Unlike the quartz crystal, formed by the aggregation of silica atoms, whose energy is internationally celebrated, a diamond is a product of the crystallisation process of the element carbon under great pressure and temperature whose rarity makes it precious and its possession much prized. And so it is with the Diamond Jubilee Celebrations of a Monarch, a very rare event and much prized by a large population of admirers, or so the state broadcasting channel, the BBC, would have us believe. Or is it? Are we all adoring admirers of Queen Elizabeth 2nd or should we spare a thought for the really sad situation of someone who was born to do things without having a choice in the matter.
Poor Queen! Rousseau the French philosopher once said that man is born free yet everywhere he is in chains and in a way it’s the same for a monarch only worse! They were born to serve tradition and with Queens it’s mainly cutting tapes. You know, opening things. She couldn’t go to a pub and drink herself silly or have a piss down a dark alley after getting a snog like so many other young ladies. No, she had to stay at home and practice waving to people. Doing what she was told her parents thought people wanted. Once born, trained to fit a role and really, what kind of a life is that? So as I say, spare a thought please! The only bit of rough self-expression she was allowed to get hold of was smashing bottles, and those were on ships. Oh what fun Mummy and Daddy!
No, Elizabeth 2nd wasn’t even born free, into the only one life she’d ever have. All that long time shaking hands and having to smile, accepting flowers from kids and opening things surrounded by mayors, Court officials and policemen with everyone fawning and curtsying. One ritual after another. Did she ever want to say, ‘fuck off I want to be left in peace for an hour or so’ or ‘sod off you ridiculous looking arsehole.’ Think how sad it would be if she’d never actually been able to think of saying it, never had the mischievous imp of the perverse in her or just as bad, actually wanted to say it, I mean really wanted to but just couldn’t do it! Just imagine what it’s like will you… not being able to tell someone to go fuck themselves.
So, the Court officials, her Family, the BBC and a large number of British people, HER people, by legal definition of the British people being her subjects gave her a celebration to mark sixty years of her rule, of being what everyone expected her to be, of behaving in the way that everyone wanted without her ever having had the chance, so precious in our one life, of being what she might have wanted. In this sense then the Monarchy is a package, the Queen an entirely manufactured piece of goods. Not a free human being but something essentially artificial. That’s what her subjects want. Someone entirely predictable, smiling on cue, is where she’s supposed to be, performing ritual acts like a dummy.
That said let’s look at the Celebration people gave her for sixty years of being something and someone they wanted, for fulfilling their need to be ruled, for giving them herself as a symbol of benign reliable governance. Those who didn’t go to London to wave their flags or attend sandwich and cake parties out on dismal rain sodden streets stayed in front of a television lapping up an endlessly salivating orgy of sycophancy from BBC presenters who’d all had their heads so far up the arses of the Royalty Establishment that they knew who everyone was from the Queen’s Toenail Cutter in Waiting to the Earl of Horseshit Removal, what every little button on their tunics were, all the colours of each ship, barge and canoe down to the jolly jack tars riding them and where Lady this or that got her knickers from, only who was currently pulling them off was another matter! Yes, for most people it was the crawling establishment broadcasting channel providing all the action and detail THEY thought people should have, with anything bad or nasty definitely missed out. How typical it was that these creepy-crawly presenters kept on apologising for the weather like they were somehow begging Her Majesty’s pardon!
Proceedings on Day One, the Boat Pageant, began with a wonderful farce. A serious cock up courtesy of the police, who else! A large group of patriotic pro-monarchy supporters had gathered on the banks of the Thames with beautifully made laminated banners saying such things as LONG LIVE THE QUEEN or LONG LIVE HER MAJESTY. Everyone doing what they thought was their patriotic duty when along come the police, ask them what they think they’re doing, then confiscate and trash their hard worked symbols of affection into rubbish sacks and dustbins. ‘Nar, nar… we can’t be evin you do any demonstratin ere…’
Can you just imagine the consternation of all those patriotic well-healed loyalists! They’d gone there to show their love and they were being treated like students! No, actually they weren’t. Students get beaten!
