It is the same, but it is not equal
Those who move in or have drunk from Ignatian spirituality will likely smile upon reading the title of this reflection. It is logical. Upon seeing “Two flags” written, any child of St. Ignatius immediately thinks of the famous meditation of the Spiritual Exercises: that discernment between the banner of Christ and the banner of Lucifer, between light and darkness. But I regret disappointing the most mystical among you: today the shots are not fired in that direction. Or perhaps, if we look closely, a little bit they are. Because today I want to talk about another duality, much more earthly, but equally divisive: the two ways of using the flag of Spain.
We live in days where the colors of our flag unfold in two completely opposite scenarios. We live in days where the colors of our flag unfold in two completely opposite scenarios. Two ways of feeling a country that force us to ask ourselves whether what we share is a meeting point or an insurmountable border.
The flag that unites: The enthusiasm of the jersey
On one side, we have the flag of shared joy, the one we see these days with the successes of the Spanish national team. It is fascinating to see how the atmosphere transforms. Suddenly, people go out into the streets, put on the red kit, hang the flag on the balcony, or paint it on their cheeks without any complex.
In that space, the flag does not ask for an ideological identity card from anyone. We all get excited equally: the left-wing, the right-wing, the agnostic, the believer, the one born here and the one who arrived seeking a better future and today celebrates the goals like any other. It is a flag free of reproach, which functions as a festive meeting point. A cloth that, instead of silencing mouths, opens up embraces. It is the integrating Spain, the one recognized in common effort and collective celebration.
The flag that divides: The hijacking of symbols
But then we cross the sidewalk and encounter the other flag. The one of strategic bracelets, the little flags on social media profiles, the logos of Vox and the inflamed speeches. It is the flag used as a projectile weapon, converted into the exclusive heritage of the right and the far-right.
We witness, with some sadness, a genuine hijacking of national symbols. An undue appropriation that seeks to dictate who is “good Spanish” and who is an “anti-Spain.” This second flag does not unite; it excludes. It is used to mark territory, to build walls against difference, and to draw a monochromatic, stale, and exclusionary Spain that no longer exists—and which probably never existed in the real diversity of its peoples—. By turning the flag into the logo of an ideology, they have emptied it of its common sense meaning to transform it into an element of division.
The true Spain does not fit in the pocket of a few. Spain belongs to everyone or it belongs to no one; it is multicolor, plural, diverse, and loud.
Recovering the house for all
As followers of Jesus, we are called to tear down walls of separation and build bridges. That is why it hurts to see that the symbol which should shelter us all is used to leave many outside.
The real Spain is not univocal. It is the Spain that gets excited with the talent of our people, the one that welcomes, the one that progresses, and the one that dialogues. We cannot allow what belongs to everyone to be snatched away from us. It is time to claim a healthy, mature, and multicolor identity, where the flag is, like the national team’s, a reason to meet in the public square and not a trench from which to shoot at the neighbor.
In the end, perhaps this reflection did have something Ignatian: it calls us to discern which flag we want to raise in our daily lives, whether the one that excludes and judges, or the one that includes, celebrates, and unites. I know what I want. I stick with the Spain of everyone, even if you disagree with me. And I stick with it knowing that, beyond any border and any cloth, before a specific country, we are children of God and citizens of the world.