I Mourn A Different Mourning

The unease that trails the celebration in black

Our personal identities - at times fragile, other times stubborn abstractions--are given, taken, passed on, adopted, snatched, or even shunned. They come to shape our view of ourselves and our place in the world. Often our sense of identity ebbs and flows in rather invisible ways. But sometimes parts of how we understand who we are manifest in ways surprising even to ourselves. Sometimes parts of our identities we believe to be silent come screaming forth without warning.

With the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, I did not expect to feel much. On the rather rainy Thursday she died, news of her death felt more and more imminent as the day progressed. The BBC’s star cast changed into black. Not that I was hooked to the BBC; it was the input of several who had adorned investigative hats and were quipping about these intricacies on my Twitter feed.

Throughout the day, I kept a close eye on the news, mostly because it had bearings on my work and schedule the next day. But as to the event itself, I was not expecting myself to react. And for the most part, I didn’t. When news of the Queen’s death was announced, the only thing that bothered me was that news programming was massively altered. It quickly became clear that the subject of queen’s outfits over the years and queen’s love of horses would take precedence over deadly floods in Pakistan, or even the UK’s own cost of living crisis. Not for a day, or even a few days, but for weeks to come. The spectacle-ity of the media now had a justification for its compromised news coverage and values.

It quickly became clear that the subject of queen’s outfits over the years and queen’s love of horses would take precedence over deadly floods in Pakistan, or even the UK’s own cost of living crisis.

Pretty soon, commentary about the Queen’s life and legacy was splattered everywhere: TV, radio, newspapers, social media and messaging apps; in text, voice and video. It was an evening of collective grief as the nation celebrated a woman who symbolised the stability and greatness of Britain - or so the commentators claimed. Terms like continuity and unity were ubiquitous. Many mourned the recent political fragility in Britain (referring to the shambolic politics of the Tories), and believed the Queen’s passing signalled a change in era, now that Britain had lost its last symbol of stability.

Many wrote they were critical of Britain’s imperial past and monarchy as an institution, but they still mourned the Queen for the person she was. There were some for whom she was of personal symbolic significance. The Queen was a grandmotherly figure; they mourned her, remembering their own lost relatives. There were also children so tiny they would not have known her, creating beautiful drawings and cards in dedication to her. A friend told me she saw one such card where a kid had scribbled, ‘thanks for ruleing us’ (yes with an ‘e’!). And another who had adorably crayoned a Peppa Pig version of the Queen. Despite the greyness in the air, weirdly it also seemed like a day of shared warmth and love.

And yet, many like me [who saw no reason to bask in British pride, either because we aren’t British or had complicated pasts with the British Crown or just weren’t very nationalistic], felt unwelcome to these celebrations. They came as beautifully wrapped boxes, when in fact they should have been carelessly bundled, torn and rough around the edges. The legacy of the Queen and the monarchy hasn’t been shiny and seamless. The forced sweetness of the response to her death was slowly making me bitter. But at this point it was still very much contained in my own mind, barely spoken out loud. I could respect people wanting to grieve and mourn someone significant to them. But I personally could not participate. And I felt I should be allowed that.

It was only the next day, when a close friend of mine (who happens to be British), made a rather crude remark about Britain’s colonial past that the cascade truly began. And it gave me much to think about. What is Britain’s legacy really? Where am I placed in it? As an Indian now living in Britain, how do I deal with my complicated feelings about all this? What is it to be an Indian today? Was I fighting one form of nationalism (colonialism) by giving into another (a certain clinging to Indian-ness)? Do people here really understand me and where I come from? Is there a place for me in a country that washes over the history of my ancestors and that of others so carelessly? How should I feel about dear friends who do not understand this side of me, or feel it excessive that I choose to criticise the Queen for the larger colonial past? Is this a fight I should actually fight? Or does the fact my criticism would be shut down as leftist liberal woke-ism (whatever that is) mean I should remain quiet?

Is there a place for me in a country that washes over the history of my ancestors and that of others so carelessly? How should I feel about dear friends who do not understand this side of me, or feel it excessive that I choose to criticise the Queen for the larger colonial past?

I’m still trying to answer many of these questions, and I will continue to try to find coherent responses. But to the last question, I already have an answer, which is why this piece was written. Not only did I decide it’s not fair to remain quiet, but the news coverage (or lack thereof) of what I call colonial criticism has in fact forced me to write this.