Then there was the endless singing of Rule Britannia. People mouthing words that Britons never, never never shall be slaves… Sounds like a noble sentiment and it is ever mouthed and sung enthusiastically as such, only does anyone ever think for a moment about what they’re saying? Britons shall never be slaves…This country is ruled by a monarch and its people are subjects of the monarch. The BBC said as much during the Celebration, “the Queen and her subjects.” So what then is the actual status of a subject to a monarch? Well it certainly isn’t that of a free being. A subject cannot be a free being because they are a subject of another, like a slave to a master or a serf to a feudal lord. What you are most definitely not is a free citizen. The true status of a subject in such a relationship is most definitely not that of a free being and if you are not free then you are a slave. The Monarch has a property right over their subject so the words of the song that everyone lustily bellows without thinking is not the precious protestation of what they don’t want but the wretched confirmation of what they actually are!
And why not? Think about it! Didn’t you get the first dose of it in the National Anthem? Consider the wonderful words that you routinely sing without giving them a single thought. Well now, what is it actually called? A National Anthem. Right! That’s an Anthem to the Nation. Your nation! Your country! And what is that? I’ll tell you. It’s the land and its beauty. It’s the people… their history and their character, from the Irish and Welsh to the English and Scots… their history and their achievements. Great achievements actually in exploration and industry, in art and science, in technology and music. A great and magnificent sweep of so much to take pride in. Amazing country, amazing people, amazing achievements. Now think about the words of your National Anthem and what they say. Where is there any mention of the land? Where is there any mention of its people? Where is there any mention of our history?
Listen, all of you… God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and Glorious
Long to reign over us;
God save the Queen!
Now please tell me. What is this all about and for who? And why not try learning the rest! It’s got some choice phrases that will strike a real chord with the homeless, the poor and the unemployed.
“Thy choicest gifts in store… On her be pleased to pour…”
The Scots are also in some versions of it but only as a rebellious people who need to be crushed. Now what kind of National Anthem is it that damns a fair percentage of the British population? There is nothing in the British National Anthem about freedom or liberty, the land, its people and their achievements. It’s mainly about one person, its ruler. Talk about personality cult! No other country on the planet has a national anthem like ours although it still remains the ‘royal’ anthem of nine or ten small island members of the Commonwealth along with New Zealand, Canada and Australia. Simply ridiculous for the last two places.
The national anthems of most other countries are about the land and its people, and they’re optimistic, heroic and proud. More often than not they have a tune. The British National Anthem by way of contrast is sung flat and monotone, its participants collectively sounding like a bunch of zombies having a jam session. That’s the whole thing really. There’s no tune, no melody, no song in what is essentially a revolving homage to a single individual.
So what is it I wonder that the British so lustily mutter? It certainly isn’t about their country or its people unless, that is, you are actually saying that its ruler, the Queen, actually represents the entire people and an entire land. Well that’s absurd. To say that one person represents everything and everybody and must be protected has the ring of Nazi Germany about it. There was a great Civil War in 17th century Britain to do away with all that kind of thing and create the sovereignty of Parliament, so to mouth its words without thinking is not being patriotic. It’s ignorant and pathetic and has all the character of a cringing kow-towing serf about it. Never mind those well damned Scots, the real question is, how can people really care about something they never consider?
The mass circulation press that closely followed the BBC in sycophantic adulation reported that crowds of adoring revellers close to two million strong lined the Thames for the Boat Pageant. When you contrast this with the two groups of pro-republic anti-monarchist demonstrators at a paltry 500 apiece, you know what’s what! The sentiments of the latter were brave, even honourable, reminding us why there was a Civil War, but when all’s said and done they meant nothing when set in the great tide of affection. The British people need to adore a figurehead much as the German people once needed to adore Hitler. The Boat Pageant itself, styled as rivalling the Venetian Boat Pageant once painted by Canaletto was, despite all the talking it up, sawn off and tawdry. Given all the wonderful sailing craft in this country still around from our 19th century trading history, not one out of many hundreds was commissioned to sail through Tower Bridge let alone a handful of Navy Warships. What a glorious and uplifting sight that would have made. Alas, the organisers never had the imagination. Instead the public were given rowing boats and tourist transporters.
It all looked a bit mean. However there was a real treat in store. When the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra struck up the sharp jig of the Sailors Hornpipe there was the splendid farce of various Royals on the Platform bobbing up and down like a bevvy of demented Meerkats about to tell us to compare the market! Simples… Elizabeth and her husband at least had the good sense not to join in but pride of place in the performance stakes of this unannounced jollification went to Charles and Camilla who really got into the swing of it and certainly deserve genuine commendation for being only too human.
