By Sarah Lyall

New York Times

LIVERPOOL, England >> Jackie O’Neill, a 54-year-old administrative assistant, was explaining the other day why Britain should vote to divorce itself from the European Union in this month’s referendum. As she enumerated her many grievances, I couldn’t help thinking of the scene in Monty Python’s “Life of Brian” in which a bunch of disaffected Judeans sit around, complaining about the Romans.

“They’ve bled us white, the bastards,” says their leader, Reg, played by John Cleese. “And what have they ever given us in return?”

His colleagues mention a few things, by way of example.

OK, Reg says. “But apart from the sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the freshwater system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?”

Even Britain’s most enthusiastic European Union supporters would not argue that Europe has been quite so helpful to their country, of course. But as chance would have it, O’Neill was heaping her abuse on Europe in a spot that has been a particularly enthusiastic recipient of European largess over the years.

So when she declared, of the European Union, “We’re subsidizing them, and what do we get out of it except for a load of laws that we don’t vote for?” it was an easy question to answer. For one thing, there was the large building looming directly behind her, the Echo Arena and BT Convention Center. When the complex was built, in 2008, Europe kicked in 50 million pounds.

“Well, I’ve never been to the Echo Arena,” O’Neill said.

Just as many Britons feel emotionally apart and even alien from Europe, so they see the European Union as an opaque, bewildering abstraction, a mysterious bureaucratic behemoth that hoovers up their money and independence while giving little (or nothing) in return. British understanding of its workings and purpose has not been helped by the over-the-top arguments being thrown around in the debate over the referendum, scheduled for June 23. No one likes having this debate anyway, much less the unpleasantly cereal-bar-and-adult-diaper-like descriptions of its two sides: “Brexit” (go) and “Remain” (stay).

But underlying all the dire predictions of doom — that staying or going will cause Britain to fall apart in various apocalyptic ways — is a deeper emotional issue that speaks to the country’s sense of self. Who does it think it is, and where does it think it belongs? Has it ever felt like it’s part of Europe?

Separated from the Continent by language, tradition, historic antagonism and an inhospitable body of water, Britain has always seemed to be an uneasy participant in the wider European project. It took years to sign up, and its agreement was always marked by caveats and exceptions to the rules. Even when it did join, it felt to many Britons as if someone had given a British pub owner a bunch of fancy French Champagne bottles and said, “Here, use these for your British ale from now on.” The trappings might be different, but the beer is still the same.

In the 15 years I lived in London (I returned home to the United States three years ago), I was constantly struck by the sense of otherness with which many English people regarded Europeans. (It’s more complicated for Scots, whose mistrust of Britain’s English-centric government makes them more pro-Europe, and for younger people and Londoners, who generally feel part of a wider world.)

But travel around England, talking to older people, and you find below the surface a sense of unease, of distrust. Even people who believe that Britain should stay in the European Union, for economic and trading purposes, do not feel very European.

At every turn, Britain proclaims its singularity. Most countries fly the European flag next to their national flags; Britain doesn’t. Most of Europe uses euros; Britain uses pounds. When you arrive at a British airport, you’re given a British landing card and directed to a passport line that says “British and EU Passports,” even though that is redundant: British passports are by definition European Union passports. British politicians in the last 20 years have increasingly talked about British values and British traditions, about what sets Britons apart from Europeans rather than what they have in common.

The so-called special relationship with the United States isn’t providing much comfort to the Brexit side these days; President Barack Obama’s recent admonition to vote no in the referendum enraged many people who believe the United States should stay out of it and let their country think for itself.

As for Europe, some of the British sense of dissonance comes from loss of empire and the country’s complicated feelings about World War II, a moment that showed Britain at its shining best while simultaneously stripping it of its position as a major international power. And some of it stems, simply, from an island-centric sense of otherness.

“I might be part of the EU, but I live on an island,” said Alan Lyon, 49, who shovels cullet — broken glass — in a glass factory. Lyon’s great-great-grandfather lost both legs in World War I; his grandfather fought in World War II. “We couldn’t mention Germany or France around him, he hated them so much,” he said.

The pro-Brexit side has successfully tapped into anti-foreign feeling by conflating the European migrant crisis with what many Britons see as a local immigration crisis caused by lax European laws and porous European borders. In their view, the country is being overrun by foreigners who not only take their jobs and welfare benefits, but also bring fundamentally different values into Britain.