The Queen’s death appears to be a confusing time for Americans

Experiencing the death of the Queen in America is strange, writes Holly Baxter

King Charles III and other members of the royal family hold a vigil (AP)

It’s amazing how Americans think British people take monarchical tragedy personally. On the day of the announcement of Queen Elizabeth II’s death, my husband and I were hit with a deluge of messages from our American friends.

“How are you doing after the tragedy?” One friend asked me (half-jokingly) over brunch a couple of days later. It took me a while to even realise what he was talking about. I cycled through family members and friends in my mind – none of whom had come a cropper recently, as far as I knew – before concluding that he meant the Queen. Later, questions about the corgis came thick and fast: were they really going to be executed? (No.) Did the Queen actually say she didn’t want them to outlive her? (Yes, although it seems the tone was more “because I love my dogs so much” rather than “because I want them killed, mummified and preserved in my tomb as companions for the afterlife”.) Is there a chance they might end up with the world’s most controversial royal and the Queen’s reportedly favourite son, Prince Andrew? (Yes – as we found out later).

Many Americans have a lot of affection for the British royal family, or at least for the Queen. They know about Princess Diana and about Harry and Meghan and their children Archie and Lilibet. They’re fuzzier on Kate, William and Charles, having not been summarily bombarded with information about their every move by tabloids since the 1990s (who could forget “Waity Katie”?).

But discussions about the British monarchy rarely come without addendums about colonialism (which, in my view, is quite right). CNN ran an article about India’s view on the royal family and the country’s request for the return of the Koh-i-Noor, and another about the Queen’s complicated colonial legacy in Africa. The Washington Post wrote that now is the time to “recall the pain of British colonialism”. The New York Times examined whether former British colonies might now want to cut off all existing ties with the UK. And NPR published an opinion piece about the royal family’s colonial background with the frank headline “Not everyone mourns the Queen”.

These conversations are not seen as disrespectful or in poor taste, though it’s my impression from British friends that they might be seen that way inside the UK right now. But the US, for all its flaws, is a country big on freedom of speech – and while it’s true that a large commemorative billboard featuring the face of Queen Elizabeth II is currently on display right by Times Square in New York City, it’s true also that people approach her and her family with curiosity rather than reverence. Though a Carnegie college professor who tweeted that she hoped the Queen experienced pain in death was attacked across the internet – including, bizarrely, by Jeff Bezos – and though Americans are generally polite and respectful around death, few shy away from expressing their anti-monarchical views. This is the country that threw tea in the harbour, after all.

During the last European football championship, when a bunch of my American and British friends attended a screening of an England game at a crowded outdoor bar in Brooklyn, the national anthem started up and one of my friends stood with his hand on his heart. That’s normal behaviour in the US: the national anthem is played before everything, and everybody stands... and most enthusiastically participate. Our American friends, therefore, didn’t bat an eyelid at an Englishman doing the same. Granted, most Brits I know would roll their eyes at that kind of thing.

When the English national anthem ended and my friend sat down, the Americans around us expressed shock that I hadn’t joined him. Why would I not stand for my own national anthem, they asked? Surely that’s the bare minimum expected of a British citizen?

I told them that I would stand for a national anthem speaking fondly of my country and my fellow citizens, but I am a (very much small-r) republican and I don’t feel comfortable asking that a God I don’t believe in save a Queen I don’t support, much less to wish that she is “long to reign over us”. I have no personal problem with the Queen, who seems to have taken her duties very seriously and endured a lot of hardship under a harsh spotlight. But the idea that my entire country should be summarised in song by sycophantic lyrics about pledging ourselves to the aristocracy rubs me up the wrong way. The Americans in attendance hadn’t actually known the lyrics of our anthem, and when I explained what they were, they raised their eyebrows and laughed.

I think, while the very likeable Queen was head of state, people found singing such an anthem easier to swallow. But the next time people are asked to stand and ask that God save and preserve King Charles III’s reign “over us”, I hope they think more about what they’re saying. There are better ways to honour our country and all the people in it – ways that make Brits sound like the progressive, multifaceted bunch we are, rather than ways that make us a laughing stock whenever we have to explain the lyrics to our national song abroad.