This second chorus, like the first, has been repeated over and over. “I’m not a monarchist,” tweeted Canadian author Chris Jones, “but I fear that the slow ebb and flow of her ubiquity, in an already chaotic age, will be deeply disturbing to many people.” “I am not a monarchist,” wrote Labor campaigner Tom Powell, “but I am a patriot, I love this country, I respect our institutions and I have always had a deep respect for the Queen. For most of us, it was a constant in an ever-changing world.” The phrase was everywhere. Sometimes it served as a warning that a terrible, Boomerish meme was coming, but usually it was a signal for everything from spiteful respect to open mourning. “I’m not a monarchist, but the pollen count must be high or something.” “I’m not a monarchist, but I had a lot of respect for the Queen and how seriously she took her duties.” “I’m not a monarchist, but she was classy and we’ll long to enjoy her in the past.” “I am not a monarchist. But I felt very sad yesterday at the death of the Queen, whom I respected as a very hard-working woman.” Eventually the phrase was included by boring post-commentators chastising people for not being democratic enough. But why was the sentiment so common? What conflicting part of the British psyche did he articulate? Support for the monarchy varies by generation – it stands at 33 per cent of 18-24 year olds, compared to 77 per cent of those aged 65 and over – but may also be waning internally. Stephen Reicher, professor of social psychology at the University of St Andrews, explains that if someone identifies as British, then the Queen becomes part of their collective identity, part of their Britishness. We have the illusion that we feel like we know her. “You’ll see people cry because, in losing the Queen, there’s a genuine sense of losing part of yourself, losing part of what defined you or was important to you,” he says. People who see the Queen in a less positive light—as a symbol of hierarchy, for example, or as a symbol of Empire—tend not to have the same feelings, Reicher says. Britain is unusual in that its national anthem celebrates our sovereignty rather than celebrating great national deeds or landscapes, he adds. Many Britons may not approve of the emphasis on piety. “But there can be a recognition that, as an individual, the Queen has done things that they feel are important, that she has done her a service.” And so they may be surprised by their grief, as Henry James was when Queen Victoria died. In 1901, the novelist wrote: “I mourn the safe and motherly old middle-class queen, who kept the nation warm under her great, hideous tartan shawl, and whose tenure was so eminently convenient and beneficial. I felt her death much more than I would have expected. it was a symbol of conservation – and wild waters are upon us now.” Grief can come from a more personal part of our psyche than our sense of collective identity. “What’s fascinating, what’s powerful about it,” Reicher says, “is just how the political and the personal come together, and the way that the death of the Queen and the Queen as a symbol of motherhood, they begin to touch you and begin to affect you in terms of your own relationships. “So it makes you think about the losses you’ve had, it makes you think about the grief you’ve had, it makes you think about how the conflicts within the family suddenly seem meaningless when something like death happens.” Mourners gather to watch the procession of Queen Elizabeth II’s coffin on Monday (Getty) Reicher says that the queen and the monarchy become something like screens onto which we project our own feelings. When the queen died, he says, he was reminded of his mother’s death and found himself unexpectedly sad. “Personally, I am not a monarchist. I was upset exactly because it reminds me of what happened to my mom. I think for many of us, because of the ways in which the Queen has been constructed as the mother of the nation, even if you intellectually reject it, at the same time you can’t help but take it into account to some extent. .” People participate in the theatrical performance of mourning, Reicher points out, for a variety of reasons. “There will be that sense of personal connection, that genuine sense of sadness. And there will be a lot of people who will follow because it’s an important event, because it’s a piece of history.” What some people will look for, and what many others will find, is what the sociologist Émile Durkheim called “collective effervescence.” Someone in a crowd of mourners might at first wonder if they’re crazy to be in that crowd, Reicher says, but they’ll find their worries eased by the pleasure of being caught up in a group of people who feel the same way they do. “There’s this sense of validation and closeness to others,” she says. “There is a sense of recognition. You walk into the crowd, and while in everyday life, people ignore you, here people smile at you, chat with you, share food with you, etc.” I was indifferent, or even against the monarchy. Then I went expat, and boom – suddenly I felt like I loved the queen Klara Jurstakova, of Canterbury Christ Church University, echoes Reicher’s points about the royal family reminding us, monarch or not, of our own families. Human psychologies vary. even when we do the same things, we do it for different reasons. “Being non-monarchical doesn’t mean that people only have this one identity,” says Jurstakova, who researches group processes and social identity. “They have multiple identities and in exceptional cases, such as the death of the Queen, when it has been part of people’s lives and conversations for the last 70 years, we can expect that for many people, whether non-monarchists, monarchists or otherwise, that event will has any impact. They may want to take part in such a historic moment, pay respect or simply observe others.” Sanya-Jeet Thandi, a 29-year-old British woman who immigrated to California in 2021, is a prime example. It has historically been suspicious of the monarchy because of its association with the Empire. “I was indifferent or even anti-monarchy,” she says. “Then I became an expat, and boom – suddenly I found myself loving the Queen, and probably all things classic British. Platty Joobs made me so emotional and proud to be British born and bred.” “I know it’s weird and I’m almost disappointed in myself,” she continues. “I think it’s a classic immigrant experience, though – my parents are the same as India. Once people move they start to get attached to all the things associated with their previous or original home.” Whatever its origin, people’s grief at the Queen’s death is likely to cement their sense of Britishness. It might even create a new generation of reluctant royals. None of this will make it any easier to reconcile emotional investment in the royals with support for their abolition, but if there’s anything as British as loving the Queen, it’s being concerned about issues of national identity. In some ways, her death changed Britain irrevocably. in this particular way, it has not changed us at all.
