February 19, 2025 - 10:00am

What does it mean to be English? The question has turned into a blazing row again.

The latest outbreak began with a 20-second clip from a Triggernometry episode in which journalist Fraser Nelson (a Scot) talked about former prime minister Rishi Sunak’s Englishness: “He is absolutely English — he was born and bred here.” One of his interviewers, Konstantin Kisin, replied with a challenge: “He’s a brown Hindu, how is he English?” This provoked an online backlash, and not just from the terminally woke.

For instance, Dan Hodges of the Mail on Sunday insisted that “Rishi Sunak is English […] that’s where the debate begins and ends.” The pollster James Johnson argued that “the idea that Fraser’s point (read: fact) is being disputed openly in the clip and on social media is deeply worrying.” David Aaronovitch pointedly asked: “Am I English, Konstantin?” Gideon Rachman of the FT also had a question: “[Kisin] was born in Moscow, does he regard himself as English?”

Kisin and his critics are talking at cross purposes. To answer Rachman’s question, Kisin regards himself as British because, though born in the former Soviet Union, he has lived in the UK since childhood and is a British citizen. But that’s precisely where the misunderstandings arise. Because citizenship in this country is British — as opposed to English, Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish — Kisin defines Englishness as an ethnicity.

He’s not entirely wrong to do so. If you believe that descent from a centuries-long line of ancestors who called England their home counts for something, then to be ethnically English is worthy of recognition. To deny this is to claim that the majority of the population in England has no ethnic identity at all, which ironically would be the ultimate exceptionalism.

However, ethnicity cannot be the only dimension of Englishness. Imagine a scenario in which the UK breaks-up. To give British citizens living in England a country to call their own — and thus retain the rights and duties that go with that belonging — we’d need a definition of English citizenship. This amounts to a concept of civic Englishness.

There is also a third dimension of Englishness: cultural Englishness. This is harder to define than the other two, but you know it when you see it. It often goes hand-in-hand with English ethnicity, but doesn’t depend upon it. As Aaron Bastani argues: “I was at school in the 90s with other boys of non white British heritage. Some with Iranian parents, Iraqi, Jamaican, Russian, Grenadian, Guyana… If you were born here, and had an English accent, there wasn’t any debate about whether you were English.”

The corollary is that English ethnicity is no guarantee of cultural Englishness. For instance, there’s no reason why a 21st century descendent of the Mayflower colonists could not become a British citizen, but it could take decades, or even a second generation, for the culture to fully sink in.

For dual nationals like myself these multiple dimensions make sense of our existence. Ethnically, I’m English and French in equal measure. I’m also a proud citizen of both countries (Britain substituting for England). However, having lived my life in England, I’m almost exclusively English in culture.

Some might diagnose my predilection for nuance and understanding as a classic case of lily-livered liberalism. I’d counter that my belief — that ancestry, citizenship and culture are as distinct as they are important — is authentically conservative, not to mention English.


Peter Franklin is Associate Editor of UnHerd. He was previously a policy advisor and speechwriter on environmental and social issues.

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