While India had already gotten Independence and was an infant democracy when the Queen was crowned in 1952, at the time Britain still held control over several colonies which continued to fight against oppression during the Queen’s reign. And while Queen Elizabeth II’s reign may not have overlapped with the peak of colonisation, it nonetheless was not removed from it. But the Queen’s personal popularity and the larger diplomatic framing that came to be given around ‘relations’ with Commonwealth countries has not allowed this reckoning to take place. When I speak of reckoning, I am less concerned with the official word. I do not speak here of apologies from British leaders for past sins (which never came), rather of the acknowledgement and understanding of this cruel history by the British public.

The day after the Queen’s death, my British friend was furious. He was mad at some of the social media commentary against the Queen, posts that were calling her names and saying she should “rot in hell”. It was certainly not a nice thing to say--about anyone. But did my friend not understand why there was a fringe group that might have an issue with the Queen and the pomp around her death? He knew of the larger arguments to do with colonialism, but what did it have to do with the Queen herself? Was she personally responsible? And wasn’t this all so far back in the past? And what about inequality? Was being born into wealth her mistake? It was these arguments that set me off. As I responded to him, I found myself quite distressed and eventually in tears.

Was the Queen personally responsible? Well, does she have to be? The Queen still benefited from the plunders of the Empire, and made sure the monarchy was preserved and that it continued. While traditionalists might see this to be her duty, I see tradition in itself to be no great defence for any practice, let alone one of a luxurious and exorbitant lifestyle lived at the expense of great societal inequality and poverty. Historically, we have abandoned practices as time progressed and our values as a society came to evolve. Now, more than ever, there needs to be space to criticise the existence of the monarchy in Britain, and to be able to discuss its impact on larger society. And we need to note the Queen enjoyed great privileges, exempt from “more than 160 laws” that otherwise apply to any other British citizen.

But this aside, it should also be noted that atrocities were committed by the Empire under this Queen’s reign too. Take the case of Kenya. In reaction to the Mau Mau rebellion, a movement against colonialism, the British put much of the local population (including a large proportion of the civilian population that was not even involved in the actual fighting) in detention centres:

“About 20,000 Mau Mau guerrillas or fighters fought the British military in the forest, and it’s kind of a jungle war. But a disproportionate amount of the time was spent detaining the entire Kikuyu population who had taken this oath, about 1.5 million people, in detention without trial… And it’s in these systems of detention where draconian, systematized violence and brutality and torture were instrumented in horrific ways. There was also forced labor and starvation policies. And these were done in order to force this rebellious population to submit to British colonial rule…”

Now let’s zoom out a bit and look at the Empire more widely. If we only just talk about India, in the period between 1765 to 1938, the British Empire drained the region of an estimated $45 trillion. Because of the way the system of trade and taxation was designed by the British, trade did not benefit locals. It made London richer, with no rise in per capita income in India during the two-century rule. This is just a small glimpse of the economic costs and the cost in terms of lives lost, whether from sheer oppressive brutality (like what happened during the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre when a British general opened fire on peaceful protestors without any warning), or deaths due to famines that resulted from policy failures of the British Raj (the Bengal famine killed an estimated 3 million people). The picture is tragic, to say the least. And yet, what we find mentioned is the “good things” that came out of colonisation.

In a tone-deaf and completely outrageous segment, Tucker Carlson, the TV presenter on America’s Fox News, claims Britain gave its colonies “civilisation”. It’s as if centuries never went by. As with generations before me, I still have to hear the same racist commentary about the brutish and uncivilised people of the Orient who had the great privilege of receiving tutoring by the British on ‘how to act civilised’. No one told me oppression, plunder and slavery were such ideals. But oh well, if that is what it takes to be a great civilisation, so be it I suppose.

What’s even more ridiculous about such commentary trying to shut down today’s scant colonial criticism is the attempts to paint British oppression as a gift. It’s portrayed as something that those oppressed, who lost freedoms, lives and were stripped of dignity for centuries, need to be grateful for. Carlson goes on to say that India as a country “is now far more powerful than the country that ruled it”. I’m not sure how Britain can take credit for that. In the 75 years since independence, India has grown in spite of colonialism, not because of it. And while the colonisers may have left behind English (a language I do think of as my own), it should come as no surprise that the region is far more rich in terms of language than many places in the world. Today 121 languages (and if we broaden it to include dialects spoken by smaller sections of the population, then 19,500 languages) are spoken in the region.

In the 75 years since independence, India has grown in spite of colonialism, not because of it.

