The British royal family is an expensive anachronism and little more.
Queen Elizabeth visits the Dersingham Infant and Nursery School in Dersingham on the 60th anniversary of her rule / Reuters
Today is the sixtieth anniversary of Queen Elizabeth II's ascension to
the British throne, which occurred upon her father's death in 1952.
Happy anniversary -- or Diamond Jubilee, as it is known -- Your Majesty.
Now: what exactly are you still doing there, anyway?
and the royals' tourist appeal aside, there's something a bit jarring
both to logic and to liberal democratic sensibilities about what the
queen stands for. After all, British "citizens" are still at least
nominally, and arguably legally, considered "subjects." The United
Kingdom's Home Office and the passports it issues reflect the
country's switch in 1949 from the language of subjecthood to
citizenship, and thus make a distinction between "citizens of the United
Kingdom" and "British subjects." That's not a particularly pretty
distinction, since the latter is mostly a leftover of the country's
But as plenty of experts have pointed out, there is no piece of paper that
officially designates Brits as "citizens."
And if a magazine-length article
can be written under the headline "Are we subjects or citizens?" as the BBC did in 2005, whatever scraps of citizenship clinging to Britons can't be all that substantial.
The financial side of the British monarchy is no less quirky. Governing for payment is standard, but the queen reigns, which appears mostly to mean visiting things. Strange as this looks from a practical standpoint, it's even stranger in theory. In 2012, why would the people of a Western state pay someone to subjugate them? That Britain is Western matters here not so much because of values but because of history. The British state was arguably the first in the region to be organized along the principles of an explicit social contract; it's the heir to the English Magna Carta in 1215 as well as the Glorious Revolution, where, for the first time, monarchs -- King William and Queen Mary -- were brought in to accept a crown on the subjects' own terms. Yet, in a twist that continues to fascinate historians, William and Mary paved the way for remarkably conservative stability in the ensuing centuries. France, as the trope goes, had a political revolution, Britain had an industrial one. And here the two countries are today, France heading into the final stretch of a presidential election, while a not insignificant portion of the British economy gets poured into preparations for a June-weekend Diamond Jubilee of a figurehead queen, who Britons never explicitly agreed to support.
Though the March 2011 financial report on royal finances proudly announced a 19% decrease in the Queen's official expenditure over the course of five years, is this really much solace? Her family will still spend £32.1 million, quite a lot of money. Remarkably, UK education secretary Michael Gove reportedly also wanted the public to donate a £60 million royal yacht to Her Majesty for the 2012 celebrations, although the details of that proposal are disputed, and private donations were mentioned as well.
Downing Street nixed the public funding idea, fortunately. Prime Minister David Cameron did declare early Monday, though, that "Today is a day to pay tribute to the magnificent service of Her Majesty the Queen." Her "experience, dignity, and quiet authority," he also mentioned are indisputable, but "pay tribute" seems a bit too atavistically close to home for comfort, and Brits don't have as much tribute to give up as they used to. And "magnificent service"? No one doubts the queen keeps a pretty punishing schedule of standing in formal ceremonies and visiting schools for a lady her age -- but there are a few palaces and a lifetime source of income in the deal.
The royal wedding is over. Kate's and Pippa's dresses were fantastic, and the hats were fun. No argument there. As a privately funded theme park, the royals have real potential. The monarchy, so the crown defenders' argument goes, does indeed bring in cash for the country through tourism and from the Crown Estate. But the current set-up is bizarre, and the frenzied yearning for a U.S. equivalent among so many of my American countrymen and women last spring was puzzling. In the cold, clear light of this less glamorous royal event, the monarchy looks like exactly what it is: a major anachronism. Nothing more.
“Here is what I would like for you to know: In America, it is traditional to destroy the black body—it is heritage.”
Last Sunday the host of a popular news show asked me what it meant to lose my body. The host was broadcasting from Washington, D.C., and I was seated in a remote studio on the Far West Side of Manhattan. A satellite closed the miles between us, but no machinery could close the gap between her world and the world for which I had been summoned to speak. When the host asked me about my body, her face faded from the screen, and was replaced by a scroll of words, written by me earlier that week.
The host read these words for the audience, and when she finished she turned to the subject of my body, although she did not mention it specifically. But by now I am accustomed to intelligent people asking about the condition of my body without realizing the nature of their request. Specifically, the host wished to know why I felt that white America’s progress, or rather the progress of those Americans who believe that they are white, was built on looting and violence. Hearing this, I felt an old and indistinct sadness well up in me. The answer to this question is the record of the believers themselves. The answer is American history.
New data shows that students whose parents make less money pursue more “useful” subjects, such as math or physics.
In 1780, John Adams wrote a letter to his wife, Abigail, in which he laid out his plans for what his children and grandchildren would devote their lives to. Having himself taken the time to master “Politicks and War,” two revolutionary necessities, Adams hoped his children would go into disciplines that promoted nation-building, such as “mathematicks,” “navigation,” and “commerce.” His plan was that in turn, those practical subjects would give his children’s children room “to study painting, poetry, musick, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelaine.”
