On Her Majesty’s demotic jubilee

“Everybody’s got a body,
The difference is in the soul
So if your face is ugly
Make personality your goal...”
From Amriki Advice by Bachchoo (Jr.)

London
Diamond Jubilee

Dear readers, friends, hamsafar,

Queen Elizabeth II celebrated her diamond jubilee this week and Britain treated it as an occasion — with its crowd control, security arrangements, transport on tubes, buses and roads with increased traffic, souvenir selling opportunities — what we in the capitalist world call merchandising. There was wall to wall TV coverage with franchises for international networks, the appearance of “celebrities” to endorse the occasion and grandstanding by politicians who want to shine in the reflected glory of the event, all of which can serve as a rehearsal for the London 2012 Olympics.
How the mighty have fallen. My late friend C.L.R. James, the Marxist philosopher, once remarked that there was no British monarchy. There was only royalty. Oliver Cromwell (Peace be upon him) put paid to monarchy by chopping off Charles Stuart’s head. Since then we’ve seen a decline in the power of the British monarch and his/her role in anything.
Whereas even Victoria could bully Salisbury into re-thinking domestic or foreign policy, poor old jubilative Elizabeth II has been dog-trained to confine herself to having strong opinions on the breeding of Corgis, the odds on race horses and the patronisation that ought to be extended to African dictators within the Commonwealth.
Nevertheless, as the BBC never fails to preface its remarks on royalty and the Queen in particular, she has carried out this role of breeding Corgis, betting on horses and supporting Africans in the Commonwealth with great dignity and gusto. No other human being on earth or through history has combined these three duties in quite so magnificent a fashion.
The cover of the satirical magazine Private Eye, in this most hallowed week of the jubilee, featured the headline “How the role of the Queen has changed over the decades” or words to that effect. Under the headline were nine pictures of the Queen in three rows at different ages, from her twenties when she assumed the throne to today when she is in her eighties with her dutifully artificial smile and her right hand raised in the deliberately energy-saving wave to a subserviently cheering public. Yes, Private Eye, we geddit!
Before I move on to more serious considerations, let me rehearse the two moments of this great juncture in history which will stay with me. On last Sunday there was a cruise by a few hundred boats in the wake of the Royal barge down the river Thames from the bridges to the West of the city to Tower Bridge — the one that opens! Millions gathered by the Thames to watch the boats go by. It began to rain.
On Monday outside Buckingham Palace and down the Mall, the street opposite it, thousands gathered to witness a concert staged on the roundabout before the palace in which, among others Stevie Wonder and Sir Paul McCartney sang and paid their tributes to Her Maj.
The princes, William and Harry and their princely uncles, Edward and Andrew and their children, together with the Archbishop of Canterbury, were seen having a good time, following the bands, and singing along to the songs from the stage. All very demotic.
One of the moments I said would stay with me was when Prince Charles was reading out the Royal thanks to the performers, workers and organisers of the musical celebrations. He began his address to the Queen saying “Your Majesty… mummy...” and then pausing for the inevitable effect of that descent from formality.
For me, it worked. For some of my friends who were watching it with me on television (No, we were not among the brave who would risk a rainy night even for a historic jubilee) it was a publicity-seeking jab at familiarity. I, being a succinct student of dramatic representation, thought it was the real sincere thing. He meant “mummy”.
My friends who attacked him for playing to the populace are, as I told them, insensitive. Most of them are Republicans and anti-royaltists. Despite the impression that my previous ramblings in this very column may have given you, I am not! I think the replacement of the Queen and the eco-new-age-buffoon Charles with President Blair or President Warsi would be more than boring. It would debase the currency of Britain.
The second moment of note was when the entire audience standing in the Mall and addressed by screen and loudspeakers in the adjoining parks were asked to sing God save the Queen. Prince Charles sang and so did all the celebrities, divas and singers lined up beside and behind him, including Paul McCartney, Tom Jones and Gary Barlow of Take That. The Queen, of course, doesn’t ask God to save her and so she stayed tight-lipped. But why did Elton John have a smirk on his face and not mouth the words through this anthem?
What Britain celebrated this week was a clearly defined role of a post-monarchy monarch. She is expected to appear and to wave and she does both admirably. She is the model of the symbolic Head of State.
It’s a pity that our Indian Constitution assigns a by and large symbolic role to the President of the Indian Republic, with ceremonial and some judicial duties thrown in and then demeans the office and the whole constitutional intention by appointing political chamchas of ruling parties or dynasts.
In an unsettled democracy such as India’s, at this stage of its capitalistic and corrupt development, is there not a case for modifying the Constitution by a two-thirds majority in Parliament to grant a President the plenipotentiary chairmanship (with wide but defined powers) of a commission with administrative and legal mechanisms to root out corruption at all levels?
Or will the next President have the power to welcome foreign dignitaries, take his or her family on freebies abroad and wave to the public — and smile and smile...