This is not to say that English is unimportant to our history, but that the richness of culture, language and “civilisation” predates the entry of the English. And as much as I am a personal fan of the British-built architecture in Bombay that Carlson praises, architecture from the Mughal period (like the Taj Mahal), or the spectacular temples built during the Vijayanagar empire are equally beautiful. And ironically, the architecture that Carlson makes reference to, while built by the British, was in fact Italian Gothic. So if anything, we should be paying our respects to the Italians.

The reason I choose to elaborate on this one segment by Carlson is because much of the commentary against colonial criticism follows the same line of argument. I hope it will encourage those who use these half-baked ideas as legitimate reasons for colonialism to give matters a second thought. Do railways (which were built by the British for their own use, and not out of benevolence for the local population) and pretty buildings really justify horrific crimes committed across centuries?

When I seek to speak to people in Britain today, I am not looking for apologies or any feelings of guilt. Most of us have ancestors who have done bad things. For me, these evil deeds rest on caste and religious ideologies. For others, it can be race or slavery. But I believe we all need to make an attempt to understand and not whitewash the repressive histories of generations before. If anything, histories and the legacies they bequeath us linger. And colonialism is not a thing of the past.

Much as I am not a nationalist, or a patriot, I still found my identity as an Indian to take such effect lately. So much so that when my friend tried to dismiss the colonial past (that is how I saw it, even if he did not intend any harm), I was in tears. Identities do work in mysterious ways. But I do not and should not blame my friend. These reflect larger failures of institutions, including educational systems. Why should he know all of this history in any detail when no one around him cared to mention it?

My love for India and my attachments to it are purely cultural. I take immense pleasure in introducing people to the food, languages and cultural practices. I like to talk about the history of people in the region. I love to give people a taste of Indian films. But again, I shy away from all forms of nationalism, including Indian nationalism. India today (as a political unit, a nation state) developed after the Indian nationalist movement against the British. Since Independence, India has had to deal with other complicated issues. The us versus them fights never stop. Only the camps keep changing. I acknowledge that colonialism has always been only one strand of the story of the region. But it is still a significant one. And it is one that Britain needs to mindfully deal with, not glossed over.

As we conclude this 17-day pomp and splendour, for those who valued the Queen, celebrate her. But let us also make space for those who wish to sit out and mourn a different history. And let us also make space for criticism. Against the Queen, the monarchy, the colonial past and present-day inequalities in Britain. And when we talk of preservation of tradition, let us also ask, what is it that we are really rallying to preserve?

The day after our argument, my friend called me. He wanted to explain his position, and what he saw as his ignorance. I gave him my hand, and apologised for my lack of patience too. And we spoke freely, openly and with our hearts. Some hope after all, if only the whole of Britain could do it: have conversations.

Future Machine Spring 2022 Update

by Rachel Jacobs

Future Machine is an artist-led project planned to continue for 30 years, a witness to when the future comes, however and whatever the future brings.

The Future Machine is a device created via a series of conversations with artists and citizens across England. As the name suggests, the creation looks ahead, aiming to help address an uncertain future on a planet in crisis. Its interactive technology allows stories to be recorded from the words of participant viewers. These narratives are intended to help individuals imagine creative ways to address global climate change.

This is the latest update on Rachel’s journey with Future Machine. For more of Rachel’s writings, see Emerging Voices, Winter, 2020, and her writings in Emerging Voices’ Conversations in Crises.

The first annual journey of Future Machine has come to an end.

www.whenfuturecomes.net

Winter 2022

Celandine Day. Monday 21st February. Finally, after over 2 years of shielding, lockdowns and remote collaboration, artist-collaborator Juliet Robson and I met in the Parish of Peppard, Oxfordshire, on the weekend of the worst storm in 30 years – one of three storms in one weekend. Given this, we decided to delay the Future Machine event until the Spring Equinox. Instead, before sundown, we posted 100 Celandine Day cards through the letterboxes of as many houses as we could reach within Peppard’s parish boundaries.

The week before the Spring Equinox, 20th March, I began to feel unwell. I was trying to ignore the sore throat and sneezing. But my lateral flow test was positive. I had Covid. Happily, Juliet and a group of village participants agreed to go ahead without me.

In her driveway, Juliet introduced Future Machine and the wayfaring stick to those who would accompany her. The wayfaring stick, created by Juliet, is a holder of stories and sounds from the village and beyond. On the way to the common, Future Machine got stuck in the gate, too wide to get through to the daffodil and blossom strewn field where the gathering was to be held. The only way forward was to remove the larger gate. Villagers searched for the padlock buried for decades in the earth underneath, dug it out, removed the gate and pushed Future Machine through. Others from the village then joined in to speak to the future, hear the sounds of the beautiful warm spring weather as they were played by Future Machine, and listen to the wayfaring stick. Messages were left for the future, including a haunting Irish melody played on a harmonica by a visitor from Ireland.

