“A project of continental peace”: over 150 rejected flags for Europe published 65 years after creation

Although an extremely specific piece of design, flags have the tendency to raise the heart rates of creatives. A beloved craft for its ability to distil a location and its history into graphic symbolism, it’s also very rare we see a new design. Denmark, for instance, holds the title of the oldest flag design, dating back to 1625, whereas the newest on record is held by Mauritania which received an update in 2017. Our very own in the United Kingdom is a symbol we’ve hoisted up, both unified and divided, since the Act of Union in 1801.

Despite often being regarded as a piece of history, as recently as 2006 Ted Kaye – secretary at the North American Vexillological Association (vexillography is the scientific and scholarly study of flags) – wrote and published Good Flag, Bad Flag, a primer for any hopeful vexillographer. Written around five specific rules, the title advocates for simplicity, “so simple that a child can draw it from memory,” and the use of meaningful symbolism in the designer’s choice of images, colours or patterns. Ted also warns designers away from using no more than two or three basic colours, and never any kind of lettering or seal. Lastly, each flag should be distinctive and “avoid duplicating other flags” but when not possible, the creative should utilise similarities “to show connections”.

A handy guide for all, it’s only a shame Good Flag, Bad Flag wasn’t available in 1949, as the Council of Europe not only grappled with upholding human rights, democracy and the rule of law across the continent, but struggled to choose a flag to represent it.

An international organisation founded in the wake of World War II, the Council of Europe presented a hopeful future advocating for international justice. The task of designing a symbolic flag, however – which would represent both Europe’s turbulent history, a hopeful future, and the many countries which make it – proved a difficult design brief to answer. In fact, it took the council’s founding members until 1955 to choose its 12-starred symbol of unity, due to an issue of too much choice. In the six years from its formation to the final decision, the council found itself with over 150 unsolicited flag designs. There was no brief, no open call, no ask at all, but proposals regularly turned up from individuals who’d read about the need for the flag in the paper, or heard about it on the radio.

Each imbued with the creative hope the Council of Europe presented, these one-off pieces of optimistic design were filed away until recently published in Rejected: Designs for the European Flag by researcher and publisher, Jonas von Lenthe.

In their variety, each of these submissions displays the varying “angles and motives for pursuing the idea of a united Europe,” writes Jonas. “The European flag was therefore both a project of continental peace and a means of establishing a boundary to the outside world.” The vast amount of options act as further proof that symbolically “the flag is used to delineate, as an early form of branding ‘Europe’,” says the designer, “it made the idea of a united Europe visually distinguishable and competitive vis-à-vis a national order for the first time, marking the beginning of a campaign of persuasion and advertising for its own cause that continues to this day.”

To detail the thoughts and ideas behind each of these submissions, Rejected breaks over 150 flags into thematic chapters. Grouped according to motifs “to highlight the ideas and trends circulating at the time,” Jonas’ editorial approach keeps the designer in mind by encouraging “the reader to develop an analytical eye onto the material to decipher the applied symbols.”

Starting with the more abstract designs, the first chapter delves into submissions where a colour palette led the concept. For example in August Vincent from Monte Carlo’s design in 1950, the flag features a white cross in the middle “to emphasise the fact that Europe is a Christian continent,” surrounded by a palette chosen from the most prominent colours in other flags. A more muted approach is offered by Walther Timm from Bad Nauheim in 1951, writing in to suggest a green and white flag, a combination “not yet implemented by any recognised state,” reads his letter. “Furthermore, it is a rather tasteful combination of colours. I would therefore recommend keeping it.”

To conclude the book, as well as reflect on the context of the EU flag as a cultural symbol today, Jonas features an essay penned by Marie Rotkopf. A writer, poet and culture critic, “I love Marie’s humour,” he says. “Her language is poetic and sharp at the same time,” and in turn, her piece “connects the historic archive material with the current political and cultural situation in Europe.”

Published in English, French and German – with the aim to contribute to a European discourse that is not limited to national borders” – Marie’s essay outlines the complicated relationship individuals across the continent have with the ideals of Europe. But for the title’s author, the experience of learning about these several almost-flag designers and the context of their submissions has led him to realise, in the case of the European flag, that “it’s hard to separate the design itself from what it stands for. In other words, I can’t look at the European flag or judge its design quality without thinking of what the EU stands for in political, economic and cultural terms.”

Writing this as the UK still sits in a frightening limbo of its own relationship with Europe, Rejected: Designs for the European Flag feels almost like a design memoir of the unity the Council of Europe represented. As Marie puts perfectly in her essay, it is “A flag for a new world, for outcast Europeans, a long journey, and always hope.”