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Salient. Victoria University Student Newspaper. Volume 33, No. 3 18 March 1970

Why she needs us

Why she needs us

It's very hard to be funny about the Monarchy, because those lovely people who constitute it are in fact a joke on us. What follows is an attempt to enable you to appreciate that joke in all its flavour. Chris Wheeler may rave and Aunt Edith may drool, but they both miss the point. The point is that the Queen is putting you on.

Ah! you may say (or words to that effect), but so are most statesmen and important people. What's so different about the Queen? The difference is that we are putting her on as well. It's a very beautiful concept. She is putting us on, and we are putting her on. She, as Queen, says she loves her subjects, and we, as subjects, say we love our Queen. Nobody loves anybody. Of course; this is very satisfying.

The proletariat of Britain regularly dip into their ten pound a week pay packets to keep the Royal F. in Cross and Blackwell Marmalade and suchlike. Honest, decent, theiving, amoral workers all over the Commonwealth contribute at intervals to the transportation of their Monarch around her ex-colonial acres. Even foreigners, who have no right to our joke, have been graced with a Royal V. Why? Is it because we are stupid? We are stupid, but that's not the reason. The reason is that we are very clever. The Queen licences us. She does you know.

We can elect any crapped out old fascist we like, and for the price of a bit of national bowing and scraping, he will appear in the New Year's Honours List at an appropriate moment. We can do any goddam awful or ridiculous thing at home or abroad, and in return for a few thousand quid on a Royal Tour, the Queen will make speeches about how wonderful and loyal we are. It's like a 'Guess Your Weight Machine' where a cent buys the weight and future prediction that you want—to the ounce and hour. In Britain the proles have even persuaded the Queen to pretend that she chooses the bloke they make Prime Minister. Of course, they have the luxury model Royal Person. We only get the Portable model.

It's worth a note here just why the Royal people are wanted as licences, what qualifications they have to preside over the political chaos of the emancipated worker. Well, it's because when Monarchy was in control they did such bloody awful things. Their family quarrels meant wars, and their religious beliefs meant persecutions. They went the whole hog. They really were wicked. In this Century, it's our turn to be wicked from the seats of power—we the ex-serfs. How are we doing, though? Are we being bad enough, hypocritical enough, sufficiently swinish? What better barometer than the past-masters themselves, the heirs of Bloody Mary and George the Third, our own genuine Royal Family? So we use them.

And at the same time we can take pleasure in their anamolous position in the same way as we can enjoy a Salvador Dali painting. The Royal F. tells lies which are believed, is ugly yet beautiful, and omnipotently powerless. This is why we have them. First, they are phenomenal bullshitters. They can say anything to anyone at any time and be believed. This is because no-one listens to what they say. How many of you remember what was in the Queen's last Xmas message, let alone the one in the year before that? Who has compared her speeches on Tours under a Labour Government and under a National one? As far as we are concerned she could say black is white one day and white is blue the next. This is very pleasing. We're supposed to take our leaders seriously, listen to what they say and criticise them, grumbling under the weight of our democratic burden. The Queen can be safely adored and ignored.

Another reason why Liz and her consort get on so well is that they are working class. As they showed in their religious epic The Royal Family (with a cast of thousands of corgis) they are just as ugly as you and me. Yet they are beautiful people. They don't have to try as hard as the Jet Set; they have no justification for being Beautiful, not being singers, dancers, actors or loud-mouthed drug addicts—and they don't work hard at it. But who could beat one of them at an 'in' party, eh? In a way, they remind us of Alfred Bloggs and the Missus who won $200,000 on the Pools. Judging by the way they carry on it could be you or me up there being paid for it. They provide the perfect opiate, in a way the Beatles or somebody cannot. You have to be clever to get where they are. But anyone can see the Royal F. are as stupid as us.

Finally, we love them because while we stand up for G. Save the Q., and call her the ruler of the C. Wealth, we know that she relies on us. We have seen through democracy and know that politicians don't rely on us at all. They use us. But the R. Family? Well, we use them. They need us. They must pose for pictures and make jokes and dress up for our entertainment. They must consider their image. They must be good. What a laugh to have somebody thinking the end of the world had come because we found out he drank a cherry brandy. How pleasant. Catholics shouldn't really enjoy rude jokes about the Pope, but we can titter endlessly over mild remarks about the Monarchy. They are completely powerless. Statesmen from all parts of the world nervously bow and shake hands with them. Yet if it weren't for us they wouldn't exist. Really, there is nothing can be said against the Monarchy, it is such a magnificent institution.