When the Trees Blossomed 2022

The cycle quickly began again with the cherry trees in Christ Church Gardens, Nottingham, blossoming just a few days after the Spring Equinox. They bloomed six days earlier than last year, during a global heatwave. I was still in bed with Covid.

This heatwave was an ominous result of the shocking polar temperature rises at both the North and South poles – up by 60 degrees centigrade in some parts. With my collaborator, Prof. John King, Senior Climate Scientist at the British Antarctic Survey, I write 'News from the Planet'. Future Machine prints this news as prompts for people to speak to the future. Preparing the recent edition, John and I discussed the impact of this frightening rise in temperature. We were continuing discussions we’ve been having over the past few years on the changing climate, its impact on the polar regions and how this portends future sea rises. We consider how these stories can be shared in ways that have meaning to the people in England where Future Machine visits, without leading to despair and disconnection – an ongoing and very difficult job.

Then came the snow. Always a possibility in April. This year, the near horizontal snow was dramatic. Frank filmed the blossoms as they survived the onslaught, but our original blossom tree suffered. By the time we met up with Future Machine, all the trees were in varying degrees of blossoming. The new baby blossom tree was fully in bloom; a young, bright pinky-purple in contrast to the much older trees we had been following for the past five years.

The day of the Future Machine event began with the mysterious discovery of a blossom flower painting left under one of the trees. The identity of the painter remains a mystery. We met 62 children and 4 adults from the local primary school. We introduced them to Future Machine and showed them the weather word and bird light boxes they had made, hung in high up branches amongst the blossoms. We explained how Future Machine turns the weather into song. Alexandre Yemaoua Dayo and David Kemp, the musicians who create the sounds of Future Machine, played the weather; the children joined in with their own sounds. As the wind picked up and blew the blossoms from the trees, swirling white petals about like snow, we waved with the wind and Alex danced with his Djembe drum amongst the shower of petals. Then the children split into groups and planned their own messages. Taking it in turns to meet Future Machine, turn the handle, press the button and speak to the future.

Others gathered under the blossoms as we waited for the light to fade. Future Machine played the weather as the bright spring sunlight refused to fade. People turned small hand generators to light up the trees with the light boxes made by the school children. Messages for the future were recorded until, eventually, the light faded. We gathered under the blossoms to witness the moments between light and dark, past, present and future, and to consider the coming of Spring this year.

Time for Reflection

A week after meeting under the blossoms, Frank discovered the new cherry tree uprooted and destroyed. The same week I received an email from the Friends of Finsbury Park, north London. The local council ripped out 200 trees planted by volunteers – on Earth Day. These two destructive acts in places where Future Machine visits, where we pledge to be guardians of the earth, are a reflection of the wider world. It’s a world closer than ever to another unthinkable global war, alongside the greatest loss of species and natural environments since the last Ice Age. Climate desecration is happening at a speed not seen on earth since the mass extinction event that wiped out the dinosaurs.

It’s always difficult for young trees to grow into old age, particularly outside of a forest. Predators--including us humans--are a continual hazard. Equally, it’s hard for young humans to grow strong and caring of their places. We are all jostling, struggling to survive closer together with few green spaces to share, know and love, particularly in England, where 92% of the land is privately owned and inaccessible to most.

An image keeps returning from the blossom meeting this year, 2022. A young girl I had earlier seen playing in the gardens looked over the wall with her father, as we were waiting for the light to fade. They disappeared and then reappeared, looking in at the gate but not entering. I was caught up in the music and the people already there. I didn't go to speak to them and invite them in. They left without joining us.

How do we make space for people to come together? As artists, how do we enter a place without imposing our own agendas onto others’ lives? How do we tread carefully, take time to speak and listen, find ways for witnessing and wayfaring? Let us not be another thing in the world that tears lives down, but a force that brings humans together.

Rachel Jacobs is a practising artist, academic researcher, interactive games designer, writer, arts facilitator and a consulting editor to Emerging Voices. In 1996, she co-founded the award-winning artist collective Active Ingredient.

