By Carl Parslow
I WAS on my way to work on my bike last week, when I spotted a GBJ sticker on the car ahead and started wondering why do we use GBJ. Jersey vehicles announce, in solemn type, the letters G, B and J. First comes Great Britain, a political and geographical entity that, by any definition, does not include Jersey, followed by an apologetic J, tacked on like a Post-it by someone who realised, too late, that the label was wrong. The effect is pure wrong-name-badge-at-the-conference: worn all day, defended unconvincingly, blamed on the printer.
The issue lies in those first two letters, GB. Great Britain means England, Scotland and Wales: the big rock north of Alderney containing Shakespeare, the NHS and many of our emigrated drivers. It emphatically does not mean an island in the Gulf of Saint-Malo. The final J performs heroic ethical labour, sprinting in like an advocate’s late amendment, but it cannot rescue the falsehood at the front.
This isn’t a charming eccentricity. It’s the bureaucratic equivalent of describing Jersey as “owned by Great Britain”. It’s wrong. And not harmless. Those letters are read by border officials, online platforms and database systems. They shape assumptions about who we are and who we supposedly belong to. If your international identifier begins with someone else’s name, don’t be surprised when the world files you under someone else’s jurisdiction.
Defenders of GBJ will insist it is “historic”, which is true, and therefore respectable, which it is not. History preserves many things we’ve sensibly stopped doing, from bleeding patients with leeches to believing red trousers confer moral authority. GBJ is, in short, a mutually convenient fiction. Ironically, the UK quietly ditched G and B years ago, replacing GB with UK (which includes Northern Ireland).
So, what would accuracy look like? Accuracy would look like JER, the place whose roads these are, or, if one insists on geographical politeness, JCI (Jersey, Channel Islands). Both are clear, universal and compatible with the machines that increasingly arbitrate our lives. Instead of prompting border staff to ask which part of Great Britain the car has driven from, they prompt the more useful question: what is JER, and how does it relate to its neighbours?
The counterarguments are predictable, but none withstand scrutiny. “Letters don’t matter,” some will claim. Others will plead cost. Yet replacing GBJ comes at minimal expense. Compared to the time spent explaining Jersey’s constitutional position to journalists, regulators and curious visitors, three new letters are the budget option. Then there’s “tradition”, a word usually deployed when all other arguments have fled. If the tradition is “falsehood”, it’s time to start a better one.
Behind this sits a deeper discomfort. GBJ reassures the timid that nothing bold is being signalled, while allowing cynics to dismiss any improvement as “political”, as if accuracy were an ideology. The term Crown Dependency offers the same soft reassurance: special, but not too special; sort of independent, but not alarmingly so; its own place, but nothing that will give Whitehall indigestion.
Yet the world increasingly demands clarity. Jersey markets itself as well-regulated and distinct. It asserts, correctly, that it is not part of the UK and not part of Great Britain. A jurisdiction that wants to be understood should not sabotage itself with a label which is patently incorrect.
Correcting GBJ won’t rewrite the constitutional relationship with the Crown, but it will stop telling a falsehood thousands of times a year. It aligns what people see with what is constitutionally correct. It ensures that when a car from Jersey crosses a border, the first story it tells is the accurate one: we are from Jersey, not Great Britain. It also sends a message inward: that Islanders should have their own island’s name without the muddled prefix of someone else’s.
No ribbon-cutting required. This isn’t grandstanding; it’s housekeeping. Take down the wrong sign, put up the right one, and carry on. The Island is small, yes, but small places may and should speak in their own voices without blushing.
GBJ has had a decent run as a compromise disguised as clarity. It has ferried cars to France, to GB and back, and sparked debate in lay-bys. But it has also told the wrong story, politely and persistently. Let it retire. Replace it with JER, or JCI, and let Jersey drive forward under its correct label, no longer masquerading as someone else’s property.
Or, of course, we could just throw in the towel and stick UK on our cars.
Born and educated in the Island, Carl Parslow is an experienced Jersey Advocate and notary public with over 25 years’ experience. He heads up Parslows LLP business legal services department, advising corporates and individuals on a range of issues with a particular emphasis on acting for Jersey owner-managed businesses. Outside of work, he enjoys rugby and cycling with Lasardines.
