I'm not going to harp on but the tricolour is just too bland
The people of New Zealand are currently having a warm debate about the future of their flag, which at the moment is an ungainly mess of a Union Jack and the Southern Cross.
The prime minister wants to abolish that flag and put in its place a silver fern - the ponga in Maori - on a black background, as on the rugby shirt.
Now, two pieces of advice; never get involved in a family row, and never offer an opinion when foreigners are discussing their flag.
For if ever there were proof of the unreasoning nature of mankind, it is in the power of the flag.
Moreover, it tends to be the case that the gaudier the flag, the more unstable and despotic the country, of which general rule many African countries seem happy to be the living proof - though despite the strenuous competition, Zimbabwe, whose national colours look like a fruit salad that has just been hit by a hand-grenade, easily takes the biscuit.
The most distinctive and probably best flags in the world are the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack, the Japanese sun, and the Canadian maple leaf. The worst and the dreariest are probably the family of tricolours, which characterise most European countries, save for Scandinavian countries, which have variations on the crosses and psalter which go into the Union Jack.
There is a simple lesson here. A flag has to have a strong symbol, or has to consist of at least one strong primary colour: black/red/blue.
Perhaps the oldest state flag in the world, the Donnebrog of Denmark, consists of an offset Scandinavian white cross on a red sea. The red is distinctive because it is made from madder root (the same source of the dye which made the British army's red-coats). The result is simple, strong and beautiful.
The US and the British flags are far more complex, but they too consist of the three vibrant colours of red, white and blue, and each in its own way conveys a powerful brand image -- which is why each flag is used to make fashion statements today.
The US flag is historical and political, and makes an assertion of the individuality of each of the component states of the Union. The British flag is a statement of another union, that of three kingdoms, and the blending of the flags of England, Ireland and Scotland is a piece of quite brilliant logo-creation, 150 years before the word was coined.
Alas, the Irish tricolour has none of the visual qualities which make a great flag. Its green is tepid, and its orange is a political falsehood: republicanism has never cherished the orange tradition.
Moreover, not having a prime colour, it is visually not particularly interesting; an ice-cream with tangerine sauce on one side and peppermint-green on the other.
Now, remember that bit at the start of this column, about the proof of the unreasoning nature of mankind being in the power of the flag?
Well, for an awful lot of readers right now, this is just the case: they can scarcely believe their eyes. After praising the Union Jack, I criticise the tricolour? Treachery! Treason! The words of a Brit Quisling!
No, the words of a man who dislikes chromatic blandness; and the Irish tricolour is bland, bland, bland, amongst an entire continent of tricolours.
Moreover, which one of us can instantly identify the German flag from the Belgian, the Dutch from the Italian, the Luxemburgese from the Portuguese? A medley of stripes: meaningless.
Yet we have a single unifying motif that unites all our traditions: the harp.
It serves on the Presidential banner. It has been a symbol of Ireland since the middle ages. It was borne by the men of '98 and 1916, and was in the cap badges of the Royal Irish Rifles, the RIC, the Connaught Rangers and the Royal Irish Regiment, disbanded 1922, and the Royal Irish Regiment as it is today. It was on the cap badge of the RUC and the Ulster Defence Regiment.
Like the Japanese setting sun, or the Canadian maple leaf, the harp is simple and unique. And for a flag to have true resonance, it must have at least one strong primary colour: a navy blue, perhaps, with the harp in a strong gold. Or a rich Lincoln green harp on white. Or a white motif on red (there being no reason why an Irish flag should not contain the latter colour, not least because all the best flags in the world, as above, contain it): or a brilliant gold harp on the madder-red hue of the Donnebrog.
Now, since hearts are involved in such matters, it is unlikely that a reasonable discussion could take place on the removal of the tricolour as the national flag of Ireland.
A lynching, perhaps; a rational conversation, hardly. Yet our flag is the least prepossessing and recognisable of any in Europe.
The New Zealanders are showing that flags need not be permanent things; and we, like them, have the alternative to hand. Will we use it? No!
(Prove me wrong. Go on, prove me wrong.)