When the Future Comes & Future Machine is a collaboration between artists Rachel Jacobs, Juliet Robson, Frank Abbott, Caroline Locke, Wallace Heim, Esi Eshun and musicians Alexandre Yemaoua Dayo and David Kemp. Future Machine has been developed by Rachel Jacobs, Robin Shackford, Dominic Price, Matt Little, Matthew Gates, researchers from the University of Nottingham, Prof John King from the British Antarctic Survey and people who took part in public workshops across England. Supported using public funding by Arts Council England, Furtherfield Gallery and Horizon Digital Economy and the Mixed Reality Lab, University of Nottingham.

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When the Autumn Leaves Fell: Future Machine Procession in Finsbury Park by Rachel Jacobs

Finsbury Park in North London had a difficult 2021, as did much of the world. As the pandemic continued, the park struggled with government cuts. The impact of a reduced team of rangers was immense. Crime and damage in the park increased. Climate change is manifesting as diseases in trees, flooding in low levels, intense rain swamping the football pitches in Autumn and late Summer. In contrast, Spring and early Summer brought long hot spells, drying out fields and turning sparse grass yellow in the cracked, dusty earth. On the positive side, Weeds and Seeds, the Drumming School and Edible Gardens continued to grow, making things thrive in these miraculous places situated at either end of the park.

Amongst all the park activity, I spent the year preparing for the appearance of the Future Machine. I got to know the committed head ranger, Ricard Zanoli, and built a collaboration with local artist Esi Eshun. I also further developed my alliance with musicians Alexandre Yemaoua Dayo and Dave Kemp, who created the sounds of the Future Machine.

Future Machine is a mysterious artwork that travels across England to the same five different places as the seasons change every year. The plan is to make this same journey every year for 30 years (until 2050). Future Machine appears in each place as a witness to changes that will be visible ‘when the future comes’. The Machine collects and plays back messages to be heard in years to come. It also captures present-day weather, using live weather sensors attached to the back of the artwork. Future Machine sings the sounds of the weather and prints out an invitation to think about the future.

In 2021, Future Machine started its first journey across England. Appearing in Christ Church Gardens in Nottingham, when the trees blossomed, to the River Leven in Cumbria when a small group met up the river as Summer turned to Autumn,

and in Finsbury Park in November as the autumn leaves fell. This journey will be expanded in 2022 to include appearances in Cannington, Somerset and Rotherfield Peppard, Oxfordshire.

Over the course of these journeys, Future Machine has evolved. It’s changed physically as parts of it were rebuilt, improved and refined. But its character and presence have also grown. Future Machine is becoming a being of its own, beyond an artwork. People project their ideas onto it. Myths develop about what it is, where it has come from, and where it’s going. Its presence encourages and embodies people's visions, concerns and dreams of the future. Future Machine’s sounds have also evolved. They’ve become more complex, layered in ways that are different each time. The sounds respond to live data reflecting weather and place, making these elements even more present. Future Machine is creating experiences as it goes. Each appearance, in each place, informs the next.

The human artist/musicians – Rachel Jacobs, Esi Eshun, Alexandre Yemaoua Dayo and Dave Kemp – planned the route through Finsbury Park. Esi devised a route linking seven trees – a willow tree by the lake, a row of silver birches, a eucalyptus tree, an elder tree, a great hornbeam and a mulberry tree. The procession ended where it began, at the London plane tree next to Furtherfield Gallery. Future Machine led the procession, pulled by its companion Rachel Jacobs and others who helped navigate difficult terrain. The seven trees reference the story of the seven sisters star cluster and the seven sisters for whom the road along the park is named – seven elm trees planted in a circle around a walnut tree.

As the procession stopped at each tree, Esi talked about the tree and its history, adding her own reflections. Jo Roach, local poet and founder of Finsbury Park's Pedal Power, a cycling club for people with learning disabilities, read some of her tree-related poems. Ricard, head ranger, spoke of his work in the park. Future Machine also called at Weeds and Seeds to meet May DeGrace, who presented the gardening and drumming projects in her corner of the park.

Many people joined the procession, some coming and going throughout the day, others following all day, some joining in to help push the machine uphill. We stopped along the way for children and adults to turn the handle powering the machine, everyone invited to speak to the future by talking into the small copper trumpet on the side. As Future Machine led the procession, it sang the songs of the weather, changing throughout the day reflecting dry, windy and mild to cold.

The parade ended with a gathering around the London plane tree for a live performance with musicians Alexandre Yemaoua Dayo, David Kemp, Miles NCube, and Terese, along with Rachel and Future Machine. Parakeets sang, their voices echoing from the canopy of the plane tree as they joined the chorus.

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