“What do you think about the monarchy?” would be a frequent conversation topic in the UK during my days as a postgraduate student in Brighton. When not debating why Arsenal can never return to their glory days or why fish and chips is the most overrated British creation (discounting the English cricket team), I would frequently be intrigued by the divergent reactions of British natives to the royal family and its timeless matriarch.
The responses among Britons about the institution of the Crown would inevitably range from “irrelevant” to “outdated” to “pathetic” to more colourful adjectives not fit for publication. And yet, when the question would be changed to “what do you think about the Queen?”, their replies would be invariably positive. Whether the respondent was a white, middle-aged bus driver or a footballer of Asian heritage born and brought up in the UK or a black university scholar with an unshakable faith in republicanism, the Queen always commanded respect and reverence, if not awe and admiration.
Now that Elizabeth II has passed at 96, leaving behind an unparalleled reign of more than 70 years, it piqued my curiosity to speculate on how British society would adapt to the absence of a woman most Britons have grown accustomed to seeing for the entirety of their lives.
Seen not as the head of Church and State, but as a moral guardian
As the Queen, Elizabeth II hobnobbed with no less than 15 British Prime Ministers, starting with Winston Churchill, with whom her relationship has been depicted impeccably, if not always accurately, in Netflix’s The Crown, to Liz Truss, who barely got time for anything more from her than a smile and a kiss. But in lasting through the transition of postwar-Britain from the nadir of its Empire to its position as an important but not indispensable global player in 2022, Elizabeth II became a touchstone of British middle-class virtues, someone whose enduring presence was comforting for the locals as much as it was compelling for foreigners like myself.
I remember the surge of panic that engulfed everyone (including myself) when news of the Covid-19 lockdown first broke in the UK in March 2020. Secluded in my student dorm in Brighton, I could see my British friends and the British public on social media grappling with uncertainty. The stiff upper lip of Britain had begun to quiver and no amount of cliche-laden optimism from then Prime Minister Boris Johnson seemed to help. But the mood of the country, or at least that of my British friends, changed considerably after the Queen had addressed the nation, promising that “we will meet again”. That is when I understood that much of the UK looked up to the Queen not as the head of Church and State, but as a moral guardian whose platitudes carried unmatched purpose and profundity.
On the matter of the Queen, Britons were patient to reserve judgement
While the rest of the royal family regularly provoked polarising opinions, Elizabeth II remained largely above criticism
TT archivesWhile pub conversations regularly featured a laundry list of arguments against the taxpayer-funded opulence of the monarchy, the Queen rarely, if ever, took a hit. Even among my Irish friends (nobody hates British royalty more than the Irish), the Queen was largely regarded as an apolitical ambassador of a deeply politicised institution. My peers sneered at Prince Charles for his indecisiveness, cancelled Prince Andrew (and rightly so) for his never-ending misdemeanours, were deeply divided over Prince Harry and Meghan Markle (were they too woke or too wounded?) and, like me, thought of Prince William and Kate Middleton as too benign to evoke strong emotions. But on the matter of the Queen, they were patient to reserve judgement, keen to explain her decisions, or the lack of them, and generally sympathised with a woman who had been repeatedly let down by those closest to her. Most surprisingly, university students who would otherwise rail against imperialism at the drop of a hat became far more mellow when it came to questioning the complicity of the Queen and her role in imperial Britain. For the record, the Queen has never apologised for British atrocities in India (sorry, Shashi Tharoor) or for the theft of the Kohinoor diamond, which had been adorning the royal crown.
It is unlikely that the deference reserved for the Queen will be extended to her eldest son
At 73, Prince Charles has the unenviable task of succeeding his mother, who not only represented the Crown for seven decades but also redefined its meaning
TT archivesWith King Charles (the first university graduate and the first divorcee to ascend to the British throne) taking charge, it is unlikely that the deference reserved for the Queen will be extended to her eldest son. When I had previously asked my British friends what would happen once the Queen died, most of them had been stunned into silence. Perhaps because nobody in Britain — young or old, liberal or conservative, native or naturalised — had ever given much thought to Britain minus the Queen. Much like the iconic Big Ben at Westminster, the Queen was expected to remain out of sight for a few days or weeks every year, but was always assumed to return, refreshed and rejuvenated. For most Britons, the Queen was the only living person with an active connection to the most defining story of modern Britain, that of World War II and the triumph of Churchillian valour over Hitlerian vice. Everyone I knew in the UK knew someone who had lost someone in the War or had been damaged materially and emotionally as a result. For them, the Queen’s speeches, waves and appearances were much more than exercises in royal duty. They were a reminder of sacrifice and shared trauma, of pride and pathos interlaced to produce a powerful patriotism.
The monarchy will cease to inspire, inviting indifference at best and ignominy at worst
The bubble that Buckingham Palace had been locked in for so long will be under increasing pressure to burst
UnsplashOn my first day in London in September 2019, I had overcome a bewilderingly intricate Tube network, a plate of soggy, saltless French fries (senselessly called chips) and a ridiculously overpriced taxi ride to make my way to Buckingham Palace (I stopped at the gates, of course). Some 20 minutes were spent taking in the surroundings and the one building that more than any other stands for all things Britain. Slowly it had dawned on me that the royals in Britain had mastered a peculiar paradox of being untouchable and yet out-of-touch. Even as the rest of the UK was absorbed in climate change protests, political instability and the lingering afterglow of the nation’s solitary cricket World Cup victory, Buckingham Palace remained immune, locked in a bubble of its own.
That bubble will be under increasing pressure to burst now that the Queen is no more. While talks of the monarchy being abolished seem premature, there is little doubt that the authority of the monarch has been downgraded significantly. Nobody, let alone King Charles, is equipped with enough pragmatism or enough history to keep the Crown’s solemnity intact the way Elizabeth II had done. For a Britain that is fast becoming multiracial and multicultural, that will be encouraging for some and unnerving for others. The early word from my British friends is that the monarchy will cease to inspire, inviting indifference at best and ignominy at worst. The moral compass of the nation that repeatedly veered towards the Queen in times of crises will now lack a definite direction. British traditions that seemed justified because the Queen had obeyed them will now stand endangered.
Even though the tenure of a new Prime Minister of the UK had begun on September 5, a new era for Britain will only start now. An era where a lot more is likely to change than the image on bank notes, the insignia on flags and a single word in the British national anthem.
