Privilege at a Price: the Foreigners' Continued Dream of British Greatness
Walking around the meticulously kept grassy grounds of the Windsor Castle, the hordes of foreign tourists simply could not hide their excitement. Snapping away with their cameras at every wall sculpture, every statue, and every traditional-looking signage, they shouted to their friends to stop and look, filling the traditional heart of the British monarchy with simultaneous calls in dozens of foreign tongues. The keepers and guards of the Castle, dressed in the traditional costumes little changed since the Empire's heydays, can do little but to smile politely at the incomprehensible noises.
Once, the Castle was the home of a ruler governing half the world, including the lands that now send these enthusiastic tourists. And for centuries, the rulers of the Empire sought to educate these colonial subjects in all matters British, from that standard Queen's accent (which I still find exotically attractive after a week here) to every aspect of the British culture, the highest materialistic form of which is so beautifully preserved in the confines of the imposing walls. Those colonial subjects who best learned British culture was handsomely rewarded with high status in her colonial administration.
As condescending as all this might sound to people of the Empire's formal colonial lands, it is fair to say that Her Majesty's government has not entirely failed in the endeavor. A genuine admiration of British culture seem to run deep across the world, as witnessed by the many people from the developing world pouring in their life-savings just for an experience in the lands of their former master. In a rather perverted way, they enjoy that idea of gaining access to a place only a few generations ago were only open to the exclusive few that determined the very livelihoods of their nations.
In response, Britain is trying her best to retain their pseudo-exclusive feel. Just a five-minute walk across the river from the Castle, schoolchildren still wonder the streets in their suit-like uniforms in the aging stone buildings of Eton College. Tourists delight in briefly rubbing shoulders with whom they perceive as the few elites from powerful, well-connected traditional families. The tourists imagine themselves in the shoes of remarkably cultured-looking schoolboys, dreaming of themselves feasting on the Empire's prizes of knowledge stored in the chandelier-lit library halls.
Of course, even here in the secluded campus of Eton, reality of the world is seeping in. A close examination of the student roster reveals a student body just as foreign as she is British. The premier private secondary school of the Empire has went in the same way as places like the LSE, a mere representation of traditional high reputation, intelligently (or desperately) used to draw in endless lines of foreigners willing to pay the hefty fees for that sample of life as a British elite.
Yet, the more other tourists and I wonder around the cobble-stoned streets of the increasingly touristy town, the more somehow and so strangely we suppress the downtrodden reality. The wealthy and exclusive Empire is long-dead, yet at that moment, we simply refuse to accept that. We, in a truly self-deprecating way, want to see the Castle still as that center of global political power, home to someone who can affect the life and death of millions half a world away just with a single sentence.
It is the same fantasy that govern our thought toward the monarchy. Centuries after so many philosophers and revolutionaries thought about, fought, and died for the implementation of republics, the average human still see those evil hereditary beings as semi-celebrities, worthy of positive attention even though they have done nothing besides freely spending our hard-earned taxpayer money to upkeep their ridiculously extravagant lifestyles. No one, even from the most anti-monarchic and anti-feudal bastions, expressed a tinge of obvious hatred.
Perhaps, really, our reality-escapism has sunken to a new low. To fulfill our inflated delusions of grandeur, foreigners still voluntarily choose to wash up on British shores to continue living, with the British themselves, that dream of British greatness. Secretly, the former colonial subjects somehow still acquiesce to the very British pride of a historically unequal royal pompousness. Privilege, even if it only lives on in name only, still evokes envy...
Once, the Castle was the home of a ruler governing half the world, including the lands that now send these enthusiastic tourists. And for centuries, the rulers of the Empire sought to educate these colonial subjects in all matters British, from that standard Queen's accent (which I still find exotically attractive after a week here) to every aspect of the British culture, the highest materialistic form of which is so beautifully preserved in the confines of the imposing walls. Those colonial subjects who best learned British culture was handsomely rewarded with high status in her colonial administration.
As condescending as all this might sound to people of the Empire's formal colonial lands, it is fair to say that Her Majesty's government has not entirely failed in the endeavor. A genuine admiration of British culture seem to run deep across the world, as witnessed by the many people from the developing world pouring in their life-savings just for an experience in the lands of their former master. In a rather perverted way, they enjoy that idea of gaining access to a place only a few generations ago were only open to the exclusive few that determined the very livelihoods of their nations.
In response, Britain is trying her best to retain their pseudo-exclusive feel. Just a five-minute walk across the river from the Castle, schoolchildren still wonder the streets in their suit-like uniforms in the aging stone buildings of Eton College. Tourists delight in briefly rubbing shoulders with whom they perceive as the few elites from powerful, well-connected traditional families. The tourists imagine themselves in the shoes of remarkably cultured-looking schoolboys, dreaming of themselves feasting on the Empire's prizes of knowledge stored in the chandelier-lit library halls.
Of course, even here in the secluded campus of Eton, reality of the world is seeping in. A close examination of the student roster reveals a student body just as foreign as she is British. The premier private secondary school of the Empire has went in the same way as places like the LSE, a mere representation of traditional high reputation, intelligently (or desperately) used to draw in endless lines of foreigners willing to pay the hefty fees for that sample of life as a British elite.
Yet, the more other tourists and I wonder around the cobble-stoned streets of the increasingly touristy town, the more somehow and so strangely we suppress the downtrodden reality. The wealthy and exclusive Empire is long-dead, yet at that moment, we simply refuse to accept that. We, in a truly self-deprecating way, want to see the Castle still as that center of global political power, home to someone who can affect the life and death of millions half a world away just with a single sentence.
It is the same fantasy that govern our thought toward the monarchy. Centuries after so many philosophers and revolutionaries thought about, fought, and died for the implementation of republics, the average human still see those evil hereditary beings as semi-celebrities, worthy of positive attention even though they have done nothing besides freely spending our hard-earned taxpayer money to upkeep their ridiculously extravagant lifestyles. No one, even from the most anti-monarchic and anti-feudal bastions, expressed a tinge of obvious hatred.
Perhaps, really, our reality-escapism has sunken to a new low. To fulfill our inflated delusions of grandeur, foreigners still voluntarily choose to wash up on British shores to continue living, with the British themselves, that dream of British greatness. Secretly, the former colonial subjects somehow still acquiesce to the very British pride of a historically unequal royal pompousness. Privilege, even if it only lives on in name only, still evokes envy...
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