The whole experience was a grand exercise in pageant throughout though without any real pomp, but then there was alas another side to it all. Something altogether less pleasant, that most of the revellers wouldn’t have given a tuppenny damn about had they known. In contrast to all the flag waving adulation there was the misery of a dozen or more unemployed youth brought to London in buses from Bristol and Bath to act as stewards. It was only when they boarded the buses that they were told they wouldn’t be paid, but they naturally assumed they’d be given food and shelter. When they reached London they discovered that this wasn’t so. They were dropped off in the middle of the night at London Bridge and told to sleep under it until their morning work began. No hot tea laid on! No food! They were part of the Government’s Welfare to Work Scheme. The Company who’d got hold of them and being paid good money for their use is part run by a Tory Baroness.
No pay, nowhere to sleep except under a bridge, no warm food or drink. So that’s what this Government of Eton Boys means by Welfare. But that’s not the real disgusting shame of it all, that something so filthy should be connected to a Pageant meant to honour the monarch. Most offensive and disgraceful of all is that there was no public condemnation of this sordid exploitation by any Trades Union or by the Trades Union Congress. No word of condemnation by the Leader of the Opposition Labour Party, Ed Miliband. Shame on you all! Only John Prescott had the heart and indignation to protest at this disgusting treatment of our youth.
So, with all your flag waving, your street parties, your bunting, your cheering and your adulation there was a worm at the heart of your apple. Some dirty smudge of indecency on your red, white and blue.
Moving forward to Day 2 I have to say that even the sight of members of the Royal Family earlier bobbing up and down on the Platform was nothing compared to the visceral joy of the Diamond Jubilee Concert. Many of those performing could have been cut out of Pop Music history books, indeed, Royal Variety Memory Lane programs. Names that courtiers thought their Queen liked and remembered out of the deep past. Cliff Richards, Paul McCartney and Elton John… the latter looking like a big old lady, the former as ever a sprightly bachelor boy until you got a much closer look. Then there was Shirley Bassey and Grace Jones who both contributed to James Bond films one way or another when dinosaurs still walked the Earth. They and others were dragged out of their fireside armchairs and asked to reprise what the monarch must have remembered once upon a ball gown or so. Apart from Tom Jones and Robbie Williams, still about to belt out stuff from the Jurassic Period, and a nod to modernity in Madness, the rest was a carnival of once upon a timers. People pumping out the same wretched old stuff in the best way they knew how. Nothing exciting… nothing pulsating… Everything just plain reassuring.
Plain reassuring! The very best image this monarch has always sought to convey. Reassurance. Reliability. Stability. This is what your monarch was taught to convey to HER people by her parents, in contrast to the man who preceded them, the populist gadfly Edward 8th and this is exactly what the people want from their ruler, reassuring stability and reliability. They can remember her being this way for so long. Almost like she’s been with them forever. A calm watchful eye over the nation. Politicians? Why, they just come and go. She’s seen them all, and upon this the media spin like mad on her lengthy experience, but anyway, she’s above all that like a star in the sky. Shining down on all those who come and go and the changes they make. She’s different. She’s fixed, her benevolent smile unchanging. A bit like the Virgin Mary in orbit over Britain, occasionally jumping to a fixed orbit over Jamaica, Canada or the Bahamas when she’s doing her Commonwealth duties.
She is fixed and therefore reassuring. Stable and therefore reliable. Benign and therefore benevolent. A river of comfort to her people. Comfort! Far more important than cash. Presidents come and Presidents go, like Popes, Dictators and any other spiritual leader, but she is there to serve. It’s a miracle really, such a great person, a monarch who seeks only to serve. That’s the wonder of her really. She’s the head of state. She’s got everything. She doesn’t have to serve. She’s been cutting ribbons and shaking hands for 60 years now. She’s not obligated to do it anymore only she wants to you see. That’s the crux of it really. Without serving HER people she wouldn’t know what to do anymore. It would be like her being made redundant. Put in an Old Monarchs Home. But then she should feel reassured. HER people wouldn’t let her stop. I mean, not everyone’s got the DNA for it you see.
