When I first stumbled upon the slogan Unite the Kingdom, I must admit that I was quite charmed. Finally, I thought, this is the start of a campaign to stitch together all the countries torn apart by centuries of colonialism. How wholesome! I thought of a global support group where India, Nigeria, Jamaica, Kenya, South Africa and countless others sit around in a circle with Britain, sipping tea (fair-trade, of course), while mending the historical wounds inflicted by Britain’s globe-spanning land grab. But alas, forgive me. I was naïve. I really believed, for a fleeting second, that Britain had collectively decided to atone with a little kumbaya.

So, upon further reading I found that Unite the Kingdom is not a worldwide reconciliation festival. It is, in fact, a nationalist protest against immigrants, a movement that seeks to pull up the drawbridge and lock the gates. The very same Britain that once sailed across the seas planting flags in lands they couldn’t pronounce now insists that their borders must remain sacred and untouched. This is the country that looked at entire continents and thought, “Nice place, ours now.” They called it the Kingdom, extended it across vast oceans, and yet today, the descendants of that empire tremble at the thought of outsiders settling in their neighborhoods. History has never been so hypocritical, or so short of memory.

But let’s take a step back and play a little with the idea I had before I was rudely awakened. What if Unite the Kingdom really was about solidarity? Imagine a Britain that did not just wave flags and chant slogans, but actually opened its arms to the very people it once ruled. Imagine a Britain that said, “We are sorry about those centuries of exploitation. May we join forces to build a better future?” Outlandish, I know, but our imaginations are created to run freely so let’s go.

First, imagine cultural reinvestment. Instead of immigrants being scapegoated, the so-called Kingdom could finally acknowledge that its curry is better than its shepherd’s pie, and that its music, literature, and fashion owe just as much to Lagos, Kingston, and Mumbai as they do to London. A “united kingdom” in this sense would be a vibrant patchwork quilt, where the threads are made stronger by recognizing mutual debt rather than pretending one side invented everything.

Second, economic justice. Britain could actually return resources it once extracted. I am thinking, for instance, of the Cullinan diamond. It is the massive gem taken from South Africa and cut into pieces, one of which now sits smugly in the Imperial State Crown. Imagine if Unite the Kingdom meant returning stolen treasures, re-investing colonial profits in education and healthcare abroad, and creating equitable trade systems. Britain could stand up at the United Nations and say, “We’re here to give back, not take.” Can you imagine the shock? The applause? The memes?

Third, a world where migration is not demonized but celebrated, where the great irony is flipped inside out: the British once wandered the earth looking for opportunity (and gold, and spices, and, well, diamonds), so why can’t today’s migrants do the same without facing hostility? If Unite the Kingdom were reimagined, the narrative would shift from “they are taking our jobs” to “we are building a bigger table.” The empire took enough seats, so surely there are some left to share.

In this version of reality, “uniting” is not about shoving people out. It is about finally making good on the centuries-old promise Britain declared when it drew those pink patches across the globe: that we are all part of something bigger. To unite the kingdom in any real sense, there is a price of admission. Britain would have to look at its crown, that gaudy symbol of conquest, and say: Unite the Kingdom… and give back the diamond!

Written by Merlin Ince