and challenge.

This is the fine line we walk in the arts: using music as a tool for education and change without falling into the trap of “cancel culture.” To cancel is easy; to teach is hard. Yet, it is through the harder path that we preserve the transformative power of the arts. We must remember that progress does not mean tearing down every tradition, but rather reinterpreting and reclaiming them in ways that honour truth and inclusion.

For me, the heart of the matter is simple: the arts must remain a safe and inclusive space. That is not a luxury, it is a necessity. When we allow extremist voices to shape our cultural spaces, when we remain silent in the face of genocide and injustice, when we let symbols of unity be turned into tools of division, we all lose. But if we hold fast – if we use music, art, and community to tell the truth and to bring people together – then we ensure that neither history, nor hatred, is allowed to dictate the future.

I remain deeply saddened by the discourse, but I also remain hopeful. Hopeful that by standing firm in inclusivity, by engaging with tradition critically rather than blindly, and by refusing to let the arts become a weapon of division, we can show that unity is stronger than hate.

Marcus Alleyne Director and Founder SWPC