A monarch’s DNA is unlike anyone else’s. They’re genetically programmed to go on and on. She’s a monarch who needs to serve HER people and they, psychologically, are programmed to love and admire her, to want more than anything else that God should protect her, save her, send her victorious, make her happy and feel all glorious, long to rule over us. Her people need her just as just as much as she needs to serve them, otherwise what other excuse does she have for all those palaces and servants after Oliver Cromwell stuffed the Divine Right of Kings in the dustbin. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship that some might call parasitic. Who needs who here and why? Or do people and the monarchy both need each other? Their adulation is an acknowledgement. Her smile, never anything but gracious, is her acceptance. The flag waving and smiling feed off each other.
And when it falters? Because it does and then everything isn’t always plain sailing! Remember Diana? Some 13 years ago when she died our beloved monarch refused to return from her palace in Scotland and lower the flag over Buckingham Palace in London. Soon no-one loved her anymore did they? Everyone suddenly loved Diana only she was dead. Remember how quickly everyone changed sides. The adulation evaporated when the love of her subjects wore off like aftershave in a rainstorm. In hours rather than days. Soon the people turned frosty and things began to look bad. A schism began to develop. Monarch on one side and a dead Princess and HER people on the other! Separation looked to be on the cards and after that an inevitable divorce. Enter Tony Blair and the rest is history. Diana survives in her popular sons and now everyone’s part of the Family all over again. I mean, that’s you I’m talking about. All you admirers out there. HER people! In a way part of her much greater family
But there are also many people who don’t want to be part of it all. They may not be hard-nosed republicans or anti-monarchists. They just may not like her or her husband. They might not like, or even loathe her oldest son the heir to the throne who does good work unseen for people in need. Or it could be that they just can’t be bothered with royalty. Resent having to cough up money in their taxes to pay for an undeserved luxurious lifestyle. That there are many such people is an undeniable certainty and one of the most interesting aspects of royalty is that support for it can be geographically mapped as can those against or disinterested in it. One of the best guides in this respect lies in the distribution of recent applications for Jubilee Street Parties by the residents of various towns and cities to their local councils. These applications it has been observed, closely follow the lines of support for Royalists on the one hand and Parliamentarians on the other during the English Civil War.
It is an extraordinary fact that applications to hold celebration street parties in 2012 follow a pattern set some 370 years ago. In other words it is possible to relate support for the monarchy today through these applications to areas that gave support to the monarchy all that long time ago. There is close to an exact fit between the two just the same as a correlation exists between areas low in applications to celebrate with areas supportive of Parliament and Oliver Cromwell in the mid-17th century. This is an extraordinary geo-political historical fact that none of the media have picked up on. Numbers of street parties high in the Midlands towns and cities today high in support for King Charles then, same as in the West Country. A low volume of applications in Scotland outside Edinburgh today and negligible support for Charles among the Scots Covenanters then.
Tradition it seems has somehow stayed strangely alive and kept going, running silently all the way down the centuries, having little or no connection with radical politics or the rise of an industrial working class. This could be a subject for the PhD research of some bright young student of political science perhaps.
To conclude this post I’d like to end on a personal note. The relationship between the Queen as monarch and the majority of her subjects is neither one of love or hate. It’s more complex than that. When called for, people are keen to show their affection and in the case of quite a sizeable number of ga-ga heads, love and adulation. The great majority of people are tolerant, uncritical and supportive. Appreciative more than anything. As for myself she doesn’t enter my head all that much. Could I think of anything better to replace her and the institution she represents? Sure I can. The idea of rule by the people, but then that’s quite impossible at this time given the staggering political immaturity and levels of generalised ignorance among the population at large. I’d like to be a free citizen but I can’t, and trying to imagine what it would be like being ruled by an army of Premier League football fans among others gives me the creeps. As long as people here are what they are I’ll take what I’ve got and ignore it. Monarchy doesn’t force itself on me and I’ll respond likewise. As soon as it does I’ll take a plane elsewhere, but until that time I’ll marvel at all the sentiment, the love, the ignorance, pageant and colour, but more than anything else the sheer outrageous fun of it all. It’s ridiculous in the extreme and as smug as a smug population allows it to be. It’s fun, frolics and the biggest most wonderful joke in the Universe. Take it seriously, like so many need to do, and you could wind up addicted. It’s just like any other drug. Start waving that flag and you start feeling happy. You’ve become part of a crowd of like-minded people. If you were anyone in the first place you’re not you anymore. You’ve become one of them now. So open your mouth and start singing…
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