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Reflections on the Queen

Maya messages, “The Queen is dead.” She calls and says someone came up and down the residence floor pounding doors, “The Queen is dead. The Queen is dead.” Felt archaic; the Queen’s subjects awakened from their sleep announcing the death of their Queen.

While writing I remember another pound on the door in Grenada, early morning. Our friend Dubai’s voice through the window, “Lucky Dube is dead. Lucky Dube is dead.” With this news, Theo and i jumped out of bed, and onto the verandah, heads in hands, ‘What the fuck.’ on our lips. A radically different response to the Queen is dead and me/us thinking good riddance, adios! Me in my naïve thoughts wondering does this mean the death of the monarchy too! But then my foolish simple thoughts faded knowing the monarchy is alive and breathing; intentionally designed to endure and carry on.

After my immediate reaction, roll of eyes, who the fuck cares, change the subject please, good riddance to the Queen and fuck the monarchy built, maintained, endured by the annihilation of Black and Brown people; a system that murdered, stole, persecuted, destroyed millions and millions of individuals, families, communities and continues to uphold a cleverly designed structure that now includes performances of apologies and promised reckonings and retributions.

After all of the above I then contemplated separating this 96 year old woman, Elizabeth from the monarchy so I could mourn her as an individual, as a pawn in that system, as someone so deeply intertwined with history and then I wondered what if i too was born within that particular time, within that particular class/race/gender would I too carry on as was expected, a crown of stolen jewels on my head, slow waving to millions of people from the balcony of my inherited castle.

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