Like it or not, memory matters, and during this period of national mourning, our memories are being shaped in a particular direction. Albeit to varying degrees, memory is fundamental to how we perceive figures of authority – our memory of who they are, what they stand for, and in turn, why they may or may not deserve our support. Given how few of us ever meet those who represent us, it is being seen to be doing something that is important in modern politics, not the actual doing of something. That is to say, the narratives of someone’s legacy are dominated, not by what they stood for, but what they are purported to have stood for.
In other words, what the media decides they stood for.
Public perception of authority figures
Churchill stood for freedom. Thatcher for conviction. Liz Truss for … well, I’ll let you, or the history books in a few years, decide how that sentence should finish.
The point is, in today’s fast-paced world, people are within their rights to use a photo here, or up to 140 characters there, to form their (political) opinions on someone. This means symbolism and memory have never been more potent a political tool for shaping public opinion.
And doesn’t the establishment know it.
None of this is constant. We all form different memories of different times, depending on where we were and who we were with.
But, for better or for worse, such is the power of the media; our memory is open to manipulation, by the use of symbols or otherwise. This is why photo-ops exist. A handshake here to show unity between nations, a genuflection there to show anguish at your nation’s role in holocaust – all to act as a symbol to the wider audience of your agenda, shaping the memory and legacy of a person, an organisation or a country.
Grieve, but in the ‘right’ way
With this in mind, the last ten days have been a fascinating case study into this very issue.
Most of us have an opinion on the Queen, and the royal family in general, but there are so few who ever actually met her. So where do these opinions come from? Not from her personally, but from a piece of media about the Queen.
And this is where memory politics comes into the equation.
Our actions now, in response to the Queen’s death, are shaping our collective memory of her, and the royal era over which she presided. So why are things happening in the way that they are? It’s important to look closely at the decisions being taken by the establishment, as these decisions are steering the period of ‘national mourning’.
Ask yourself this: why has it been decided that, in order to get a chance to pay your personal respects to the Queen, you must join a queue snaking for miles along the River Thames?
Ticketing systems exist for a reason. Museums use online bookings to choose slots. And when an event is in very high demand, a random ballot is used.
All of these are effective enough for other major events. And yet, it has been decided that in order to mourn the Queen properly, swathes of mourners should populate the banks of the Thames, camping on concrete for days at a time. Who made this choice, and most importantly, why choreograph it in this way?
Memory management
There are more examples of memory management taking place. Police have been, in many cases, too quick to shut down any sentiment that might tarnish the unified voice of respect our country is offering Elizabeth. Why? For which reason do those in power want to ensure our memory of her is defined by wholesale adoration?
Take football as an example, where games have been postponed due to fears of dissent during planned tributes to the Queen.
History will see that we were a nation stricken with grief in the weeks following her death. Those who imposed a period of national mourning have seen to that. But why? Why are they making so clear that we are grieving as a nation, rather than giving each individual the space to reflect themselves on what the Queen meant to them?
The fact that infrastructure is shutting down is a political choice, not a personal one.
People won’t be able to use their local station’s bike rack in honour of the service the Queen provided. The ‘beeps’ at self-service checkouts, and buskers on the London Underground, have been silenced as a mark of respect. And people had to camp on concrete for days at a time, just to have the honour of visiting the Queen lying in state.
Not because that’s what a given person may feel is a suitable tribute, but because that’s the level of disruption the establishment believes the Queen and her legacy deserves. That’s the legacy someone, somewhere, is trying to secure for Elizabeth as this era of the British monarchy reaches its conclusion.
Why must the nation mourn this way?
I’m not sure there is a simple answer to why our grieving process is being choreographed the way it is.
This isn’t to vilify those who feel it is a fitting tribute to close restaurants and airports in the name of the Queen, nor is it to give oxygen to those who find this whole process a sham. But as Elizabeth II legacy is grappled with in years to comes – and as we define how the history books will remember society’s opinion of her – it is vital that we consider the role the establishment is playing in making this period of grief so overtly performative.
Not out of disrespect for the Queen and her legacy, but to work towards understanding why events are unfolding as they are, and what this says about the priorities of the establishment that purports to represent us.
