To be an imperial subject is to ever look inwards to the
centre. The Centre is like some Oriental despot, whose every gesture carries
gnomic meaning – when the Padishah scratched his chin, did that mean we ought
to invade the Gokturks? When he demanded more wine, was it a metaphor for the
consuming cupidity of the aristocracy?
The Centre is also the most entertaining theatre of action –
one can imagine the provincial Roman in Aquitanian Gaul hearing with delight
distant reports of the latest acts of Claudius. The messenger to the Prefect
rides into the city; the report is delivered; the news disseminates. There is
finally something to talk about!
So it is when we in these rainy isles look toward America.
Which Emperor shall we have next? Trump or Biden? What are their respective
strengths and weaknesses? Of course, the Imperial citizen will occasionally sniff
at the idea that they rule far beyond their shores, imposing their aims and
mores upon others – but we provincials know better. Who over the age of 30 has
not noticed the subsuming of our media consumption into the American machine?
Who has not accepted the subordination of our foreign policy to theirs since
1956?
But at least we receive the Imperial news, and obsess about
it.
Who will be better for the UK? Trump or Biden? Well, one
person might say, Trump is more likely to support a post-Brexit UK; he is more
likely to resist China, to our benefit. But the other person may say – you want
this guy in charge of our foreign policy? And doesn’t he give as often to vile
dictators as he resists them? Who else could imaginably praise Kim Jong Un on
Twitter – not once, but often?
But the auxiliary, ultimately, can grumble about these
matters, but ends up serving with the legions nonetheless. As a poet once said
of a war between old Empires – one now conquered by America, one ruling
continental Europe:
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
One may find Trump deeply distasteful; one may believe Biden
is weak on foreign policy priorities. But no-one can, when thinking coolly and
rationally, believe that either will greatly affect their imperial subjects. A
little, perhaps; a fringe chance of more; but in all likelihood, the marginal
impact involved will be irrelevant to most Britons.
Who will be better for the UK? Neither, probably.
* * * * *
The Australian or Canadian settler of the late 19th
century was a cultural evangelist – they represented the dynamo of world civilization,
they had an intercontinental identity and destiny, they had unbounded sunlit
horizons. They were, I suppose, a little like the American pioneers of the same
period – yet more so. The American believed in his Manifest Destiny, no doubt –
but the Australian represented the Rome of his day. The rallying of the white
colonies to Britain’s side in the 2nd Boer War and World War 1 was
the affectionate and proper response of children to their mother’s call for aid.
The rallying of Britain to America’s side in the Iraq War was not the same; it
was that of a client to the imperious demand of a patron.
It’s strange living in a nation in clear decline, dependent
on a Great Power to provide direction and meaning. Perhaps, rather, I should
say two Great Powers – though the German-led bloc is not quite there, fractured
as it is. Yet this explains much about the vote to leave the European Union. I
do not mean there was some strange reflexive racist vote from nostalgics for
Empire (this is an onanistic fantasy of liberal-left Britons, ever eager to justify
their own imperial ambitions). I mean that the utter confusion of the “Brexit”
vote, the empty rhetoric from each side, was the result of the Egotism of Small
Stakes – no-one here has been used to thinking of great deeds for many decades
now. The nation is halfway to a palliative coma; the drip is already on line;
and the referendum vote was indicative of the opiatized confusion of the polis.
Of course, the unlikely result occurred: a decision was made
to polish up the old armour and return to the list of nations. What strength
remains? Well, we are finding out, not entirely to our comfort. But as I say,
it is strange living in a nation such clear decline. Who is better for us,
Trump or Biden? Which Venetian doge of the 15th century was better
for the Eastern Empire? Which British Prime Minister was better for those last
Ottomans? As we languidly gaze upon our Twitter feeds and scan the ugly front
pages of our decayed newspapers, as we argue about which of two decadent bureaucratic
elites would better handle a plague as entrenched as the Japanese at Okinawa,
we may well be in some Constantinoplan bathhouse in 1450 or 1850, wondering
about the news from Bulgaria (really, someone should work out what’s really
going on with those guys). We discuss it because it doesn’t matter. We obsess
about it – about the referendum, about the US election – because it is easier
than getting a leather apron on over our checkshirts and getting down to some
kind of work.
* * * * *
Unless Joe Biden straps me on to the missile racks of an
F-35B, or Donald Trump hold a plague rally in my town in Northern England, each
is only going to nudge my prospects a little, for good or bad. Perhaps the cynically
pro-life positioning of a 2nd Term Trump will hearten the nascent
pro-life movement in my country (that would be good, for the record;
infanticide is bad). Perhaps a President Biden would encourage international
co-operation over vaccines and screening tech (these are also good things).
But I am only obsessed with these commeddia puppet-men because they are like fireworks above a prison
camp – distracting me from the muddy greyness around me. Their dancing and
gyrating briefly draws my eyes from the plaguecart. One bops the other over the
head – what fun! I could go to the local Abbey for guidance, but the Abbot has
peasant-girls sent to his rooms; the harvest was taken by the condotta in pay
(from our lord, eight mountains away); and so I turn back to the puppet-men.
Chasteningly, I know there is only one proper or decent
reaction to Who will better for us? Trump
or Biden. The only proper reaction of the Imperial subject is to turn away
from the puppet-men, open a fairytale, and tell their sons and daughters about
foul treacheries and high deeds, and the call to chivalrous life lain upon each
one of us. Perhaps they will at least, when their day comes, preside over their
own souls; and perhaps by that bless their neighbours; and then they will have
a sensible answer to such questions. For me, I can only pray God for strength
to leave the puppet-men behind and return to real life.