Two-hundred and thirty-five years later, this progression—“from warriors to dilettantes,” in the words of the literary scholar Geoffrey Galt Harpham—plays out much as Adams hoped it would: Once financial concerns have been covered by their parents, children have more latitude to study less pragmatic things in school. Kim Weeden, a sociologist at Cornell, looked at National Center for Education Statistics data for me after I asked her about this phenomenon, and her analysis revealed that, yes, the amount of money a college student’s parents make does correlate with what that person studies. Kids from lower-income families tend toward “useful” majors, such as computer science, math, and physics. Those whose parents make more money flock to history, English, and performing arts.
In 1992, the neuroscientist Richard Davidson got a challenge from the Dalai Lama. By that point, he’d spent his career asking why people respond to, in his words, “life’s slings and arrows” in different ways. Why are some people more resilient than others in the face of tragedy? And is resilience something you can gain through practice?
The Dalai Lama had a different question for Davidson when he visited the Tibetan Buddhist spiritual leader at his residence in Dharamsala, India. “He said: ‘You’ve been using the tools of modern neuroscience to study depression, and anxiety, and fear. Why can’t you use those same tools to study kindness and compassion?’ … I did not have a very good answer. I said it was hard.”
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
Most adults can’t remember much of what happened to them before age 3 or so. What happens to the memories formed in those earliest years?
My first memory is of the day my brother was born: November 14, 1991. I can remember my father driving my grandparents and me over to the hospital in Highland Park, Illinois, that night to see my newborn brother. I can remember being taken to my mother’s hospital room, and going to gaze upon my only sibling in his bedside cot. But mostly, I remember what was on the television. It was the final two minutes of a Thomas the Tank Engine episode. I can even remember the precise story: “Percy Takes the Plunge,” which feels appropriate, given that I too was about to recklessly throw myself into the adventure of being a big brother.
In sentimental moments, I’m tempted to say my brother’s birth is my first memory because it was the first thing in my life worth remembering. There could be a sliver of truth to that: Research into the formation and retention of our earliest memories suggests that people’s memories often begin with significant personal events, and the birth of a sibling is a textbook example. But it was also good timing. Most people’s first memories date to when they were about 3.5 years old, and that was my age, almost to the day, when my brother was born.
Gentrification is pushing long-term residents out of urban neighborhoods. Can collective land ownership keep prices down permanently?
AUSTIN, Tex.—Not long ago, inner cities were riddled with crime and blight and affluent white residents high-tailed it to the suburbs, seeking better schools, safer streets, and, in some cases, fewer minority neighbors.
But today, as affluent white residents return to center cities, people who have lived there for years are finding they can’t afford to stay.
Take the case of the capital city of Texas, where parts of East Austin, right next to downtown, are in the process of becoming whiter, and hip restaurants, coffee shops, and even a barcatering to bicyclists are opening. Much of Austin’s minority population, meanwhile, is priced out, and so they’re moving to far-out suburbs such as Pflugerville and Round Rock, where rents are affordable and commutes are long.
The show reveals what happened to Ray, while Bezzerides and Woodrugh investigate the mayor, and Frank indulges in some amateur dentistry.
Orr: More than a third of the way into this season of True Detective, I’d say that the two best scenes so far were adjacent ones, albeit ones in consecutive episodes: the last scene of episode two—the man in the bird mask appearing out of nowhere, the stunning (apparent) death of a principal character as the radio plays “I Pity the Fool”—and the first scene of tonight’s episode: Ray and his father in the bar, and yet clearly someplace else altogether, someplace otherworldly. “Where is this?” Ray asks. His dad replies, “I don’t know. You were here first.” Is this Ray’s dying vision? Is he a ghost who will watch the season unfold from beyond the grave?
The singer’s violent revenge fantasy was intended to provoke outrage, and to get people to talk about her. It succeeds on both counts.
Of all the scandalized reactions to Rihanna’s music video for “Bitch Better Have My Money,” my favorite comes, as is not surprising for this sort of thing, from the Daily Mail. Labelling herself in the headline as a “concerned parent” (a term to transport one to the days of Tipper Gore’s crusade against lyrics if there ever was one), Sarah Vine opens her column by talking at length about how so very, very reluctant she was to watch Rihanna’s new clip. Then she basically goes frame-by-frame through the video, recounting her horror at what unfolds. “By the time it had finished, I wondered whether I ought not to report [Rihanna] to the police,” Vine writes. “Charges: pornography, incitement to violence, racial hatred.”
Defining common cultural literacy for an increasingly diverse nation
Is the culture war over?
That seems an absurd question. This is an age when Confederate monuments still stand; when white-privilege denialism is surging on social media; when legislators and educators in Arizona and Texas propose banning ethnic studies in public schools and assign textbooks euphemizing the slave trade; when fear of Hispanic and Asian immigrants remains strong enough to prevent immigration reform in Congress; when the simple assertion that #BlackLivesMatter cannot be accepted by all but is instead contested petulantly by many non-blacks as divisive, even discriminatory.
And that’s looking only at race. Add gender, guns, gays, and God to the mix and the culture war seems to be raging along quite nicely.