As Remembrance Day approaches, Neil Mackay reflects on a lifelong ritual disrupted by the far-right’s hijacking of the poppy — and the moral compromise he’s making to honour the heroes in his family without endorsing those who’ve corrupted the symbol.

I’ve always had a little ritual around buying my annual poppy. I’m a fiend for Halloween, so when I wake up groggy with a horror-hangover on November 1, I know it’s time to get one on my lapel and keep it there until after Armistice Day.

This year, it’s different. The poppy, unconscionably, has become infected by the far-right. Like the flags of the home nations, the kind of people our grandparents fought in the Second World War have sought to make this symbol of sacrifice their own.

I won’t wear a symbol that’s been hijacked by the far-right. I want the poppy, and those flags, reclaimed from the bigots and extremists. But I see nobody in power fighting that cause.

Many may disagree with me, and I respect that, but I believe the symbol has been sullied by its adoption among a despicable minority who would more likely have collaborated with the Nazis than taken up arms against them.

Evidently, the vast majority of folk who wear the poppy do so for the most honourable of reasons, but we cannot pretend that those who abuse and shame its symbolism don’t exist. And I don’t wish to be associated with them in any way.

This isn’t a casual decision on my behalf. I’ve worn the poppy when it was frankly dangerous to do so. I approach the question of whether or not to wear it with great unhappiness and solemnity.

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