I’m Glad the Queen Died
And there’s nothing you can do to make me feel bad about it.
I’m glad the queen died because I, my brother, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my childhood classmates and teachers, my parents, my grandparents, my great-grandparents, my great-great-grandparents, and my great-great-great-great grandparents were all born in a British colony. As though our homeland was for the taking by the white man. That reality influences every aspect of our being: the languages we learned, the mix of English and mother tongues we spoke and continue to speak, the films we watch, the heroes we root for, the villains we root against, the money we did or didn’t have, the books we read, our diction, the food we eat, the social services available to Indians, the infrastructure Indians must use to try and get by, the laws enacted by the British that India has to repeal piecemeal, the cars we drive, the politicians we vote for, the businesses we frequent, the people we hate, the people we love.
I’m glad the queen died because the British empire, on its way out of the Indian subcontinent, set the entire place on fire by randomly drawing a line between India and Pakistan, and got Muslims and Hindus to hate each other for all eternity while they ran off with our stuff.
I’m glad the queen died because she can be reunited with her husband and his Nazi sisters in hell. Sophie…
