What unites a nation?
I sat in the stalls (Britspeak for the orchestra section) of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre to witness the transition from one monarch to another. Not from the rampaging Richard III to Henry VII - I’d do that a few days later - but from Queen Elizabeth II to her son King Charles III.
The deserted streets under gloomy grey skies reflected the nation’s sombre mood. Storefronts had removed displays and replaced them with portraits of the Queen at various ages, in various poses. All expressed messages of appreciation and grief. Holy Trinity’s church bells were gloved in leather to mute their tolling. The entire town was draped in mourning.
QEII, as we all know by now, reigned longer than any monarch in British - or world - history. Regardless of what people think of the institution of the monarchy, they unanimously appreciate and respect the woman who sat on the throne. Most of the population will not have known another sovereign, at least that they could remember, in their lifetimes.
I instinctively wore black; it just seemed respectful. So, it turns out, did most other attendees. The darkened auditorium’s thrust stage normally filled with the best of the best of Shakespearean actors, sat empty, save for a jumbo screen upstage. The audience members, ranging in age from infant to pensioner, filed in quietly and sat morose. It felt like a church more than a theatre. Voices hushed, heads bowed, hands folded in laps, tissues at the ready. A baby began to wail, perhaps sensing the collective sorrow, and was quickly ushered out.
Elizabeth’s flag-draped casket made its way to Westmister, drawn by 142 Royal Navy sailors on the same gun carriage that took her father on this same trip, hoisted by eight young Guardsmen of similar height. The theatre echoed with muffled sniffles, including my own. I felt honored to join this community in observation of this momentous event. The country stopped that day to pay its respects. Even the pubs in town shut in deference.
What unites a nation?
I tried to think of another public figure who is unanimously seen as good and came up pretty empty. It is that void that Elizabeth’s death created.
I tried to recall a comparable experience in my own lifetime. Maybe people in the States felt similarly after JFK’s assassination, but I remember little from that time. My sister and I had the day off from school and got to eat lunch on TV trays in our Howard Beach apartment foyer. That, for us, was a special treat. We watched John-John salute his father’s casket as it rolled by while we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Wonder Bread.
9/11, too, came to mind. On that awful day we had to move my father to hospice while we wondered what would become of the world that three planes had so violently shattered. We became superglued as a nation in horror, disbelief, and grief. I felt more patriotic about and defensive of my country than I ever had. Our red, white, and blue flag flew not only here, but in many locales around the world in empathy and solidarity. We stood together in defiance of a common enemy and healed, slowly, from an attack that would change the world permanently and irrevocably.
Even though these two events differed significantly, they both provided a shared focus that allowed differences to fall away. Watching the country coalesce around the Queen and her family made me sad, not only for the loss and its ramifications, but for how far we as a country have come from that feeling of unity that tragedies - personal and global - tend to foster.
To say we are a nation divided is an understatement on the order of calling the Atlantic a pond. As Abraham Lincoln said, a nation divided cannot stand. It feels as if a chasm as deep and wide as the Grand Canyon separates increasingly extreme and angry factions. It seems that the vacuum created by the lack of a shared sadness or rage causes us to make enemies of each other. We seek to fill the void with smaller, more selfishly-focused coalitions. The loss of a common enemy results in the loss of prioritising the common good.
We need some catalyst to remind us that in the States and beyond, we are more similar than different, have the same basic goals, and have more in common than we disagree on. That may have the ring of a Hallmark card, but it is the truth.
What unites a nation?
It seems to me that those sorrowful souls in the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and beyond grieved the loss of that unifying icon that represented a shared history and identity. No other figure that I can think of is so woven into the fabric of a place and people. The newly minted coins, bills, and postage stamps will soon roll out of the mints and off the presses. KCIII’s profile will face the other direction than his mother did on the currency; a tradition that dates back to his namesake, King Charles I. This “sceptered isle” (Richard II, II.i.40) is a very different place to the land his mother inherited at her coronation. It remains to be seen whether the new monarch, who has waited so long for this job, can put together what has been torn asunder in his struggling country.
I walked back, subdued, to my flat in the preternaturally quiet streets of the normally bustling tourist town. Blue peeked through the clouds that had appropriately greyed the skies for the doleful morning.
Nailed it! Was an honour to sit and quietly sniff beside you in that darkened theatre of mourning.