There are more than one kind of Republican in the world, and I do not mean by that the split between the anti-Trumpers and their treasonous opponents, for as we were reminded this week, in most of the world, the opposite of Republican is not Democrat, it is Monarchist.
This is not, as far as I know, a particularly divisive issue for the continental European monarchies. Monarchs in places like Holland and Sweden are generally well-behaved. There are a handful of claimants in places like Italy that generate a little buzz, though they don’t get much traction. Republicanism is a live issue in Great Britain, even more so among its former colonies, many of which still have the queen, or now king, as head of state. There are Republican movements in Australia and Canada, for example, but they are especially strong in the Caribbean and African countries of the commonwealth, countries that were the targets of particularly exploitative and racist colonial practices. The British were, after all, the chief beneficiaries of the Triangle Trade that moved slaves from Africa to the Americas.
Still, even the most diehard Republican has been measured if not completely silent on the death of Queen Elizabeth II, possibly out of pragmatism, but also possibly out of decency, for even if the House of Windsor and the royal brand have been tarnished in recent years, she was still treasured.
This should seem baffling to Americans. After all, we fought a war to gain our independence from the British crown and soundly rejected monarchy as a model for government. Our head of state is also our head of government, sometimes, except when he isn’t, which is worth reconsidering, both the explicit “he” and the broader question of our current two-party first-past-the-post electoral system, which seems to have failed completely.
Yet, for some reason, Americans are quite attached to English royalty. It may be that the American myth was initially forged by invaders from England, the theocrats of the Massachusetts Bay colony and the Royalists in Virginia, opposite sides of an English Civil War that saw the first King Charles lose more than just his crown.
It may be our alliances during the First and Second World Wars that strengthened the connection, where we fought by the side of the British and their colonies.
It may be countless movies and novels and the logical overlap when literature is written in a shared language.
An American has even married into the royal family for a second time recently, though the first time was to a racist and Nazi-sympathizer, and nothing about that story was particularly pleasant so we tend to avoid it.
My social media feeds have been filled with the late queen since she died, the new king, and all things British. I admit that while I have not watched “The Crown” or Downton Abbey, I am enough of an Anglophile to have paid attention myself, have watched some of the processions and remembrances.
Only one friend, a classmate from Divinity School, was contrarian, publicly noting that he didn’t really care about the whole thing, that he did not completely understand the American grief. And, of course, on one level, he’s right. Elizabeth Windsor was not our queen.
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