Opinion / Josh Fehnert
Art of silence
One oddity of the death of Queen Elizabeth II is the scramble to establish what this timeless but taciturn monarch’s reign really meant. What’s certain is that the late queen’s tight-lipped take on diplomacy and tendency to be equivocal over thorny issues (from EU membership to the crumbling of empire or foreign spats) kept her above the fray for 70 divisive years on the throne. The British people loved her as much for what she didn’t say as what she did.
Since her death reams of UK newspapers and broadcasters missed this point. Many slipped into mawkish recollections of the queen’s warmth, the twinkle in her eye and incredible sense of humour. It’s a pleasant thought – and perhaps natural to be nice in a moment of national mourning. It may even be true. But eking out the idea of the queen as a comedian defined by her charisma rather flies in the face of arguably her biggest success: an almost inhuman ability not to joke, blab or betray exactly what she was thinking. In fact, it’s her utter seriousness, reliability and sense of duty (rather than her one-liners or the time she met Paddington for a marmalade sandwich) for which she’ll be remembered.
Today anyone with half a brain – and many with seemingly far less – are happy to expound views on complex topics to almost anyone who will listen. Her Majesty – knowledgeable, wise and a first-hand witness to much of recent history – was an advert for the often overlooked art of staying schtum. The most that the queen could muster on the issue of Scottish independence before a crucial referendum in 2014? That voters should “think very carefully”. Bravo. This laconic, less-is-more sentiment, along with a track record of good manners, tested political instincts and moments of muteness, helped her mean so much to so many. It was Queen Elizabeth II’s selective silence – rather than her pronouncements – that often spoke volumes.
Josh Fehnert is the editor of Monocle.