Metaphorically, I have both oppressor and oppressed DNA running through my veins.
It's an uncomfortably confronting piece of my history, knowing that some of my ancestors chose to invade countries that belonged to my other ancestors.
The British monarchy has revelled in the privilege of power, title, and wealth that is a direct result of colonisation. The systems of oppression for indigenous peoples and, more broadly, people of colour that have resulted from colonisation by the English remain today.
What is clear, with the recent passing of the Queen, is that our response to her death is a reflection of our lived experiences. If your lived experiences are as a Pākehā person, the chances are you probably felt great sorrow at her passing and have found comfort in seeing the mainstream media coverage of her time as "the people's Queen". The beautiful tributes about her 70-year reign, the heartfelt stories and fond memories have all continued to dominate the headlines.
However, if you are a person of colour, like me, you may once again be reminded that we are still living within the constructs of a systemically racist society that upholds and celebrates the very symbol of our oppression. Many people, including myself, have found ourselves on the receiving end of online hostility and abuse when we have tried to express our feelings about the Queen's passing. Should I be surprised that complete strangers feel they have a right to tone police me? Tell me that my feelings and lived experiences as an indigenous woman of colour are not as valid because they aren't in keeping with popular opinion? The answer is no. Sadly, this isn't new territory for myself and many others from marginalised minority communities. We have a long history of being gaslit, and this situation is no different.
I understand that for many, the longest-running monarch in history symbolised stability, comfort, hope, and unification. She was not expected to become Queen during an era when male heirs took precedence, but after her uncle abdicated and her father suddenly passed in 1952, she stepped into the role at the young age of 25. It's an impressively long reign. Her seven-decade reign spanned many milestones which have been acknowledged and celebrated the world over.
For others, she is the modern face of colonisation. While researching for this piece, I discovered the British have, at some point in history, invaded and established a military presence in 171 countries. That's 90 per cent of the world's countries, with only 20 per cent escaping British invasion. Invasion and expansion are literally what the monarchy is built on. This is not make-believe, and no matter how much our past has been whitewashed and told through a white-centric lens, we cannot escape the stories and real-life experiences of the people directly impacted by colonial oppression.
This is the history of the monarchy, and during Queen Elizabeth II's 70-year reign she might have acknowledged it to some degree, but not once did she explicitly apologise for it. She actively chose to uphold this power structure because it has always benefited her, her family, and her kingdom to do so.
The "do not speak ill of the dead" sentiment is often weaponised in order to silence those of us who want to remember ALL of history - not just the attractive glossy bits. To ignore the role Queen Elizabeth II and her family have and continue to play in colonialism is to deny history.
Royal or not, we all eventually depart this life and leave behind a legacy that is full of nuance, both good and bad. My hope is that we respect and allow space for all the many ways people are navigating the death of the Queen. One person's sadness should not outweigh or take precedence over another person's anger, hurt, and trauma over the same event.
Feel whatever you need to feel - just don't tell a victim of colonial oppression how they should react when the very symbol of their generational trauma just died.
